20 
FOREST AND STREAM. 

what the chances were of getting “forty or fifty 
shots to-day?’ “Not much! We have now 
hunted the best grounds we’ve got here. I 
know where there’s a bunch of birds keeps; and 
if old man don’t see us come in, we 
might get three or four birds before he runs 
WSott. 
We went there and hunted it, but not a feather 
did we see or hear. I then left the boys, and 
going due west, hunted some lovely partridge 
cover and started a few birds, but they all acted 
alike. The dog and I were sick and tired of it, 
and I had about made up my mind to go home 
the next morning. I started toward the boys 
to tell them so, when I heard them shoot. 
Seeing that I had some good ground to hunt in 
their ‘direction and being very hungry, I made 
my way toward them and found them together 
and “talking it over,” taking it easy and resting. 
“We just shot at a partridge here, that went 
on in this direction, better try to start that,” said 
3ill. I was willing, yes, anxious to see one, so 
I told the old dog to go on, and he had not 
gone thirty yards, when he came to a very 
pretty point. 
In answer to my call, ‘“Here’s a point,” Bill 
came up. ‘Get in position, Bill,’ I said, “that 
bird lays close by the dog.” I knew this be- 
cause the dog had passed it going down wind 
as he was, and stood doubled up. It was one 
of those points that makes a fellow’s heart beat 
fast, and causes the poor dog to shake. Bill 
told me he was in a good place, and I called for 
Ed, I wanted him to have a good shot, 
besides, I wanted him to enjoy with us this 
picture; but Ed did not come, and I told Bill 
I would flush. When I started into the brush, 
thick as hairs on a dog’s back, my dog started 
to move his head slowly, wagged his tail and 
started to “right” himself. I spoke to him and 
to Bill, knowing that the bird had moved, but 
the dog held his point so I proceeded to flush. 
Just as a good big green cat brier found a bed 
in my neck, and | was pretty well tied up gen- 
erally, up got the gentleman and straight back 
over my head. By the time I got untangled, he 
was not too far away, but I missed him clean 
with both barrels. Bill did not shoot. 
I did not follow that bird, but sat down and 
ate lunch, giving vent to my opinion of Ed 
and “forty to fifty shots” in strong language. I 
was provoked through and through, and hungry, 
tired and disgusted. That was ‘the last shot I 
had that day; the others fired their guns off 
several times after that, Lord knows at what! 
They said at birds, but I didn’t believe it and 
don’t yet. 
From time to time I worked my way toward 
them when they shot, and once I had a chance 
to shoot a partridge and Bill, too. This was late 
in the afternoon and not far from home, the 
dog pointed and I called to the boys, when the 
bird flushed and went straight for Bill and 
turned almost at the point of his nose, then 
went straight from him on the outside of that 
woods and Bill killed it. 
Bill knew this country like a book and knew 
every field and road in it, and Ed certainly did 
find the wood roads that led in the direction 
that we were hunting, for every time I came to 
either I found them on a road or in some field 
most of the time together. Ed carried the bot- 
tle, but then Bill don’t drink, so I can’t say 
that that was the cause. 
When we got back to the hotel that night 
Ed asked me, “What made you propose to go 
over the western hills this morning?” I told 
him that before we started out to hunt we had 
been assured by Bill’s brother that the grounds 
we hunted had been hunted to death by the 
brother-in-law, and it proved to be so! When 
we reached the hotel that night Charley ap- 
peared to be very much surprised that we had 
only two birds, and Charley promised to go with 
us over the river the next day. He and the 
natives assured us that we’d surely have from 
“forty to fifty shots” over there. 
I was satisfied that Charley would try to show 
us some birds, and was glad to have a chance 
to hunt with him, so that when morning came 
I was ready early for another hard hunt, and I 
had it. We started for a nearby mountain and 
hunted the swales, where Charley knew there 
[JAN. 6, 1906. 

