ms
paralyzed, unable to move or feel. Then he draws himself up, braced
against a root or a tree boll; and there they stand, within twenty feet
of each other, never stirring, never winking, till the dog falls from
exhaustion at the strain, or breaks it by leaping forward, or till the
hunter's step on the leaves fills the grouse with a new terror that
sends him rushing away through the October woods to deeper solitudes.

Once, at noon, I saw Old Ben, a famous dog, draw to a perfect point.
Just ahead, in a tangle of brown brakes, I could see the head and neck
of a grouse watching the dog keenly. Old Ben's master, to test the
splendid training of his dog, proposed lunch on the spot. We withdrew a
little space and ate deliberately, watching the bird and the dog with an
interest that grew keener and keener as the meal progressed, while Old
Ben stood like a rock, and the grouse's eye shone steadily out of the
tangle of brakes. Nor did either move so much as an eyelid while we ate,
and Ben's master smoked his pipe with quiet confidence. At last, after
a full hour, he whacked his pipe on his boot heel and rose to reach for
his gun. That meant death for the grouse; but I owed him too much of
keen enjoyment to see him cut down in swift flight. In the moment that
the master's back was turned I hurled a knot at the tangle of brakes.
The grouse burst away, and Old Ben, shaken out of his trance by the
whirr of wings, dropped obediently to the charge and turned his head to
say reproachfully with his eyes: "What in the world is the matter with
you back there--didn't I hold him long enough?"

The noble old fellow was trembling like a leaf after the long strain
when I went up to him to pat his head and praise his steadiness, and
share with him the better half of my lunch. But to this day Ben's master
does not know what started the grouse so suddenly; and as he tells you
about the incident will still say regretfully: "I ought to a-started
jest a minute sooner, 'fore he got tired. Then I'd a had 'im."

The old beech partridge, however, was a bird of a different mind. No dog
ever stood him for more than a second; he had learned too well what the
thing meant. The moment he heard the patter of a dog's feet on leaves
he would run rapidly, and skulk and hide and run again, keeping dog and
hunter on the move till he found the cover he wanted,--thick trees, or
a tangle of wild grapevines,--when he would burst out on, the farther
side. And no eye