Feb. 22. 1908.I 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
295 
ithers had flown, we went back to the surrey. 
Five birds in all out of twenty or more shots. 
Our feet were wet and cold, our spirits sub- 
lued and sad. 
About ten o’clock it cleared off beautifully 
md the sun was never more welcome. The 
jrass and undergrowth dried off rapidly and 
>ur feet appreciated the difference. Our hopes 
nd spirits improved with the character of the 
lay. 
Another covey flushed wild and went into a 
lense hammock . where accurate aim . was irn- 
■ossible. Several shots were had and only one 
>ird fell, this to Al.’s gun. Snow, deeming it 
ime for lunch, found and devoured this bird 
ntirely before Al., laboriously pushing through 
he dense scrub, could get to her. “Why,” he 
lemanded, “don’t you feed that cur of yours 
occasionally, Hill, so she won’t be too ravenous, 
ir is it your usual custom to divvy up with 
er?” Snow received a vigorous massage with 
stout limb, which chastisement put quite a 
amper on her enthusiasm and she treated us 
,ith marked disfavor for quite a while. She 
etook herself back to the surrey. 
Time to refresh the inner man now and we 
estowed more than casual attention upon our 
mple luncheon. The day was now ideal, the 
-ind had died out almost completely and it was 
toroughly dry underfoot. Passing an old field, 
!ob came to a point just over the fence and we 
ot out. It was doves this time, about a hun- 
red of them flying up. We got five shots and 
ve birds before they left that particular section 
f the country. However, we could find only 
,vo, the weeds were so high and thick. 
Several more coveys were found, we burning 
lot of powder and getting an occasional bird. 
Sometimes it was a bunch of feathers only and 
crippled bird that went off to die; more often 
clean miss. So the afternoon wore on and we 
ot a lot of pleasure out of it any way. The 
st covey afforded us some mirth. The dogs 
ointed them but they arose out of range and 
II but one took refuge in a hammock where 
ie palmettos, weeds and briers were up to our 
aists. This one dropped down in the grass 
ot fifty yards away. “That’s my meat,” said 
1 ., “now, watch your Uncle parch him.” 
Giving Mr. Hill the wink, we ranged on either 
de of him. and as the bird flew we shot it be- 
>re he could raise his gun. “Here! what do 
iu hold-ups mean?” he demanded. “What 
ind of a brace-game is this? You haven’t the 
'inciple of a horse-thief.” But Uncle’s eye was 
iped and we had a good laugh at his expense. 
We then went into the scrub and had some 
st work. Six birds were brought to grass and 
)Out the same number sought shelter in a 
iendly swamp. 
“What makes th£m fiy so fast?” I inquired. 
“Not being a quail, I cannot answer you,” 
1. replied; “but it is certain if they knew how 
ight their danger was from that fusee of yours, 
ey wouldn’t hurry so.” 
“Well, I notice no great havoc ha<^ been 
rought with your weapon, either.” 
“Silence in the ranks,” ^enjoined Mr. Hill. 
\ T one of us has earned a medal for our shoot- 
:g to-day.” This being so very evident, we let 
: go at that. 
At half past two we were forced to quit. Our 
bin being due at Lawtey at four, and as the 
'ad was sandy, it behooved us to move on if 
we wished to make connections. We had twenty 
quail and two doves in our bag and had shot 
away about seventy-five shells. 
Our guns were put in their cases, "Don was 
released, we climbed in and the retrograde 
movement began. Don indulged in an unpro¬ 
ductive hunt of his own as we went along, as if 
to say, “Now, I’ll show you how the thing 
should be done.” C. M. Sandusky. 
At Faraway Birds. 
Lincoln, Neb., Jan. 30 . —Editor Forest and 
Stream: A few days ago a young shooting 
friend of mine came to me and said, “Say, 1 
believe you have given me poor advice.” “Why?” 
I asked. He produced a copy of Forest and 
Stream and read to me from a story written by 
S. T. Hammond, as follows : 
“For many years it has been a hard and fast 
rule with me to shoot at every bird that rises, 
even though a long distance away. I have a 
of his sight, others left wounded to fall prey to 
wolves, foxes, skunks and other wild beasts, 
while others, if they did evade their enemies, 
would be left at the beginning of winter in such 
a weakened condition they would succumb dur¬ 
ing the cold weather? Do you believe if all this 
destruction could be pictured before Mr. Flam- 
mond he would consider the few birds he had 
bagged, as a result of his wild shooting, sufficient 
remuneration for it all?” 
My friend thought not, and neither do I. 
This calls to my mind how a few years ago 
with a party of three friends I went to the sand¬ 
hills of Nebraska for a few days with the prairie 
chicken and grouse. We stopped in one of the 
famous localities, where within three years prior 
to the time a cold storage man had boasted of 
shipping 46,000 birds in one season. Our guide 
\ftas a man who had been a market shooter for 
him. He had followed the iced wagon for week 
in and week out, sending it to the storage house 
when loaded, only to be returned for another 
“it was a picture to make the pulses leap.” 
Photographed by Dr. Sandusky. 
well grounded belief that the whistle of the shot 
in their vicinity exercises an influence that causes 
them to lie better when one again finds them. If 
one can succeed in keeping on their course, and 
routing them a few times, he will, in nearly every 
instance, meet the reward of perseverance by ob¬ 
taining a satisfactory rise.” 
The story continues to narrate some wonderful 
shofis he has made as a result of this wild shoot¬ 
ing, as he terms it, which he should have termed 
peculiar accidents. 
“Now,” said my young friend, “you have al¬ 
ways taught me to never shoot at a bird out of 
range of my gun, and see the sport this man 
Hammond has had by his wild shooting.” 
“Yes,” I replied; “that sounds well in print, as 
do all of Mr. Hammond's narratives, which are 
interesting and well written, but I must dis¬ 
agree with him on this point. He is certainlv 
giving bad advice, and has indulged in a practice 
that is frowned upon by the majority of sportsmen. 
■“Don’t you think if a picture could be drawn 
for Mr. Hammond, of the hundreds of birds he 
has hit by his wild shooting with a load that 
had not sufficient force to kill them instantly, 
some of which had fallen dead after flying out 
load. We tolerate no such things in Nebraska 
now, thank you. 
It was late in October when the birds had 
congregated in large bunches from fifty to some¬ 
times three hundred. As is usually the case they 
would not lie well until the warm part of the 
day. We started out about 9 o’clock the first 
morning, and our guide instructed us to stay 
close together, keeping all dogs at heel, and walk¬ 
ing briskly over the grass-covered hills until we 
found one of these large bunches, then all to 
shoot into them, give them every load we had, to 
mark them down, then get into the rig and drive 
to them and repeat the performance. We did 
this, and occasionally a bird would fall, having 
been hit in a vital place by a well spent shot, 
while many would scurry in every direction, evi¬ 
dently cruelly wounded. Our guide explained 
that by this method the birds would be so scat¬ 
tered and scared that by the warm part of the 
day they would lie well to our dogs. From the 
standpoint of getting meat it was a success, but 
from any other standpoint it was butchery. 
We tolerated this the first day, but not al.er- 
ward. I say, “No; never shoot at a bird that ?s 
out of range of your gun.” George L. Carter. 
