November, 1917 
525 
FOREST AND STREAM 
Both dogs were fairly steady to shot. 
It was natural to expect some praise 
from Mac. But he withheld any that 
might have struggled for expression. It 
was too much to believe that it had so 
occurred, that a pointer for once had out- 
birded a veteran setter on his own hunt¬ 
ing grounds after his favorite bird! 
S O bare had the balance of the pasture 
become that we turned south into 
stubble and carelessly tended fields. 
On approaching the fence dividing it from 
the pasture land, a single flushed wild 
from between both dogs. It was about as 
spectacular kill of an incomer as I had 
ever the good fortune to witness. Mac 
hit it within the thirty yard line, but the 
momentum was so great that the bird was 
carried at least ten yards over his head 
with astonishing velocity. 
“That was 
a great shot, 
M a c,” I 
praised. “How 
did you do 
it ? I simply 
can’t hit those 
fast incom¬ 
ing birds.” 
“You mean 
it?” he asked 
quickly, h i s 
round face 
flushing with 
pleasure at 
the achieve¬ 
ment. 
“I don’t 
usually ask 
advice on 
hunting mat¬ 
ters unless I 
want it, do 
I?” I said 
•peevishly. 
“Oh! Well, 
get right on 
your bird, 
and slowly—• 
just slowly— 
elevate the 
gun, and the 
minute you 
lose sight of 
the bird press 
the trigger. 
It gets them 
deader’n a door nail every time. You 
ought to try it on ducks—why you simply 
can’t miss them that way!” 
How much to the point my companions 
instructions were can be judged when 
later in the day an incomer buzzed in at 
me as I was about to cross a fence. I 
held just as the setter fancier had advised. 
I must have permitted that bird to get too 
close. All I beheld after the report of the 
gun was a minute cloud of feathers. The 
search of the ground revealed only a wing 
and a leg, large enough pieces of the bird 
to prove that they once were a part of the 
anatomy of a quail. 
O UT of sheer jealousy the setter’s 
work became abominable. Always in 
fear that the young dog would get 
the point, he crowded birds carelessly, put¬ 
ting up many, which, had the dog evinced 
no hesitancy, would have layed well. All 
the time Master improved. After work¬ 
ing out his wire edge, he maintained a fast 
gait in the open, only slowing down as 
cover or the exigencies of scattered birds 
necessitated. By noon the pointer was 
getting all the finds, and the old dog was 
indicating a disposition to chase rabbits or 
any live thing he came in contact with. 
Jocko’s unseemly behavior did not please 
Mac—and his shooting certainly suffered. 
It was first a verbal abuse of the old dog, 
a reflection on the presence of a pointer 
in the field, blaming the shells and gun— 
an old trick—and at last attributing his 
poor shooting to a recent and inexplicable 
affliction of the eye. 
None of these explanations fitted the 
man or the dog. Jocko’s extraordinary 
conduct was due to the fact that for two 
years he had not been hunting in company 
of other dogs, and was showing his jeal¬ 
ous side; and Mac, giving all his attention 
to his setter, failed to center his birds as 
he had formerly done. 
“Mac, do you know,” I began after some 
of his anger at his old reliable had sub¬ 
sided—Mac stood nicely for my rebukes, 
especially when eating, and now he was 
attacking a great ham sandwich, as the 
dogs crunched contentedly their hard bis¬ 
cuits—“Jocko is a great deal like myself. 
He’s jealous of the new dog. The pointer 
is an extremely classy individual, you will 
admit. Jocko feels that you and I are 
slighting him. A dog with companions 
daily in the field seldom senses this, but 
once I felt the same way.” 
“Proceed, Mr. Philosophical Quail Hunt¬ 
er,” Mac interjected, placing a very warm, 
lingering hand on my shoulder, “I’ll stand 
for anything now.” 
“Well, it was this way: I formed quite 
an affection for a certain city friend of 
mine. And though he was a city man I 
think the affection was reciprocated. In 
my wilderness life I continually pondered 
over that friend—what we would do dur¬ 
ing our fall hunt, and many other things. 
When the shooting season came around 
he brought some friends with him. To 
show them the customary amenities of 
sportsmanship he had to neglect me. And, 
though he never became aware of it, I had 
a mighty huge case of the sulks, like Jocko 
had this morning. I could not behave up 
to my usual form !” 
A PPARENTLY oblivious of the end¬ 
ing of my brief narrative Mac fin¬ 
ished his lunch. “Come here, Jocko,” 
he called in a kindly tone. 
The ponderous creature waving his 
broad flag, came to his master. He laid 
his big head in Mac’s lap, where big hands 
played caress¬ 
ingly with it. 
“Jocko, old 
boy, you are 
a trump!” he 
said. “Go 
ahead this 
afternoon and 
do your best.” 
H is eyes 
roved abrupt- 
1 y to the 
pointer, no 
doubt visual- 
i z i n, g his 
m o r n i n g’s 
perform- 
ance. “For I 
like you, old 
boy, even if 
that brown¬ 
eyed, black 
and white, 
short haired 
fellow’s got 
you o u t- 
classed.” 
Only Mac 
will ever know 
how much it 
hurt him to 
say this. But 
Jocko wagged 
his tail, look¬ 
ing askance 
at the eager 
. . pointer; he 
joined him the instant we started for a 
field of corn that was contiguous to a big 
piece of brushy timber on our right. 
‘Of course the pointer’s got them 
again!” announced Jocko’s boss. 
^ es ; I retorted, “but see how nice old 
Jocko is backing this time.” 
Jocko was backing the young dog’s point 
staunchly. The birds flushed, each gun 
dropped one. The instant of their flush¬ 
ing another covey flushed about thirty 
yards beyond them. The setter retrieved 
two birds, and then dashed out to where 
the other birds had risen, pointed, broke 
in, and came back to us with a quail in his 
mouth. The bird was not quite dead. 
There s only one way to explain this 
kill,” said my companion as he offered me 
the bird. “When you fired one of the far 
covey got in line, and stopped a few of the 
number 8 pellets.” 
(continued on page 561) 
