FOREST 
Vol. XCV No. 2 

PSTREAM 
February ~ 1925 
The Top of the Quail Season 
When Northern Uplands Are Blanketed with Snow, the Enthusiastic 
Follower of Field Sports Seeks the Genial Covers of the Southland 
“ ASS, sor! Thank yo’ sor; I 
¥ hope yo’ had a Merry Christ- 
mas, sor; .Yass Miss, dis is yo’ 
drawin’ room—on de Greensboro cyar, 
Miss—and dinner’s all ready in de 
dinin’ cyar, Yass Miss—.” The shin- 
ing ebony face of George, our colored 
“no’ter,” withdrew, and, with an almost 
imperceptible tremor, our train glided 
smoothly out of the big’ station. 
We’re off at last, Hooray! 
“Good evening, Conductor—” 
“’Evenin’ Cap’n, ’evenin’ Ma’am, 
going’ to spend New Year’s with 
the birds, I see—your dogs have 
plenty of company up in the bag- 
gage car—dquite a few goin’ fur- 
ther south to the trials—’ With 
our frequent trips to the land of 
Bob White, my wife and I felt 
quite at home on the Southern 
Express. It was the day after 
Christmas and with my constant 
friend and shooting companion of 
many days afield, Harry S. Page, 
we were off for another campaign 
with the quail. We were keenly 
looking forward to having the 
very cream of the season, for 
educated by a couple of months 
of shooting, strong, and in full 
winter plumage, your January 
quail of the Carolinas, is some- 
thing in the nature of a feathered 
“wizz bang’; quite different in- 
deed, from the comparatively 
tame tyros of early November. Our 
destination was a snug little club, main- 
tained by a few kindred spirits, at 
Archdale, North Carolina, and sur- 
rounded on all sides by several thou- 
sand acres of the very best shooting 
territory in a state long famous as a 
haven of good dogs and good sport. 
UR own land was surrounded on 
four sides by the Gould, Lorillard, 
Thomasville and Brokaw preserves, so 
_ that, well protected from vermin or 
poaching, the birds had, from year 
By CAPT. BEVERLEY W. ROBINSON 
to year, shown a healthy increase. 
Passing through Washington about 
midnight, next morning’s dawn found 
us running through a country of low 
pines and broom grass, interspersed 
with fields of wheat stubble, cotton or 
peanut. Now and again we flew past 
some bedraggled negro cabin, in front of 
which the usual litter of pickaninnies 
stood waving their black hands. By 

Bob White, perennial dispenser of 
good cheer 
seven o’clock a long blast of the whistle 
warns us, and, slowing down, our train 
comes to a stop at High Point, N. C. 
We all bundle out with guns, bags and 
wraps, and, after greeting old Amos, 
our kennel man, who has driven over 
to meet us, are soon under way in the 
buckboard, on our four mile drive out 
to the club house. Though very simple, 
it is extremely comfortable and the 
living room with its welcome log fire, 
gun rack over the mantlepiece, and 
walls brightened by the mellow tints of 
old sporting prints, makes a delightful 
Contents Copyrighted by Forest and Stream Pub. Co. 
retreat in the evening after a long day 
afield. ’Gene, our ever smiling magi- 
cian of saucepan and skillet, appears 
in the doorway, as usual in black and 
white; Black as to his grinning coun- 
tenance, very white as to_ spotless 
jacket, cap, and shiny teeth. “If yo’ 
all is quite ready, breakfus ’s on de 
table.” 
The kennels, clean, dry and airy, 
were surrounded by a good yard 
enclosed in a high whitewashed 
slat fence. 
Y a process of selecting and 
weeding, we had gotten to- 
gether a top notch lot of dogs, 
each one of which had ably proved 
his or her worth during many 
long and happy days with the 
birds. 
The pointers, though in a 
minority of three, were all that 
good bird dogs should be, and the 
eleven blue beltons had to keep 
right on their toes to hold their 
end up. But well they did it, 
thanks to their aristocratic line- 
age, in which the names of Glad- 
stones and Rodrigos prominently 
figured. 
As the morning was pretty well 
advanced, we decided only to have 
an afternoon’s shoot today and 
were glad to entertain the Judge 
and the Doctor who strolled over 
for an early call. 
Both agreed that eleven o’clock was 
a perfectly proper hour for an old 
country pineapple toddy, so to its sooth- 
ing influences, dogs, politics, trotting 
races and the calendar for the next 
“co’t day” were all duly discussed on 
the front “po’ch” until lunch time. 
BS the early afternoon Amos pulled 
up the wagon on the edge of the big 
stubble over on the hill to the eastward 
and “Mack” and “Belle” came bouncing 
out of their crate with eager whimpers. 
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