was a bunch of birds. Sure enough, Ed’s 
young dog flushed three birds here. My old 
dog was stiff and slow, and the youngster out- 
hunted him in the start, but would not hold 
his birds, which made all hands angry. 
We went on toward the river to cross. by a 
boat which lay on the other side. In answer to 
repeated calls, a woman informed us that ‘‘Ike” 
would not be back till noon, so we had to 
walk two miles up the railroad tracks to the 
bridge. We struck in on the other side of the 
stream to hunt that now famous “forty to fifty 
shots a day” ground. Up the mountain and 
down again, across and over through the swales 
and thickets until we all three came together 
on aroad. Here I found Charley and Ed wait- 
ing for me. Charley informed us with an oath 
that came up from ‘“‘way down below” that he 
hadn’t fed the chickens and had the key for the 
house in his pocket. He was very obviously 
angry, but while he was here he was going 
to take a look at the quarry just above here. 
I struck in again to Charley’s right, and Ed 
between us, and I soon came to some very 
likely looking spots, and just as I was crossing 
a partly fallen stone wall, two birds flushed. I 
got together quickly and had my gun on the 
left quarterer, when it struck me that Charley 
must be about in line with my gun. I held fire, 
waited too long, and missed my shot in the 
open. That’s what a fellow gets for not pulling 
the trigger when he’s on his game, yet, although 
I wanted to kill a few birds, I’d rather miss a 
thousand shots than shoot a companion. 
A little later Ed started one of these birds and 
also missed. Charley by this time had worked 
his way down the hill to my right, and I heard 
him shoot several times. “Gray squirrel’s nest,” 
he told me later. 
Up to noon neither of us had killed a bird. 
I had another shot at a bird that Charley 
flushed, or rather which flushed behind him. 
It was nearer to him than to me, but he thought 
it too far to shoot. I missed; but I’ll take a 
chance like that every time. 
We reached Ike’s yard, and Charley’s chickens 
bothered him like ‘‘Old Ned.” He must go 
home and attend to them. 
Ed’s pointer would not stop on birds, much 
less honor the old dog’s points, so we decided 
to let Charley take him home with him. 
Not two hundred yards from where we had 
lunch Ed walked up a bird and missed him like 
a good fellow. We walked in the direction Ed 
thought he went, but did not start it again. 
Then the dog put in some more of his fine 
work, but we were evidently now hunting on 
Ike’s stamping ground, for these birds were 
educated to the approach of man or dog. 
Coming through some scrub oaks, we then 
entered a field when a horse bolted at sight of 
us and started four birds away off in the ad- 
joining woods. Of course, we got no shot at 
them. After that we flushed these same birds 
several times with the same result. 
I am not very particular where a bird gets up, 
nor how far away. If I can see it, I generally 
shoot, but what is the use of shooting when 
you can’t see them when they do get up? 
From time to time Ed would tell me he saw 
a bird, and we would follow the direction Ed 
gave; but I found that I could start more birds 
b- following my own judgment as to location 
and nature of the ground and by following the 
dog, and I tried every conceivable way to get a 
crack at them, but without avail. These birds 
knew their game much better than I did. 
These conditions held good for the balance 
of the day. Ed did take my advice once or 
twice to shoot, “Shoot if you only get a glimpse 
of the bird!” and he blazed away several times. 
For the want of something to shoot at, I killed 
a little red squirrel. Neither one of us had 
seen hair or hide of a rabbit and didn’t see one 
while there. A short distance from where I 
killed the squirrel, we were confronted by a 
washout or cut, running down the mountain 
side. It was fully thirty yards across the top, 
and quite deep. The fallen trees and brush, etc., 
made it appear to me like bully good cover for 
partridges, especially so in cold weather, and I 
proposed to Ed that we hunt up and down on 
both sides of it, he being on my right and be- 

low me, to go down and come up on the other 
side, while I would go up and down and meet 
him there. 
I hardly turned my back on Ed and started to 
carry out this plan, than I heard a bird get up 
down the hill, as I thought, near Ed. I yelled 
to Ed, “Shoot! shoot!” before ever seeing the 
bird, and got an answer, ‘‘Oh, he’s too far!” 
I could see this bird go over the “cut” straight 
away from Ed and noticed that he changed his 
course toward the top of the mountain, and I 
knew that if he continued in this direction, I 
might get a shot, even though it would be at 
very long range and through thick saplings. 
As I had only my regular target load in my 
right barrel, and this a cylinder or modified, I 
changed to the left trigger while in the act of 
shooting, and sent a load of 3% Schultze, 1340z. 
chilled through that little 26in. choked barrel 
after him. I had plenty of time to study this 
gentleman’s course, but must say he looked to 
me no bigger than a sparrow when I did get 
a glimpse of him, and did not see him at all 
when I shot. Right after I pulled the trigger, 
however, Ed yelled to me, “He’s gone-a-light!” 
I knew then that this gentleman had been fool 
enough to get too close to my load and was 
hurt badly. 
Ed having seen the bird go down, stood still, 
while I made my way through the cut and 
brush and started on the other side to hunt 
in the direction where I thought the bird must 
be, and fully forty yards from where I first 
reached the top, my dog started to “make 
game’; he roaded for ever so long, and at last 
pointed. I ordered him on, but he did not 
budge. We were now so far away from the 
spot where I thought my bird should lie, that I 
had reason to expect another bird to jump. I 
was, therefore, fully prepared for it, and told 
the dog to fetch. He made a jump that would 
be a credit to a greyhound, but the partridge 
ducked under a fallen tree and this time started 
a foot race. The old dog was bent on carrying 
out my order to fetch and, tired as he was, won 
the race and soon was pounding daylight out 
of this gentleman, much as he had done the 
previous day, and I didn’t care what he did with 
him. He was evidently just as “hot under the 
collar” at these partridges as I was and just as 
glad to get hold of one. 
When he brought it in, I had to kill the bird, 
for it was only wing-tipped—a lucky shot! This 
was beyond all doubt the longest shot I ever 
made, and one that I shall never forget. The 
flight from me was a left-quartering, towering, 
driver—the hardest of all shots for me, and 
a shot that cost me the Grand American Handi- 
cap. I have more than one reason to remember 
that shot. 
After we had finished talking about that long 
shot, we started to hunt toward home; we had 
occasion to stop at a spring, took a drink and 
filled our pipes and rested. I was tired, and 
so was my dog, and while Ed didn’t say he was, 
I noticed when he got up he dragged his legs 
pretty well and was heavy-eyed, too. 
Only a short distance from where we had 
rested my dog flushed a bird, which I thought 
was excusable, for we were coming down hill 
with the wind on our backs, and the chances 
were that the bird flushed more on account of 
our talking too much than for the dog. I there- 
fore did not administer a licking, but talked 
hard, which did just as much good, for he 
pointed this same bird a little while later at 
almost an incredible distance across another of 
these cut outs. 
I knew the bird could not be on my side of 
this cut, and cautioned Ed to look out, at the 
same time showing him the point and telling 
him where I thought the bird must lay. As he 
walked toward that brush, the bird flushed and 
flew—as it seemed to me for five (?) minutes— 
then Ed shot. Too far! Well, I did not follow 
that bird, but made a bee-line for the road for 
nach and never left it until I stepped into the 
ote 
Just before getting into town, my dog pointed 
from the road in to a hedge adjoining a private 
residence, and a partridge got out of there; 
neither one saw it, and it would have done us 
no good if we had, for our guns were empty. 
