a fowl 
f , 
Jan. 6, 1906.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
ey 

here in season that many of them do not visit 
nightly., They get so accustomed to dodging us 
that they care little about us, only to keep out of 
sight at such times. 
Some used to be shot in such places, but very 
few, and the men who advocate hounding, an- 
gered past patience, have at iast resorted to legal 
means to reinstate a condition of things that will 
give the hounder everything, the still-hunter al- 
most nothing, until they get the deer thinned out 
again almost to the point of extermination, if 
successful. 
In view of these facts, and the fact that the 
men who try to act as nullifiers of the law, are 
not the men to obey any law that stands in their 
way, unless forced to do so, I think it very un- 
wise to cater to their tastes or to those of men 
misled into trying to help them do what has 
proved so disastrous to the deer supply before. 
I am now past the age of fifty and have been 
right in and familiar with every phase of the 
Adirondack deer question for years; having been 
initiated into it uc the age of four vears, and 
never having been out of it since. I[ can weil 
appreciate the views of men who want evc:vy- 
thing for themselves and who hunt illegally 
whenever they dare. I want a big deer supply, 
which we have now; I want to see a great many 
get one instead of only a few getting any, as it 
used to be before; I want to see the “game hog” 
forced to, for the most part, behave; as well as 
he can be made to, and I ask ycur aid, Mr. 
Editor, to help avert the state of thigs that will 
obtain here again if any pro-hounding law is 
again made effective in the Adirondacks. 
RopNey WEST. 
A Partridge Hunt in 1905. 
I supPOsE many of my fellow readers, who 
go partridge (ruffed grouse) shooting, have had 
the same experience that I met with this season, 
and what I did on this trip will be like an old 
story to them. However, it makes me laugh a 
little to think of it, and I’ll give you all a 
chance to laugh with me. To think that an old 
hand should allow himself to be talked into go- 
ing over a hundred miles from home to “a 
place where you can have from forty to fifty 
shots at partridge any day,” is enough to make 
one laugh, and the laugh is on me. 
I have heard of such places being near New 
York often, yes, very often; and have gone there 
in company and alone, but I have never had 
“forty to fifty shots a day,” never! 
I have had some very good ruffed grouse 
shooting near New York, and have learned a 
trick or two about these gentlemen, but I have 
yet to find the place where I can get anywhere 
near forty to fifty shots a day, even with a good 
dog, for that generally seems to be the excuse 
for failure. “If I only had a good dog!” I 
have a good one, as good an all-round dog as 
I want to hunt over, but he’s going on ten years 
old now and is not as fast as he used to be. I 
have killed many different kind of game over 
his points, and only a few years ago it would 
have taken a real cracker to best him on any 
game bird, English snipe, quail, partridge or 
woodcock, although I have killed comparatively 
few of the latter over him. My friends know 
that he is a good one, and consequently I have 
many opportunities to go hunting in company. 
Hunting alone is little pleasure for me, and 
I have generally had a so-called shooting partner 
every season. This season, however, was an 
exception to the rule. My old friend Ernst, 
with whom I have hunted many years, branched 
off and got married some years ago, and that 
put a damper on his hunting for a while at least. 
Later I formed the acquaintance of a very con- 
genial fellow, a near neighbor, who enjoyed the 
sport of getting up an hour before daybreak on 
cold March mornings and who, like myself, 
learned to be satisfied with a few snipe before 
eating breakfast. But he, too, got married late 
this fall, “hooked up,” so to speak, and we did 
not shoot much together this fall and could not 
settle on a date for our usual trip. 
_ It was early in March that I chanced to meet 
another neighbor while hunting snipe, a good 
fellow, but not what I call a hunter. He likes 

shooting well enough, but when it comes to 
working hard for it, he is likely to find a rest- 
ing place and yell out, “Which way now?” 
“Ed” is good company nevertheless, and he 
soon learned my peculiarities when in the field 
or brush—and they are many. ‘Look out where 
you point the muzzle of your gun,” a remark 
I often make, and some people do not like to 
be told that too often, and then, again, I don’t 
like to tell them too often either, it spoils my 
fun. But Ed would crack a joke and try to be 
more careful until the next time. He is a man 
who can keep one interested on almost any 
subject, and he tells a story well. In one of 
his talks he got me somewhat interested in “the 
place where he hunted three years ago,” where, 
“if ’'d had a good dog, I’d a had forty to fifty 
shots a day at partridges any and every day.” 
For a long time I managed to laugh off Ed’s 
persistent efforts to get me to promise to go 
there with him for a long while, and had about 
made up my mind to go alone to one of my 
old stamping grounds this year, when one fine 
evening Ed brought out a letter just received 
from his friend up the State, “where I was three 
years ago.” This letter was very businesslike; 
his friend said that he would be pleased to have 
Ed come up with a friend after Election Day, 
and he would go out with him. He added: 
“Bring a good dog, for birds are as plentiful 
as ever.” 
This friend of Ed’s, by the way, had been 
described as an extremely good partridge shot, 
and after reading his letter, I was favorably 
struck with the idea ut going up. I thought it 
all over, arranged my affairs so that I could 
ea for a few days and told Ed I’d go with 
uim. 
My wife laughed at me when she saw me 
pack 200 shells; but I told her, “If I get one- 
fifth as many shots as these fellows predict, we'll 
have our usual game dinner. 
Saturday evening I took two very heavy grips 
to the depot and had them checked. Sunday 
morning at 9g o'clock the old express train 
pulled out of the depot and at about 2 P. M. we 
landed at our destination. Then the fun (?) 
began. 
