108 
FOREST AND S T R E A M 
February, 1918 
AMERICAN 
GAME BIRD 
SHOOTING 
By George Bird Grinnell 
This large and profusely illus¬ 
trated volume . covers the whole 
field of upland shooting in Amer¬ 
ica. It deals with the birds fol¬ 
lowed by the upland shooter 
with dog and gun, and gives prac¬ 
tically everything that is known 
about the woodcock, the snipe, all 
the North American quail, grouse 
and wild turkeys. This is its 
scheme: 
Part I—Life histories of upland 
game birds; many portraits. 
Part II—Upland shooting, and 
also guns, loads, dogs, clothing. 
Part III—Shooting of the fu¬ 
ture, ruffed grouse, quail, etc. 
There are life-like colored plates 
of the ruffed grouse and quail, and 
48 other full-page plates, with 
many line cuts in the text. 
The book is really the last word 
on upland shooting, and this is 
what some of the authorities think 
of it: 
“It is, I think, a model of what 
such a book should be—but so sel¬ 
dom is. It is, indeed, much more 
than a treatise on field sports, for 
it furnishes such full and excellent 
life histories of the birds of which 
it treats that it should find a place 
in every library devoted to pure 
ornithology.”—William Brewster, 
Cambridge, Mass. 
“A very complete monograph 
sportsmen and naturalists . 
with anecdotes, of his own and 
others . . . The book will be 
enjoyed not only by sportsmen, but 
by the general reader .”—Sun New 
York. 
“An important, thoroughly reli¬ 
able and well written book; a work 
that will be read with interest and 
pleasure by sportsmen. The work 
is the first complete one of its 
kind .”—Boston Globe. 
“This volume is especially wel¬ 
come—a treat to every man who 
loves to tramp the uplands with 
dog and gun.”— Inter-Ocean, Chi¬ 
cago. 
This book is a companion vol¬ 
ume to American Duck Shooting, 
and the two cover practically the 
whole subject of field shooting 
with the shotgun in North Amer¬ 
ica. 
Illustrated, cloth. About 575 pages. 
Price, $3.50 net; postage, 25c. 
For Sale by 
Forest & Stream Pub. Co. 
9 East 40th Street NEW YORK 
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BOXING THE COMPASS 
(continued from page 79 ) 
winded me and I doubted if he had seen 
me, so I angled off quietly to one side for 
a couple of hundred yards, then slanted in 
toward where I had last heard him, hoping 
to get another glimpse—which I did, but 
that was all, for he was off again. I don’t 
know how long or oyer how much ground 
I played hide-and-seek with that buck. I 
do know, however, that I got his goat—he 
didn’t know what I was and his curiosity 
kept him hanging around to find out. With 
the cleverness of his kind he finally worked 
around until he got'my wind—then he beat 
it away for parts unknown. 
I ATE my snack, burned out a pipeful 
and rested up. Before starting off again 
I looked at my compass and got an 
awful shock—the confounded needle didn’t 
point the way it should have! Instead of 
the blue end pointing north, it- pointed 
south! I jiggled and jiggled it, but that 
made no difference. I called it a liar, but 
it still acted stubborn. I thought perhaps 
my rifle had affected it, so I laid down the 
firearm and walked off a distance into the 
brush, but the compass still lied. Then I 
hunted an hour before I found my rifle! 
By this time I was a good deal sweat 
up—it was no joke to be in the burnt land 
without a compass. The reason I knew I 
was right and the compass wrong, was 
because in coming ov.er that last ridge after 
the deer I had come south—and yet the 
compass pretended to tell me I had come 
north. Plainly that dodgasted compass was 
demagnetized. Well, compas's or no com¬ 
pass, I knew that camp lay there—in that 
direction—northeast. I tried to corrobo¬ 
rate this by the sun, but the sky was over¬ 
cast—there wasn’t a sun-of-a-gun in sight. 
I had lost all interest in hunting and o.i 
my theory of direction struck out north¬ 
east, lining up one black stub with another. 
I traveled rapidly four or five miles in 
this direction, breaking twigs right and 
left, but nothing familiar greeted me—I 
was still in the durned old burnt land. I 
nearly ran over three deer about dusk, but 
I didn’t even pause to speak to ’em. Dark¬ 
ness caught me still floundering on. Then 
I realized I should have knocked off floun¬ 
dering before the light failed in order to 
gather firewood for warmth and cheer. 
\ 
I may have passed a worse night but I 
can’t remember where or when. 
I spent a perfectly horrible night 
scrooched up in a big, burned-out hollow 
stub which was mostly front door and 
chimney. The draft up through the chim¬ 
ney was something fierce. To make mat¬ 
ters worse it rained during the night, and 
while the draft went up the chimney, the 
