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American Game Birds 
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104 


In writing to Advertisers mention Forest and Stream. 
and will become potential silver fox 
skin buyers in a few years or just as 
soon as the American silver fox breed- 
ers can organize themselves and prop- 
erly advertise their products. To-day 
all silver fox skins are sold with little 
advertising. What can it become when 
we can make it the most popular fur 
of the day? The future of the indus- 
try is very bright. Many fox ranches 
are sold out of their year’s increase 
long before the young are born. 
OVERNMENT climate maps have 
been prepared for those who wish 
to learn whether their locality is prop- 
erly suited for fox raising. Many will 
be surprised to learn of the large area 
that is suited for this industry. 
As the merits of this wonderful in- 
dustry become better known and peo- 
ple of wealth begin to invest in it, a 
great boom will take place. There is 
an opportunity for persons with money 
and ambition to become identified with 
an activity that has all the possibili- 
ties of becoming one of America’s lead- 
ing farm industries. 
Following Bob White in 
Arkansas 
(Continued from page 667) 
yielded five birds. The remainder of 
the covey settled along the same slough 
a little beyond the first covey. Joe 
promptly retrived the dead birds and 
went on. At the edge of the weeds 
bordering the slough he nailed a single. 
Clark and I tossed a coin for the shot, 
and (true to form) I called it wrong. 
Had you seen the feathers fog when 
Clark’s gun fired, you would have been 
convinced that the death of that quail 
was premeditated. Joe moved forward 
a few feet and pointed. Up came two 
birds, and they were promptly ushered 
into eternity. Working along that 
slough, we secured five more perfect 
points which netted eight birds, bring- 
ing our total to twenty-eight. Desir- 
ing to leave the remaining ones for 
seed, I commanded Joe to “heel” and 
we went to the car to eat our lunch. 
Slight fatigue, the chill of the air and 
sight of that lunch, brought before us 
ghosts of sparkling and beaded bev- 
erages of other days—just ghosts, noth- 
ing more. Clark assured me that if 
anything should ever be added to the 
Book of Books, it would be a new chap- 
ter in Lamentations, upon the life and 
activities of Mr. Volstead. 
Ame: a little rest we again made 
for the quail paradise. Joe made 
a wide cast through a cotton field, and 
swung into a small ‘patch that had 
been planted to sorghum. As if play- 
ing to the gallery, he came to one of 
those points that remains a picture on 
quail hunting story for you. 
It will identify you. 






memory’s walls. With his head and 
tail high, every foot planted and every 
muscle rigid, he was a living testi- 
monial of his family’s aristocracy. We 
admired the point for several minutes, 
and with plenty of time before us to 
kill our limit, we agreed that on the 
rise we would kill just one bird each. 
A burr of wings and the contract was 
quickly executed to the letter. The bal- 
ance of the covey, about twenty in num- 
ber, scattered well over two or three 
acres of wheat stubble covered with 
low rag weeds and crab grass. The 
stage setting was made to order. Joe 
snapped into point after point that 
would excite the admiration of any one 
who loves a bird dog. After shooting 
fourten birds in that cover, we left the | 
others for breeding stock. I called Joe 
out of the stubble and he made a long 
cast to the south of us. He began to 
road across a bare cotton field and a 
large covey flushed fifty yards ahead 
of him. ; 
E dropped to wing and remained 
down till Clark and I came up. 
Sent on, he located the covey in a dense 
cover along an old fence row. As we 
approached, the birds flushed from the 
other side of the bushes and gave us 
no opportunity for a shot. They 
crossed a shallow dredge ditch and set- 
tled along the weed-covered bank. Joe 
crossed the ditch south of the birds and 
worked northward into the wind. Soon 
we saw him standing on the ditch bank. 
As we walked in front of the dog, the 
birds flushed and four of them dropped 
to our guns. A part of the covey flew 
northward along the ditch in the direc- 
tion of our car. We followed them and 
in a few minutes filled our bag limit © 
of fifty birds. We were glad to call 
it a day. 
I called Joe to heel. A short walk 
brought us to the car, a little tired, but 
thoroughly satisfied. Joe was care- 
fully blanketed, Clark and I slid into 
our overcoats and in double-quick time | 
we clipped off the thirty-five miles be- 
tween us and home. That evening a 
couple of large steaks, with biscuits, 
gravy and all the other trimmings, fell 
prey to appetites possessed only by 
those who have had a perfect day in 
the great outdoors. 
Clark and I have an engagement for 
a day with the birds this fall. It is 
a sad reflection that Old Joe has gone 
to the happy ground, but I have some 
well trained pointers in my kennel, a~™ 
few of which, I believe, are worthy suc- 
cessors to him. If they measure up 
to my expectations, I’ll have another 

