pouch that swung from her shoulder, and a sixteen-gauge English gun, completed as neat a make-up as it was possible, from a sportsman's standpoint, for a pretty woman to adopt. Rastus, " she said to the "house boy," "go to the kennels and get Van and Bopeep for me; quick, now!" and Rastus, with a sidelong glance of unconcealed admiration at his young mistress, flew out of the hall to obey. A few moments later, an English setter (Bopeep) and a bigboned, rakish-looking pointer (Van) bounded upon the piazza and into the hall, charging instantly at a word from Miss Fannie. "Now, Mr. George," said she, "if you are ready, I am;" and as we stepped through the doorway, she pointed to a stubble. field well down the valley, and said, "I guess we'll take that buckwheat field first. There is a fine bevy there most of the time, and if we don't run across them there, I know where to look for them." Into the orchard we went, and had not gone half way through it when the dogs came to a beautiful point beside a little hillock, well grown with tall grass. "Don't shoot," said Fannie; "that's a bevy that were made orphans last Summer. A stupid puppy killed the old bird as she scuttled off from her nest one day. I raised the young ones by hand, and have since seen that they don't go hungry. They won't fly far." And they did not. As we came up, a few of the birds flushed, and the balance ran away among the trees. The dogs were then called to heel and we continued on our way. I learned before we got through the day that Fannie could shoot, and shoot well, but her shooting was no such accomplishment, to me, as was her fence climbing. The ease and grace, yet utter lack of manishness, displayed by this pretty Missouri girl in taking the dozen or more fences that we were compelled to climb during the day, was something well worth coming out West to see. It mattered not whether it was a board, a rail, or a wire fence; she got over or through it, as the conditions suggested, without ever once displaying the full length of her russet boot top. I attempted to help her over the first fence, when she looked at me in surprise, smiled, and the next instant was laughing at me from the other side of the rails. "I don't mind them a bit," she explained, "for I've climbed them all ever since I could remember," and after that I made it a point to find fences for her to climb instead of avoiding them. Over the fence at the buckwheat patch we went, and within forty yards of it, Bopeep stopped on a stiff point, beautifully backed by Van. "You take the first shot, Miss Fannie," said I," and when they rise I will take my chance." "Take care of yourself, Mr. George," she answered, "don't bother about me;" and then, as the birds rose, she cut down one with each barrel, leaving me so surprised that I forgot all about the gun in my hands and the bunch of fat birds that were darting away over the stubble. Without a word, however, the girl broke into a run to retrieve the birds, as Van had a habit, as she afterwards told me, of mouthing a bird when he got the chance. "That is not his only bad habit," explained Miss Fannie, "as you will doubtless learn before the day is over, but, for some reason, Bopeep will not work with any other dog in the place, and it would not seem to me like shooting, to shoot over any other dog." Why, I could readily understand, for a better bred and a more capable dog I never saw in the field than this same Bopeep. After complimenting Miss Fannie on her shooting, we went on to where she had marked down the birds. This time I made up my mind not to wait for her to shoot. I got two birds, and, as before, Miss Fannie pulled down one with each barrel, and in a style that made me realize just what grade of shooter I was up against. I knew that to go back to the house as "low gun" against his daughter's high, would mean everlasting disgrace in the Captain's eyes, so I mentally determined to take a brace in my shooting and attend. strictly to business henceforth. We picked up a few birds scattered along the fence, in which I had a shade the best of it. That is, I got more chances only, for my host's daughter missed nothing that she succeeded in covering. Finally Van found a bevy, out of which we got but one bird, which fell to my right barrel, Miss Fannie not shooting. At the creek, which ran through the farm, I was favored with a performance by Van which, despite what his mistress had told me, was a surprise. He stopped on a stiff point, and when we came up, expecting to find a bevy of birds, out came a rabbit, and Van started after it for all he was worth. hurried after the dog, shouting to him to stop, until both my breath and my legs gave out. My hunting partner leaned against the fence and held her sides with laughter, and upon my upbraiding the dog for not minding, she laughed the harder. "Why," she said, "don't you know he is deaf as a post? Just let him alone, and when he gets tired, he will come back to us." Sure enough, within a few moments, the dog showed tip. Bopeep stood by, looking the shame she evidently felt for her companion's unsportsmanlike conduct, but Van seemed to think he had done something to be proud of, and howled lustily at the thrashing he received for his misconduct. I A little further on Van made amends by taking a beautiful stand upon a big covey. Miss Fannie was ahead of me and brought me to my senses by calling me up for a shot. The dogs were pictures to look upon, and if I ever wanted a camera, I wanted it then, with Van and Bopeep posing like statues, and the birds running around in the grass, in plain sight and as though panicstricken. On the rise, we both killed with our first barrels. I missed with my second and had my "eye wiped " promptly by my host's daughter. To make matters worse, the Captain came up at this moment, and gave me the laugh at being outshot by a woman. But come," said he, "dinner is ready, and Aunt Polly don't like her dinner to be kept waiting." 