
From a painting by Percival Rosseau 
the cause. A familiar little circle on 
the ground freshly marks the spot 
where a covey roosted last night. 
UT the birds have left here for a 
morning’s feed in some more fa- 
vored spot. We’ll have a look for them 
in the oat stubble over the hill. Whoa! 
Steady! “Dose’— That looks like 
game. For old “Smut” had stopped up 
in the corner on the hillside. Two, 
three, four cat-like steps he takes, and 
then with nose and tail outstretched in 
a rigid line, comes to a certain point 
just at the edge of the open wood. 
Br-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r! Bang! Plump! 
“Good shot, Charlie!” and the old dog 
comes proudly back with a fine cock 
grouse held gently in his mouth. How 
noticeably the first game well found, 
and particularly if well killed, settles 
dogs to the serious business of hunt- 
ing. No matter how well they have 
gone before, that magic stimulus, game 
brought to bag, seems to urge them on 
to greater and more conscientious 
efforts. Entering the wood they range 
closer to us, now and again glancing 
back to see that we are in sight. Un- 
erring noses test every breath of the 
wood-spiced air. Quick but careful feet 
are all but noiseless on the leaf-strewn 
ground, Up among some.rocks and 
644 
s 

November—A point on quail, 
ferns “Dose” slows up while her lithe 
body settles into a snake-like crawl. 
Thirty yards beyond a grouse booms 
up and I shoot at some shaking twigs. 
That’s all I hit, but when after ruffed 
grouse it isn’t a bad plan to let fly, 
however poor the view. 
In cover anything that gets up is apt 
to be within range and even a miss or 
two will only make the bird lie all the 
closer at the next point. Therefore, 
when one jumps, shoot and don’t wait 
for a “made-to-order” opportunity; and 
you will, not infrequently, be pleasant- 
ly surprised, on rounding that thick fir, 
to hear a fluttering on the ground, or 
to see your dog stop short and “point 
dead.” 
VER the crest of the hill the land 
dropped away a short distance to 
where the wood bordered a big stubble, 
so knowing that the grouse would stick 
to the cover, I turned off to the right 
to hunt the wooded hillside while Char- 
lie and the dogs worked on into the 
hollow. By keeping well up, a fairly 
open view can be had over the woods 
below me, and nearing the old top of 
a fallen oak, all overgrown with wild 
grape, a sudden rustle of leaves is fol- 
lowed by a whirr-r-r—and a bang! 
That’s better, and picking up a dead 
grouse, I hurry on down hill and join — 
Charlie and the dogs at the edge of 
the stubble. 
AME seems to be abroad this morn- — 
ing, and we are not long kept in 
suspense here, for entering on the 
low’ard side of the field the dogs take 
a bee-line for a hundred yards out to 
its centre and there each stiffens into 
a point that from nose to tail spells 
quail. The birds jump well ahead of 
the dogs, and getting two down with 
our first barrels, each scores a miss with 
the second. A third bird, however, leav- 
ing the others, flys off at a sharp angle 
mounting far higher than quail nor- 
mally do, and then, just as he tops a 
tall leafless chestnut, at the far border, 
suddenly wilts in mid air and falls 
through its branches to the ground. 
Birds not infrequently do this when 
hit about the head, so that it pays to 
follow carefully with the eye any such 
unusual actions, as when they do fall 
under such conditions they generally 
fall stone dead. Retrieving this bird, 
we cross the railroad into a swale of 
scrub oaks where the balance of the 
covey have taken refuge. 
Being devoid of ferns or underbrush 
birds run badly in this kind of cover 
making trying work for any but th 





















