ful dodging, leaving in place of an ex- 
pected dead bird, merely the scarred 
trunk of a tree to show you had his 
general direction. We found Jake again 
on point inside the: woods facing a 
brush pile. The usual bombardment 
followed and several fell but Scott 
must have had an old shell in his gun 
for the report sounded more like 
a firecracker and 
his bird flew on 
with the loss of a 
few feathers. Cot- 
ton flashed into 
point on a single 
and this time 
Scott had it down 
almost as soon as 
I saw it rise. 
Birds were scat- 
tered all through 
the woods and 
even Jake slowed 
down and hunted 
closer. Another 
point, the dogs 
full of intensity! 
The muscles quiv- 
ered on Jake’s 
tense sides and 
his jaws twitched. 
Homer went in, 
but there was no 
whirr of a rising 
covey. “Well, 
they fooled us 
that time.” He 
stepped only a 
few feet on and 
the birds rose, 
nearly scaring the 
life out of him as 
he was taken com- 
pletely off guard. 
We managed to 
bring down a 
couple. ‘“Darned 
of those dogs 
haven’t got more 
sense than we 
have. They sure 
winded them a 
long ways off,” 
laughed Gib as 
he stooped to take 
his dead bird 
from _ Cotton’s 
mouth. 
It was pretty 
country we were 
in with hills all about us and Scott re- 
marked as he eyed the landscape, “I 
like to hunt hilly country. It always 
keeps a fellow guessing what is be- 
yond and relieves the monotony. Sort 
of soothes and rests the eyes to range 
up and down a sky line. I wouldn’t 
trade the prairies for our hills.” From 
a high spot we watched the dogs work- 
ing out the bottom land below, Cotton 
Page 709 
trailing as if he smelt birds while Jake 
with bold strides and merry tail was 
making for the thicket. As Jake did 
not appear again, we hurried over to 
investigate. We found him staunch, a 
few feet inside the thicket. Scott made 
a beautiful double. Homer and Gib 
got theirs but for the second shot they 
both unfortunately picked the same bird 

e 
The writer has had a busy day with the birds 
which fell pretty badly torn up. We 
got up eleven covies before the end of 
the day and had near our limit. 
Turning to Scott I asked, “Why don’t 
you miss one once in awhile to encour- 
age me?” 
“Well,” he answered as he stooped to 
pat Jake’s head, “I admire Jake’s work 
too much to dissappoint him. I see he 
is the sort of dog that loves to find and 
naturally he expects you to get them.” 
Jake wagged his tail then jumped up 
and put both feet on Scott’s chest and 
there was an expression in his eyes as 
if he understood. 
“We’re going home now Jake,” I 
said. I realized he must be tired. But 
even on the way in, I knew Jake would 
still hunt, for his enthusiasm was un- 
bounded. 
Quail shooting 
is a sport that 
combines the 
pleasures of vig- 
orous tramping, 
at a time of year 
when the uplands 
are in their 
brightest array, 
with the joy of 
watching the dogs 
work, and the 
keen thrills asso- 
ciated with wing 
shooting. But a 
prime requisite to 
really good sport 
is, of course, an 
abundant supply 
of birds. Here is 
where conserva- 
tion enters; con- 
servation of the 
birds by temper- 
ate shooting as 
against the de- 
struction of whole 
covies; conserva- 
tion of cover and 
feeding places so - 
that large covies 
may be encour- 
aged; and_ last, 
but equally im- 
portant, that in- 
direct form of 
conservation 
which consists in 
the destruction of 
predatory ani- 
mals and birds. 
It is an obvious 
truth  (unfor- 
tunately, not ap- 
preciated by ill- 
informed individ- 
uals) that the 
sportsman is the 
quail’s best 
friend. Given an 
absolute closed season for a period of 
years, quail will decrease greatly in 
numbers or disappear altogether from 
a locality. As stated before, covies not 
scattered by moderate shooting will in- 
breed to such an extent that the strain 
becomes weakened. In this condition, 
the birds are easy prey to hawks, foxes 
and other vermin, the control of which 
is at all times a necessity, 