66 Upon reaching the house we counted twenty-eight birds, out of which I had killed sixteen, a lead of four birds, but as I had used the greater number of shells, we voted the score a tie. We then sat down to dinner, and-Oh, my, what a dinner it was! Morgan County is a long way from New York, but I would take the trip any time for just one of Aunt Polly's dinners. The roast chicken, tender and done to a turn; the big yellow yams, boiled and then roasted until crusted with a rich brown; the hoe cake and deliciouslyflavored creamery butter; her salads, her apple dumplings, and her rum omelets and coffee. There is nothing like them in New York or anywhere else that I have ever been. So much did I eat that I was content, upon rising from the table, to drop into the Captain's big easy chair in the hallway, and as I sat there, pulling away at my pipe, and chatting with Miss Fannie, in rushed one of the farm hands. He was all out of breath, and, pulling off the piece of a hat that only partly covered his woolly head, he exclaimed: "Miss Fannie, we's done got a big fat squhl up a tree down yondah, an' I reckon if yo' come quick yo' ken shoot 'im." Here was something to settle dinner anyway. The Captain always kept two or three ponies saddled and bridled at the hitching posts near the house for the use of anyone who might want them, and there was a rush for them by Miss Fannie and myself. All of us picked up our guns as we ran, for we had agreed that at any time during my stay, the one who got there first should bag the game if they could. It was a race to "down yondah," but we both arrived at the same time, to find five or six darkies around a big oak tree looking for the "squhl." "Dah he," said one of them; "look at that fat scamp layin' alongside the lim'." I fired where he had pointed, and then Fannie's sixteen-gauge cracked and down came the squirrel. I had fired at a bunch of leaves, and the squirrel, startled by the noise, had sprung from another part of the tree in clean range of my partner's gun. The darkies were delighted. "Can't no man come from Saint Looey down heah," bawled old Jackson, "and beat ouah Miss Fannie shootin', deed they can't;" and the balance of the crowd endorsed his assertion in words that suited them best. Fannie picked up the squirrel and laughingly assured me, as we went back to the house, that I would find a chance to get even. Half an hour later, as I was dozing alone in the big chair, Van came in, and sticking his cold nose under my hand, looked up at me as if to say, "Come on, Master George, I didn't behave well this morning, but if you'll come with me now, I'll treat you right." I patted his silky head, and took my gun from the corner, upon which Van danced for very joy. Bopeep joined us outside, and leaving the house from a different direction from that we had taken in the morning, I climbed the fence, and, a few yards beyond, Van came to a stiff point. The bevy flushed and I got two, and on advancing to the mark down, and I got two more. What were left of the birds disappeared over the hilltop, but Van found another lot, and I dropped a fat bird. Thus I continued through the afternoon, the dogs working in grand style, and the shooting being among the best I have ever enjoyed. Finally, however, the sun began to get low, and I started for the house, with quail enough to give everybody on the farm a feast. Fannie congratulated me, and said that now I was too far ahead of her to feel uneasy, even a little bit. "That's all right, Miss Fannie," said I, "but I knew that the only way to avoid uneasiness was to steal a march on you, just as I have done." My early rising hour of that day, and the long tramp that had followed it, resulted in my sleeping like a top, when, by 9:30 p. m., the Captain had ordered us to bed. How long I should have slumbered the next morning I can only guess, for just at daylight I was awakened by a series of yells and shrieks that reminded me of pig-killing time on the old farm at home in Jersey. I jumped into my clothes in fire-alarm haste, and ran down stairs. Several darkies were running down the road ahead of me toward the creek, in the direction from which the cries came. Almost at the same moment the Captain joined me, pulling on his coat as he ran. "What in thunder do you s'pose is the matter?" he gasped. "Blamed if I know," I gasped in return, "but we'll find out in a minute." Arriving at the creek, the cause of the trouble revealed itself. Aunt Polly was accustomed each night to ride from the farmhouse to her cabin, distant about a quarter of a mile, and to return in the morning at daybreak. Her mount on these journeys was a little, undersized, spavined mule, which she had ridden for years, despite the disparity in size. and weight, as compared with Aunt Polly's ample physical development. On the morning in question, the mule had stumbled when crossing the ford, and there sat Aunt Polly in the middle of the creek! The water was not over two feet deep, but as she sat on the creek bed, her body was submerged to a point above her waist, and nothing could convince. her