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S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S • 115 So I waited till he began calling again, covering him with my rifle as carefully as I could, and then fired. The report shattered the morning stillness, leaping across the valley, echoing back again, then rumbling like thunder up over the treetops and out of hearing. But the bird's booming call continued steadily on, and the flicker of wings on the oak branch was as rapid as ever. I had just enough time to slip in another shell before he ceased suddenly and became part of the tree once again. I think he must have smelled the gunpowder, as crows are supposed to do, or it may be he caught an echo long since beyond my hearing, for he moved uneasily up and down the branch and waited a long time before calling again. Then the sound seemed curiously faint and far away, as if from beyond the mountain. This seemed to satisfy him, however, for after listening a moment he broke out into a full, booming challenge. I fired again and missed. As I raised the rifle for another try, the call ceased abruptly, as if the auerhahn were dissatisfied with his performance. Behind me I heard a slight rustle as Max leaves—hold on! Oaks haven't any leaves yet. The supposed clump started into sudden vibration as my eyes searched it suspiciously. The startling call came booming, rumbling through the woods again and echoing back from the hills. It grew quiet after a moment, and the figure of a large bird slowly outlined itself on the oak branch, but vague and shadowy in the gloom of the fading night. Suddenly he crouched, there was a flash of wings over his head, and the booming began again along with clucking and calling. There was no doubt now. The sound proceeded from the wings, as a partridge drums, but whether he struck them together over his back or against his sides, or upon the branch beneath him, was impossible to tell. Probably upon his sides, like a challenging rooster; but as with the grouse, the movement was too swift for eyes to follow. I raised the rifle slowly as he stopped. But wait, I thought, Robin Hood himself, or Davy Crockett, would miss once at least with this gloom and distance. Let's see if he really is so deaf to all but his own music. throbbing call rolled down upon us. It almost seemed as if some fierce, unknown beast were up there, challenging our advance. I repeated to myself that this was curious hunting—almost as exciting as calling moose. We were now near the auerhahn evidently, though it was still too dark to find him in the treetops. When he began calling again I spoke hurriedly to Max. "I'm going over yonder among the pines," I whispered. "The trees will show better there against the light. Stay here; and if you see him, come tell me." I was off with the rifle before he could object (as he certainly would have done) to having the hunt taken out of his hands. In Germany, everything should proceed officially, according to exact rules. I found a place in the pines where some big treetops showed clearly against the light and began to examine them. How easily one can pick out the different trees by the characteristic turn of their small twigs. Even their shadows in the moonlight are as good as a botanical description—or better. That strong crook there, now, could belong only to an oak, and that close clump of