it is as they
quarter the ground with quickly-beating tails and noses high in the
air, crossing and recrossing the wind in zigzag lines and concentric
circles, hunting the ground so closely that no trail, however cold,
can escape their keen sense of smell. A wave of the hand to Sancho,
and the sagacious fellow is off toward the far corner of the field,
when suddenly Di stops in mid-career with a jerk that must try every
sinew in her frame. The birds are right under her nose, and she dares
not move a muscle, but stands as if changed into stone, her eyes
starting with excitement, her nostrils expanded, her feathery stern
quivering stiffly out behind and every line of her figure standing out
like whipcord. "Toho!" The black dog catches the sound and turns his
head: he sees her rigid form, and backs her where he stands as firmly
as if he too had the scent. There is no hurry, for the dogs are true
as steel and will stand there as long as the frightened birds lie,
while the latter, obedient to the instinct of sudden terror, will
cower where they are for an hour, with their heads drawn back, their
mottled breasts pressed to the earth and their legs gathered under
them, ready to spring into the air. We cock our guns, agree to shoot
respectively at the birds which go right or left or straight before
us, and then advance to flush the covey ourselves. The staunch dog
never winces as we pass her: two paces, three, a sudden rush and whirr
as of many wings, five sharp reports in quick succession and four
birds down! Another, wild with fright, rises straight up for twenty
feet and darts off behind us, but his beautiful head droops as the
crack of my last barrel resounds on the air and a cloud of feathers
floats downward. The shot has struck him in the line of flight, and he
goes to the ground with a bounce, some thirty yards away, as if hurled
there by a vigorous arm. The well-trained dogs come to the "Down!
charge!" while we reload our guns, and then seek the dead birds and
bring them carefully in to us.

Leaving the broken covey to be worked up on our return, we push on to
another part of the large pea-field, where, perched upon the topmost
limb of a tall dead pine, we see a red-tailed hawk engaged in quiet
observation. There is no surer sign of birds, but it takes close
hunting to find them, for they dare not move about while their savage
enemy is on the watch. As we approach the hawk stretches out his neck,
jerks his wings two o