Waterbury evening Democrat., 1889-09-23

prairie grass, and the young birds, just able to fly, fall an easy prey to even the poorest shot when assisted by good dog. During the month of September, the prairies of Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Kansas, Nebraska, Minnesota and Dakota fairly teem with prairie chickens, and it is con- sidered in some localities little of an exploit to slaughter hundred birds in days shooting. The birds are young and scarce ly able to fly and, not having been shot at, are very tame. Hot weather causes them to lie close when pursued by dog, so that when flushed they are rarely more than a few yards from the hunter. The largo mark which they present and the unvary- ing direction of their line of flight makes them an easy bird to kill and the large bags which are so often boasted of are the result.
 The vast extent of prairie and marsh land in the northern part of Indiana has al- ways been favorite haunt of the prairie chicken, and in spite of the rapid advance of civilization and the consequent increase of gunners, numbers of the birds are still found there and afford excellent sport for a short time each fall. Chicago shooters get but little of the sport, however, as the farmer boys have each covey located, and as soon as the season opens, and before that date as rule, every morning and evening half dozen or so of the birds are put to rest. Game laws are but little re- garded by the farmer lads. A bird is in season with them when he is able to fly, and as the earlier covies of chickens can some times use their wings by August the old puzzle loader is after them then. By HSnteGsber ], when the close season ends either killed or their ranks have become so thinned that it hardly pays to hunt them
 Along about the middle of last October, however, the writer enjoyed some excellent sport at couple of covies which the neighboring farmer boys had evidently overlooked and permitted to wax in size and strength until they were game birds in deed. I was spending few days at the Mak-Saw-Ba Club, of which I am mem- Der, and had had fair sport at ducks and snipe, but longed for other game for va riety's sake. My boat-pusher and hunting companion, George Warner, than whom a more earnest and painstaking hunter never lived, told me one day after morning spent in an unsuccessful pursuit of ducks that he thought we might get few chickens a short distance from the club house. Naturally delighted, as had never had even fair shooting at chickens, I in- sisted on an immediate start. A few min utes sufficed to get shells and guns ready, and, accompanied by Duke, a splendid liver and-white pointer whose early education had been at prairie chickens, we started across the prairie to a field about half mile from the clubhouse.
 We had hardly reached the spot where George expected to find the birds when Duke, who, crazy at his unexpected outing, was ranging well ahead, suddenly flushed couple of chickens, who rose wild from under patch of trees in the meadow, where the grass was hardly ankle high. As l was disconsolately watching the fast disap- bearing beauties George cried: "Mark p' and a chicken whizzed passed me like a bullet, though within easy range. Both barrels and a clear miss! The bird passed on unharmed, and then the air seemed alive with chickens. Not less than sixty