June, 1918 
F 0 R E S T A N D S T R E A M 
331 
somewhere.” Presently there was a great 
crashing of briers, and Dash was beside 
us. Looking into his master’s face, he 
vigorously wagged his tail. 
“Bill, he is trying to tell you something,” 
I said. “Do you think so ? On, Dash! 
On!” and Bill waved his hand, but Dash 
stood his ground, then gradually backed 
away. “Let’s follow him,” I said, “maybe 
he is ‘reporting.’ ” So we followed after. 
Presently we came to an old wood road, 
and down this about one hundred and fifty 
yards to where lay an old tree top. Here 
Dash came to a rigid point. “What do 
you think of that?” said Bill. We flushed 
a large covey, killing three on the rise. 
Following them up, we found that they 
had dropped along the banks of one of the 
numerous salt water creeks common to this 
country. Here they had taken refuge in 
the cat tails and blue bent. We could not 
see the dogs half the time, and only knew 
that they were pointing when the cover 
ceased to shake, then one of us would 
wade in to flush the birds. Presently Dash 
swung clear of the heavy cover, and pointed 
on the open fneadow. “Walk out to him, 
Neil, and take the shot,” said Bill. As I 
reached Dash’s side, with a “scaipe, scaipe” 
away went an English snipe with his “cork¬ 
screw” flight. Taken by surprise, I missed 
him clean with my first barrel, but luckily 
killed him at a long distance with my sec¬ 
ond, and I thought Dash gave me a look 
of approval when he brought me the bird. 
L ATE in the afternoon we came to a 
gently sloping hillside. In the little 
valley was an old stake and rider 
“worm” fence, with a fringe of briers and 
grass on the farther side. In quartering 
down the hill Dash came to the fence, and 
leaped to the topmost rail, and instantly 
“froze” on point to a covey in the briers 
beyond him, the young dog immediately 
backing. Here was a subject worthy the 
brush of any artist. The noble dog on the 
fence top slowly “teetered” back and forth 
as he poised in delicate balance on the nar¬ 
row rail—oh! how I wished for a camera 
—and he did not break his point, or leave 
the fence, until we had flushed the birds, 
and he tried to drop to shot. Three birds 
were killed from the rising covey, and we 
followed them to an adjoining brush lot. 
Here Dash in his usual “slashing” style, 
pointed the birds in rapid succession, and 
we did deadly execution under the very 
favorable circumstances. 
There were a number of ranks of cord 
wood in the sprouts, and as Dash was 
bringing in a dead bird past one of these 
piles, he whirled and pointed with the dead 
quail in his mouth. Bill walked up to him, 
and no bird rose, then he kicked in the 
brush, still no birds. Said Bill, “Old feller, 
I guess you are fooled this time.” I did 
not think so, and taking a slender stick, 
I thrust it through the openings in the cord 
wood, and presently away went a quail on 
the other side, positive proof that Dash 
knew what he was doing, for I had Airshed 
it from the interior of the rank of wood. 
Following up the now well scattered 
birds, we came to the edge of a large 
swamp; here Dash pointed a single, which 
Bill killed as it rose. As Dash came gal¬ 
loping in with the dead bird, he again sud¬ 
denly whirled around sideways and stood 
on point, rigid as a statue, with the bird 
in his mouth. For a few moments we ad¬ 
mired his beautiful pose, then I walked in 
and to our great surprise away went a 
woodcock which I fortunately killed. Drop¬ 
ping his quail, Dash went after the wood¬ 
cock, and returning picked up the quail 
also, and gently mouthing them, brought 
them to his master. This was the first 
and only time I have seen this feat per¬ 
formed by any dog, and great was our 
admiration of Dash’s good work. Many 
times have I seen a dog point with a dead 
bird in his mouth, but always on the same 
variety of game. 
following the small remnant of the 
covey, we penetrated the thick swamp. 
There the little youngster stood, backing like a veteran, his head high and his body as rigid as if carved from stone 
