The Neihart herald. [volume] (Neihart, Mont.) 1890-1901, 1893-04-29

but assumed a gait something like
that of a handy legged person, wag-
ging his tail and holding n of his
lips between his teeth. l couldn't
keep still any longer, and followed
my father and Tresor, crawling care.
fully all the way, But the bustard
wouldn't allow us to get within 300
yards; it started on a run first, then
Tapping its wings flew, away. Ire
sor made a bound forward and stared
at it. l, too, looked at it-with such
a disappointed heart. Couldn't it
have staid just a little longer2 We
should certainly have killed the bird.
One day l started with my father
to go hunting. 1t was on the ave of
st. Peters day. AT that season of
the year the young cartridges are
still very small, and my father would
not shoot any. He therefore en-
tered a patch of oak trees situated
on the edge of a ryefeld, where you
were always sure to find quail. AS
it was rather difficult to cut the
grass in this piece of wood, it had
been allowed to grow freely and had
attained a great height. Myriads of
flowers, vetch, clover, harebell,
mouse ear and sweet william throve
there in abundance. Whenever !
came to this spot with my sister or
the m~aidservant, l carried home
whole armfuls, but when in the
company of my father l did not
think of picking flowers. I consid-
cred that occupation unbecoming a
sportsman.
Suddenly Tresor came to a stop.
My father made a signal to me to be
cautious. Right in front of Tresor a
hen quail rose and flew off. But she
flew in a strange manner, turning
and tumbling over and over again, in
the air, and then falling to the
ground as if she had been wounded.
Tresor made for her as fast as posi-
ble-a thing he never did when the
bird flew in it's usual manner.
My father could not take aim for
fear of hitting the dog. Presently
Tresor made a sudden dash, and be-
fore we knew it he had seized the
quail and brought her to my father.
My father took the bird from him
and laid it on its back on the palm
Of his hand. ran up to him.
whats the matterl' l cried. us
she wounded"
NO" replied my father; ''she
must, however, have her nest with
her little ones close by. She acted
as if she were wounded so that the
dog might think he could catch her
easily
why did she do so2'
In order to divert the dogs atten.
ton from her little ones. After which,
if she had succeeded, she would have
flown away, But this time she missed
her little game, and Tresor has caught
her."
Then she is not hitl" inquired
again.
'No-but she won't live-Tresor
must have injured her with his
teeth"
l stepped nearer to have a better
look at the quail. She rested motion
less on the palm of my fathers hand.
Her head was dropping and her black
eye looked at me sideways. All at
once a feeling of pity overcame me.
1t seemed to me as if the poor little
bird regarded me and thought: "Why
must I die2 Why2 Have l not done
my duty2 | tried to save my little
ones, to draw the dogs attention away
from them, and here | am a captive!
All, me! Poor me! This is not just!
No, no, it is not just!"
papa, perhaps she will not die,"1
cried, trying to aress the little birds
head.
My father answered:
She'll die. Look! In another
moment her legs will %stiffen, her body
will tremble and her eyes will close"
Indeed that's what did happen be-
fore long. When her eyes had closed,
| began to cry.
"Well, what's the matterl" my ia
Their exclaimed almost laughingly.
Il pity her." | replied. "She did
her duty, and she has been killed. 1t
is not JUST
"She wanted to play a deceitful
game" my father answered, but
Tresor was too smart for her"
Bad dog" l thought. (At that
moment l even thought my father
himself was not good.) There was
nothing deceitful in her action. It
was the love for her young that
prompted her to do it. Because she
was forced to dissemble in order to
save her brood, it does not follow
that Tresor had to seize her.
My father wanted to put the quail
in his game bag, but 1 begged him to
give her to me. placed her in my
two hands and warmed her with my
breath, hoping to bring her back to
life again, but she did not stir.
you waste your time" said my
father. You can't revive her. Don't
you e how her head is drooping2"
l tenderly raised her head by the
bill, but as soon as I let go, it would
fall back.
DO you pity her so much9" asked
my father again.
who will feed her young?" / re-
piled.
NT-