When we reached Charley’s place Ed went up- 
stairs and broke the news of our arrival, and 
after about half an hour, came down again, 
looking blue, and asked me up. Up we went, 
and were soon doing justice to a good old- 
fashion German-cooked home-made dinner, 
Then came the explanation of Ed’s blue looks. 
“Vou see,” said Charley, ‘Bill Jacobs got a lot 
of lumber over on his lot and I’ve contracted 
to haul it off this week, and I wrote you to that 
effect, telling you to come up next week and I'd 
go with you. I can’t go this week, but I’ll get 
a man to go with you.” Just about this time 
a good-looking, raw-boned country lad, about 
twenty or so, came into the room and a general 
how-d-ye do stopped the conversation. Later 
we were introduced to this young fellow, Bill, 
who said he would go with us in the morning. 
I was told that if we had any kind of a dog, 
we'd have no trouble getting forty or fifty shots 
at partridge and perhaps a shot at a deer. That 
was good news for me, and I slept like a brick. 
Next morning, after all preparations had been 
made, we drove to Bill’s. Sitting still in an 
open wagon on a cold morning is cold com- 
fort indeed, but we got there and Bill was up, 
but he hadn’t had his breakfast. While waiting 
for him I busied myself looking the dogs over. 
There were three in the house, one a very 
pretty Gordon setter, an Irish setter and his 
dam, all worked down to skin and bones, not an 
ounce of superfluous flesh on either, but all 
bright-eyed and hard as nails. 
While thus engaged, in came Bill’s brother. 
“Well,” said he, “going to try the birds, or 
are you after rabbits?” Ed said, “Birds.” I 
said, “How about it, got any left? The dogs look 
as though you had worked them pretty hard.” 
“Ves,” he replied, “they've had hard work. I’ve 
got a brother-in-law that comes up here every 
fall and just hunts them dogs every day, I don’t 
get no chance no more to have a little fun; he 
just knocks off work and hunts the whole sea- 
son. He’s a-getting $2.50 a pair for partridge 
im the city, and he’s thrown up a good job just 
to hun. He’s got things pretty well cleaned 
out around here; darn his hide. He’s got eigh- 
teen birds hanging up in the cellar now, I 
reckon he’ll be taking them in now that you 
fellows are here to-day.” Then pointing his 
left hand due south, he said, ““He’s got Jim 
Dorger’s swamp hunted to death’; then point- 
ing east, continued, ‘‘and there h’ain’t a bird 
left, hardly, on Bryer’s Hill, so there ain’t hardly 
no use tryin for them around here, unless you 
strike further out.” That put a damper on my 
happy expectations, for Charley and Bill had 
been talking about going through Jim Dorger’s 
swamp. 
Bill put a box of shells in his pockets, and 
when we got outside, I asked him, ‘““Where do we 
hunt?” “Oh, we’ll take in Dorger’s swamp!” and 
to Dorger’s swamp we went. I made up my 
mind then and there that I’d have to hunt hard 
for every shot I might get, and I had to do it! 
I worked my way off from the others until I 
could no longer hear their conversation, and, in 
fact, had to circle back at times to hear their 
“whoo-hoo.”’ Once I heard them shoot, this 
was just about the time when my old dog was 
getting very busy, and he soon drew up to a 
point. 
“What have you got, old boy?” in answer to 
which I got a slight move of his tail and he 
raised his head slowly, then walked on, but soon 
stiffened out again. A little talking to—I guess 
we all do that to the dog we love and which 
tries to please us—brought the old dog up, and 
away he went; took a circle and came to a point, 
facing me. 
Only the man who knows the tricks of the 
partridges and knows his dog thoroughly can 
appreciate such work and judgment on the part 
of his dog. He had surrounded “Mr. Pat” and 
made him lie between himself and me. This 
gentleman was now cornered, and he made no 
further attempt to run ahead of the dog; but 
what next? I walked up and kicked around, but 
no bird flushed. I spoke to my dog and he 
came up, as much puzzled as I was. I told him 
to go on and started to follow him, and had 
passed by a hemlock, where I had been kick- 
ing about and talking, when out flew the par- 
tridge straight over my head from_ behind. 
Without the slightest warning this bird had left 
its hiding place and gone to another in this 
tree.. By a little good holding and more good 
luck, he flew into my load, and after a little 
hunting, the dog pointed at a distance from 
where I thought the bird should be. It was 
only wing-broken and covered some ground be- 
fore it was overtaken. This was the first bird 
of the season for the dog and me, and I shall 
not forget what followed. 
There was the old dog, standing dead bird, 
with his eyes as big as saucers and trembling 
from stem to stern with joy and excitement. 
“Go fetch!” and of course he didn’t need the 
second command. The bird started again, but 
the old dog soon had him, and while he didn’t 
“mouth” him, the feathers flew as from a 
bursted pillow; he was pounding the bird to the 
ground. Not once only, but he kept it up until 
I thought he’d have all the feathers picked off, 
and I told him to quit and fetch, which he did, 
and then shook himself as though he had en- 
joyed a good swim. This bird proved to be an 
old cock and certainly a wise one and very 
heavy. 
We started off again with fresh hopes, and got 
within talking distance of Bill, who told me that 
he had killed nothing. Bill and I then “took 
up” together and saw some nice dog work, but 
got no points, much less a shot at the birds, 
I left them again, and soon my dog told me by 
his actions that he had a bird running before 
him which, after all kinds of clever work on the 
dog’s part to make him lay, flushed out of sight. 
Time after time this same thing happened, and 
time and again the dog and I felt and said 
things not fit for print. 
Ed, who was hunting a friend’s young pointer 
dog, also found the birds acting wild. This I 
learned after making a very wide tour around 
the boys and met them again, this time coming 
in from behind them and to their left, after hunt- 
ing on their right all the morning. I called them 
to me and we held a consultation. I asked Bill 