that she was not drowning. It was her frantic yells for help that had aroused the farm, but when we arrived upon the scene, the picture of the old negress in the water, and the poor little mule standing upon the bank, his spavined knees knocking together in fright, and his big ears cocked forward as though wondering what it was all about, was too much for the Captain and myself, and we roared with laughter. brekfus'? I done tell Miss Fannie AUNT POLLY IN THE MIDDLE OF THE CREEK. As we laughed, Aunt Polly's terror gave way to rage. She scrambled to her feet and started for us with blood in her eye. Clutching the mule's bridle, she stood for a moment speechless with anger, but finally finding her voice, she burst forth with, "Ain't yo' shame yo'sef, yo' low-down white trash, to stan' dah an' hollar an' laugh, and bust yo' sides at a pooh old niggah drowning! S'pose I had a-drown? Wha' yo' got yo' mule. probably would have done. as she threatened had not the mule, rearing backward under the sting of chastisement, yanked old Polly over upon her stomach in the middle of the road, and disappeared himself among the bushes. We laughed the harder as the old negress picked herself up, and with a contemptuous glance at us, waddled up the road, talking to herself as she went. The breakfast was certainly not up to the standard that morning, but the gift of a brand-new briarwood pipe with silver trimmings, and a bag of tobacco, found in a corner of my trunk, put the old lady in good humor again by noon. After breakfast, and just as I was about to start for the buckwheat field, Billy Robinson, a neighboring farmer, rode up on his He said he had a new dog he wanted to try that day, and promised me some good shooting if I would go along. I mounted a pony, and started down the road with Billy, followed by Van. The new dog was indeed a beauty, a slashing English setter, and, as I afterwards found, a perfect dog in the field. "How about his pedigree, Billy?" I asked, at which my companion laughed. "I reckon he ain't got any pedigree," said he, "leastways, as far as I'm consarned, for I bought him at the dog pound in Kansas City for three dollars." A new method of getting a dog cheap, I reflected, for the dog would have been a bargain at $100, or even twice that, provided his breeding was right. His first stand upon a bevy of birds won my admiration and I wanted to buy him, but Billy would not sell. We had plenty of shooting that afternoon. On one occasion, as the birds flushed, Billy called, "Don't shoot, they are too small," and sure enough, I saw that the birds were but little larger than sparrows. Billy then explained to me that the quail down that way raise two and sometimes three broods a year, adding, that in the Summer he had often found a brood of young birds while the old ones were sitting on a nest of eggs. Going on a short distance we flushed a bunch in the meadow and they settled near a hedge fence. Billy went along one side with the setter, while I took the other with Van, and we had a pretty bit of shooting. There were certainly not enough left in that covey for seed when we got through with them. Then followed quite a tramp before we found any more birds, the only interesting feature being Van's efforts to catch rabbits, and my trying to break him of the habit. Finally, reaching Billy's house, we ate a hurried dinner and washed it down with hard cider-so hard as to be almost as lively and heady as champagne itself; after which I mounted the hurricane deck of my pony and, accompanied by Van, started for home, dismounting whenever I reached what seemed to be a likely field. Van worked well, flushing bevy after bevy, and I got quite a few birds for my efforts. The next day and the next and the next, to the end of my stay, were The ex all put in to advantage, and each was productive of some of the best shooting I have met with anywhere. The quail were large, and were strong flyers; there were plenty of them, and, although I had occasion but two or three times to shoot beyond the limits of my host's farm, I found the farmers, with one exception, obliging and hospitable, whenever I got into their premises. ception was that of a cross-grained fellow, who told me that as he could trap the birds in the Winter and get seventy-five cents a dozen for them at St. Louis, he did not propose to have me shoot them. I read him a lecture upon the unsportsmanlike conduct of netting game birds, but my arguments fell upon unprincipled ears, and I left him with his prospective victims. As my stay drew to a close, we planned an all-day shoot for the Captain, Miss Fannie and myself, and it was the best of my visit, not only for the number of birds flushed and bagged, but for the number of good shots recorded by Miss Fannie and myself, and for excellent work done by both Van and Bopeep, whom we always shot over when the Captain's daughter was with me. But one rainy day occurred during my visit and that I enjoyed as well as any of the rest, in shooting craps with the darkies and listening to their banjo music and plantation choruses. All things must have their ending, however, and one afternoon I shook hands with Miss Fannie, and mounted the wagon seat beside the Captain. As old Jackson gathered up the reins for our departure for the station, Aunt Polly, her ebony face in a broad smile and her white teeth showing, called from the kitchen door, "Good-bye, Mars Gwadge. Glad to see yo' nex' time, ef yo' did bus' yo' sides laughin' when dat pesky mewell bucked me in de crick.' |