

Nov. 30, 1907.] 
night have been.’’ Scores of times have mine 
yes been gladdened and my pulses quickened by 
imultaneous rises of two of these varieties, and 
ond recollections of many a glorious double of 
his nature often come back to me when in over- 
iauling memory’s storehouse I find myself again 
hreading the leafy aisles of some favorite cover 
1 the good old days. On several occasions I 
slave flushed all three of these birds from one 
joint, and with the assistance of a companion 
\iave gathered them all in. 
: The Ruffed Grouse. 
( The ruffed grouse in New England, commonly 
jalled partridge, is the very best game bird that 
Jahabits this continent. I say this advisedly, and 
‘vithout fear of contradiction from any sports- 
jaan who has hunted them enough to become 
Jairly well acquainted with their habits and is 
st all expert in their capture. Many writers in- 
list that this royal bird is a very unsatisfactory 
jne to pursue for sport, and they have written 
folumns in its vilification and are unsparing in 
ipithets, condemning some of its characteristic 
jabits. All of which goes to prove conclusively 
jaat these same writers have scant knowledge 
if the subject upon which they have wasted so 
jauch valuable ink. 
(| I have many times been greatly amused to wit- 
sess the sudden change in the opinion of one of 
jiese outspoken gentlemen when given oppor- 
jinity to participate in the pleasure that comes 
|) those only who dearly love the fascinating 
jort, and have learned by a large experience, 
jme at least of the many interesting traits and 
jabits that are a part of the life of this truly 
{xyal inhabitant of the forests that crown with 
jlory our beautiful hills and mountains. A brief 
jeriod with the expert grouse hunter in the 
jaunts of his favorite bird will nearly always 
{rove to the cynic or tyro that there is a hitherto 
jadreamed of wealth of sport and pleasure in 
jie pursuit of this splendid bird; and if he is 
J9ssessed of true sportsmanlike instinct and has 
latience to persevere, his reward is sure, and 
{gal sport awaits his pleasure. 
{ The late Hon. George Ashmun—than whom 
{ore finished gentleman or truer sportsman never 
ent afield—was not in his earlier days a lover 
the partridge in the way of sport. He was 
jiten the shooting companion of the immortal 
Tebster, and the only criticism of the great 
atesman that I ever heard him utter was that 
: loved the partridge “not wisely, but too well.” 
y first two shooting expeditions with Mr. Ash- 
gun were devoted to the woodcock covers, and 
|> attempt was made to search for grouse. Of 
J)urse we took an occasional shot at them when 
‘e found them—intruding, he called it—on the 
,oodcock grounds; but his distaste for follow- 
+g them was so pronounced that I rather re- 
ctantly suppressed my inclinations and devoted 
4y time to his favorite bird, the woodcock. The 
Jird time we were out together we visited the 
jiaint old town of Holland in the southern por- 
}n of the old Bay State, a town that can boast 
jJore ragged rocks and rugged hills to the square 
}re than any town I know that holds or rather 
id hold so many birds. : 
{On this occasion we very fortunately found 
Jie of his favorite woodcock covers without a 
figle longbill, but we did find a noble covey 
4 grouse that flushed wild and settled in some 
diall detached patches of dense cover that looked 
ost promising. With the most serious expres- 
#on of countenance and voice that I could assume 
{ 




FOREST AND STREAM. 
855 
————— 

I launched torrents of abuse at the intruding 
grouse for usurping the ground that was the 
birthright of the woodcock. Then as the 
friend of the evicted I appealed to 
my companion as a lawyer for advice as to the 
proper course to pursue. Withamerry twinkle in 
his eye and a broad smile upon his countenance 
he took a firmer grasp of his gun, and in a melo- 
dramatic tone “Fiat ruat 
celum.” Then we went for those intruders, and 
for more than two hours we reveled in the en- 
joyment of such sport as only comes to the elect 
when, with congenial companion, “the best dog 
in the world,’ beautiful surroundings, plenty of 
birds and straight powder, he adds one more 
priceless gem to the store of memories that shall 
come back to cheer and bless his joyless hours 
when shooting days are over. 
Mr. Ashmun—as he afterward acknowledged— 
proposed going for the birds more to please me 
than with any thought of sport. He well knew 
that the royal bird had the warmest corner in 
my heart, and that every nerve in my frame was 
still vibrating with responsive echo of the music 
of the quickly beating pinions. I plainly saw that 
his countenance lacked the animated expression 
that illuminated it when following his favorite 
bird, and it was with unbounded pleasure and 
satisfaction that I noted the gradual change in 
his features as the sport became more and more 
exciting, until even the “woodcock expression” 
was intensified and glorified, and I did not need 
the assurance he gave to know that he too had 
become a “partridge crank.” Mr. Ashmun never 
forsook his first love, the woodcock, but 
after this he had a good word for the bird he 
had so often condemned, and was always ready 
to try conclusions with them. 
I could record scores of similar instances, for 
I have very many times had the pleasure of wit- 
nessing just such change of heart; but perhaps 
I have said enough to illustrate the point I 
wished to make relative to the great love for 
the sport of grouse shooting that comes to those 
who have opportunity to enjoy the pleasure that 
attends successful: pursuit of this wise and wary 
will-o’-the-wisp of the tangled thicket. 
next 
innocents, 
exclaimed, justitia 
ever 

