every covey we had to stop and pick needles out of him. The haunts of
the blue quail are really no place for a dog, as he soon becomes
useless. One does not need him, either, since the blue quail will not
flush until actually kicked into the air.

Jack and cotton-tail rabbits fled by hundreds before us. They are
everywhere, and afford good shooting between coveys, it being quick work
to get a cotton-tail as he flashes between the net-work of protecting
cactus. Coyotes lope away in our front, but they are too wild for a
shot-gun. It must ever be in a man's mind to keep his direction, because
it is such a vastly simple thing to get lost in the chaparral, where you
cannot see a hundred yards. Mexico has such a considerable territory
that a man on foot may find it inconvenient to beat up a town in the
desolation of thorn-bush.

There is an action about blue-quail shooting which is next to buffalo
shooting--it's run, shoot, pick up your bird, scramble on in your
endeavor to keep the skirmish-line of your two comrades; and at last,
when you have concluded to stop, you can mop your forehead--the Mexican
sun shines hot even in midwinter.

Later in the afternoon we get among bob-white in a grassy tract, and
while they are clean work--good dog-play, and altogether more
satisfactory shooting than any other I know of--I am yet much inclined
to the excitement of chasing after game which you can see at intervals.
Let it not be supposed that it is less difficult to hit a running blue
quail as he shoots through the brush than a flying bob-white, for the
experience of our party has settled that, and one gets ten shots at the
blue to one at the bob-white, because of their number. As to eating, we
could not tell the difference; but I will not insist that this is final.