The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1894-08-30
DAKOTA HURTING GROUNDS.
A Great Place for the Fellow Who is Fond
of Field Sport.

, A Great Place for the Fellow Who Is Fond
of Field Sport.
In the early morning three teams
drove up where our car was side
tracked and we embarked in them.
The shotgun man affects buck-cOlored
canvas clothes, with many pockets, and
carries his cartridges in his shirt fronts,
like CircaSsian CoSSack. He also takes
the shells out of his gun before he
climbs into wagon, or he immediately
becomes an object of derision and
dread or, what's worse. suddenly
friendlesS and alone. He also refrains
from pointing his gun at any fellow
sportsman, and if he inadvertently does
it, he receives fusilade such as an
Irish drill-sergeant throws into re-
cruit when he does amiss. This day
was cool and with a wind blowing, and
the poor dogs leaped in delirious JOY
when let out from their boxes. in which
they had travelled all the way from
Chicago. After running the wire edge
off their nerves they were gotten to
range inside a township site, and we
logged along. The first thing which in
terested me was to hear the doctor indi-
cate to the driver that he did not care to
participate in the drivers knowledge
of hunting, and that in order to save
mental wear he only had to drive the
team, and stand fast when we got out,
in order that from the one motionless
spot on the prairie sea we could mark
down" the birds
The immensely of the wheat fields in
Dakota is astonishing to a stranger.
They begin on the edge of town, and
we drive all day and are never out of
them, and on either side they stretch
away as far as ones eye can travel.
The wheat had been cut and shocked"
which left a stubble some eight inches
high. The farm-houses are far apart,
and, indeed, not often in sight. but as
the threshing was in progress, we saw
many groups of men and horses, and
the great steam-threshers blowing
clouds of black smoke, and the flying
straw as it was belched from the bowels
of the monsters.
During the heat of the day the
chickens lie in the cover of the grass
at the sides of the fields, or in the rank
growth of some slough-hole, but at
early morning and evening they feed
in the wheat stubble. As we ride along,
the dogs range out in front, now leap
ing gracefully along. now stopping and
carrying their noses in the air to de-
tect some scent, and tinally-"There'
a point! Stop, driver" and we pile
out, breaking our guns and showing in
the cartridges.
NO hurry-no hurry" says the doc
tor, the dog will stay there month"
But, fired with the anticipations, we
move briskly up. You take the right
and I'll take the left. Don't fire over
the dog" adds the portly sportsman,
with an admonishing frown. We go
more slowly, and suddenly, with a
''whir," up get two chickens and go
sailing off. Bang. bang The doctor
bags his and | miss mine. We load and
advance, when up comes the remainder
of the covey, and the bewildering
plenty of the flying objects rattles me.
The doctor shoots well. and indeed
prairie chickens are not difficult, but |
am discouraged, AS the great sports
man Mr.. Soapy Sponge used to say,
I'm a good shooter, but IA bad hitter"
1t was in this distresSful time that |
remembered the words of the old hun
ter who had charge of my early educa
ton in As c;9ibres, which ran, take
yer time, sonny, and always see your
hind sight" and by dint of doing this
| soon improved to a satisfactory eX-
tent. The walking over the stubble is