Tales of the Plains. 
II.—Hunting] Elk on Horseback. 
Ir was about two weeks after leaving Ft. 
Harker that I got my first shot at an elk. 
We had passed through a country almost de- 
void of hills—elevations of the plain rather, I 
should name them—through a stretch of prairie 
covered with buffalo grass, and in places by miles 
of wild sunflowers, planted, it was said, by the 
Mormons who scattered the seed on their march 
westward to Salt 'Lake. It was a glorious sight 
to look upon the expanse of bright yellow 
flowers, whose seeds had been scattered year 
after year by the winds to reproduce and propa- 
gate themselves miles and miles away from their 
original starting point. Occasionally we rode 
across places where for years the Indians had 
hunted the buffalo, and had left countless bones 
and skulls to whiten the prairie for miles. 
We were gradually approaching the hills, as 
they were called, and on top of one of these we 
saw through our glasses a Cheyenne scout who 
looked as if he were making fun of the troop. 
He put his fingers to his nose in a most indecent 
manner, and calmly sat his pony with another 
pony tied by a lariat at his side. The Indians 
of the village took good care to keep out of 
sight. We were pushing them every day in the 
direction of their main band. Their presence 
in the neighborhood obliged us to use more care 
on our hunting trip, and not go further than a 
day away from the troop, and to keep a sharp 
lookout for our horses at night. 
We had seen elk in small bands feeding ect 
the plains, with buffalo and antelope, and re- 
minding me of some big cattle ranch. It was 4 
grand sight to see these animals apparently with- 
out any fear of being disturbed by man. 
I_ was by this time considered by the men to 
belong to the troop, as I had assisted in killing 
meat in all the shooting parties. More than once 
I was approached by some man in the troop who 
asked me as a great favor to get him on the 
detail for the next hunt. I had been loaned for 
this day’s hunt a big raw-boned horse by one 
of the men who told me he had no end of wind, 
and could outrun any horse in the troop; but 
cautioned me not to give him too much head 
or he might run away, which he was known to 
do on all occasions. But when you were dis- 
mounted, he would stand where you left him 
or follow you like a dog when he knew you. 
Farley and myself were riding ahead of the 
mule wagon, the men following in the rear. As 
we passed between two hills three elk appeared 
at the top of one, about two hundred yards away. 
One was an old bull with a splendid pair of 
antlers; he was followed by two cows. On see- 
ing us they stopped. I slipped off my old raw- 
bone looking animal, and putting up the sights 
for three hundred yards, let go. Down went the 
old bull, but I had my sights a little too high 
and had only creased him across the back, and 
he was on his legs in a second and disappeared 
over the hill. 
I made a remark to myself and started for the 
vanishing point. By the time I reached it he 
was some eight hundred yards away, and headed 
for a gulch filled With undergrowth and cotton- 
wood, followed by the cows. I took my glasses 
and watched the passage of that old fellow, rush- 
ing through the dense scrub and timber with his 
head thrown back, and his antlers protecting his 
shoulders. It seemed mere play to him. I could 
see him turn his head to avoid the limbs as he 
brushed them aside. He scarcely slackened his 
gait as he passed through, and I watched him 
till he disappeared over a hill beyond the belt of 
timber. 
I had only just got back to Farley and the 
men when on turning the hill where we had the 
shot at the bull, we came across eleven more elk 
standing and looking at us. I shouted to Farley 
to shoot, as they were in range, and got in two 
shots myself. We had no repeating rifles in 
those days, only single’ shot Springfields. 
I spurred up old Rawbones, and getting out 
my revolver, started for the band. The old horse 
was putting up his best gait and I was shooting 
rapidly as possible. I heard Farley shout: 
“Where in thunder are you going? Do you 
think you can catch elk on horseback.” I 
thought I could, and kept the old horse up to 
his best racing gait, only hoping he would take 
it into his head to run away if I could keep him 
headed toward the band. I had emptied my re- 
volver, so took to shooting with my rifle, more 
often hitting the ground or shooting at the sky, 
as the horse leaped over the plain. He was 
doing noble work, and to my surprise I found 
we were gaining on the elk. The horse had been 
used for hunting buffalo, and knew it was his 
duty to get to close quarters with the herd. He 
did his level best. Although showing signs of 
distress and dripping wet, he was game. I kept 
up my fire at the hand, and had hit two or three 
when they seemed to get demoralized. Then old 
Rawbones carried me straight into the band. I 
had them on all sides of me—in front and be- 
hind. I could have kicked them if I had taken 
my feet out of the stirrups. I got out my revolver 
and tried to load. I got all the cartridges in, 
and all rammed down except one. Somehow that 
one would not go down to its place, the point 
of the builet was a little beyond the line of the 
cylinder, so it would not turn. I took out my 
knife and tried to cut off the point. I sawed 
away at it till I got it cut off. On looking at 
my left hand, which was holding the revolver, 
I found it was streaming with blood, which was 
running down on my trousers. I had nearly cut 
my forefinger off without knowing or feeling it. 
By this time the elk were about fifty yards ahead. 
I was glad they were, for I never saw a more 

