The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1872-10-05


AS lay the fine bird, with its deep greer
head and neck, and canvas back, by tn
side of the goose, tho little chap can holt
in no longer. 81 tell you what, papa
this is business! we're just msore'n goin.
for them, this morning ~ With this ex
plosion he takes up tho reins, and subsidies
He has been but three years in the West
and he has the whole lingo: there is NJ
stopping it. Great is Young America
and will prevail
For mile, now, nothing appears. W.
are making a stretch directly across th'
prairie to other ponds and fields, and soor
seem riding right out into space, for the
without house, tree, fence or field to breal
in on the outline. But it is nowhere leve
ground, to any great extent, for gentle
undulations, and occasional elevations
with corresponding descent, vary the mon
otony of the scene and of the ride. "See
see!' the little fellow cries out: and there
coming down the wind, are hundred and
fifty chickens, Tapping their wings, for &
few strong strokes, then sailing on with
wings set, as in very glee and wantonness
of motion. They may 60 miles, in this
way, without alighting; it is their wont
This particular flock, however, has flown
its flight, and settles, but little distance
of, in the deep, brown grass. Where are
they now? Invisible, and at such times
always invisible to man and dog, notwith'
standing fancy sketches which show them
all in sight, and the dogs ready to eat them.
But, through the tops of this withered
grass, every pair of keen black eyes sees
you, and marks every motion; Ordinarily,
they will not lie to the dog at this season;
but on sunny day, after night of sharp
frost, they are, sometimes, very tame.
Such are the conditions of this day, and
Bess and 1 will try the birds. Passing
around to get the wind, the dog has made
but few stretches, to and fro, before the
well.known scent strikes her. She stops;
draws slowly on, her nose just clearing the
grass: then comes to a full stand. l step
up to the dog, and in an instant the whole
pack is in the air, with single spring,
scattering in every direction. 1t is poor
shot that cannot get bird with each bar
rel, in such case: and am not that shot.
One is young bird, fully grown: the 9TH
err an old cock, that may have drummed on
the prairies for years. See, as we lift him
the pointed black feathers, projecting from
the neck, giving him his name, ''pinnat-
ed" the yellow wattles on either side of
his neck. with which, distended to the
size of an orange, he booms defiance to his
enimies or love to his mates. For, sad to
say for him, Tetrao has no particular love.
Hence, 1 suppose, his name-Cupido;
Tetrao Cupido; lawless Tetrao, The dear
little quail will fight to the death for his
choice; and the mate he has achieved with
a bloody crown, he will stick to for the
rest of the season. The ruff grouse will
do the same; but this fellow, what shall
we say for him? Not only not monoga-
nous, he is not polygamous even; promis-
cuous rather, utterly common. But the
one at our feet will boom and set. bad ex-
amples no more. The gallant bird has,
every inch of him, the inexpressible game
look of his family: we throw veil over
his failings, and deposit him in the buggy.
Passing on, we soon draw near a corn
field, from which sweep of prairie slopes
down to large weedy pond. Here we
ought to find brant. To do so, the horse
must go on, and the hunter must hide him
self. Giving directions to my little boy to
keep out of the way, for the brant likes not
nearness to man or beast, 1 step inside of
the corn just far enough to be hidden, and
vet 10 command view of the edge of the
field and of the prairie beyond. A shot
from below me, in the field, puts me on
my guard: my neighbor missed his aim,
for here comes an old grouse just outside
the field line, his natural speed quickened
by the shot behind him. l have no time
to withdraw the BIB now:-they are for
brant:-just time to throw up my gun, as
he passes me, and the heavy shot, as they
strike him dead, pitch him at least six feet
forward and out of his line of flight
Down down in the corn close down for
right on me comes flock of eleven brant.
At my shot, they veer out of the direct
line over me, but they were too near and
coming too swiftly to get wholly away.
Thanks for the BIB in my only cartridge,
now: had no time to insert another
Getting their motion, l fire, and one of the
birds leaves the rest, sets his wings, and
slopes off, motionless, for the distant pond.
Every hunter knows this to be the sign of
a fatal shot. Sixty rods off he strikes in
the pond, a few rods from its edge, bound
ing twice and throwing up the water in
spray by the force of his fall. Reloading,
l give the word to Bess, who has watched
the fall: she rushes ahead of me to the
water, plunges in, snuffs the scented sur
face IN every direction, but no bird is
there. Whenever a water-b bird is shot,
over the land, it makes at once for the
water; if shot on the water, or if it falls
into it, it will make for the weeds on shore,
or for the deep grass Of the prairie.
So call Bess in from the water: she is
following the line of the shore, when her
wondrous nose detects the outward trail; up
the praire again and towards the field she
boldly and rapidly treads it. A pause:
her head is lifted little higher, then
plunged downward in the grass: and there,
before me- lies the beautiful bird, dead; a
rich cream color, the whole length below;
glossy brown above, with the exquisite
orange of the bill and the legs adding ma
lures own faultless finish to the bird.
I confess that, for look, habit, delicacy
for the table, the brant is my favorite of
the prairie game. may we'll say "good
dog ~ to the expectant Bess, this time;
for without her instinct and sagacity l
should no more have secured this dead bird
than the rest of the flock that flew away.
Now for the buggy again, with the game.
l cross the field, and coming out, find that
it corners on another field. Toward that
corner, eighty rods away, bear, looking