He dropped into the grass and commenced his stalk.  This he accomplished on his elbows and knees.  A short review of the possibilities will convince you that the sight was unique.  Although the boy’s head and shoulders were thus admirably close to the ground, there followed an extremely abrupt apex.  Add the fact that the canvas shooting coat soon fell forward over his shoulders.

The coyote at first paid no attention.  As this strange object worked nearer, he raised his head to take a look.  Then he sat up on his haunches to take a better look.  At this point we expected him to lope away instead of which he trotted forward a few feet and stopped, his ears pricked forward.  There he sat, his shrewd brain alive with conjecture until, at thirty-five yards, the kid emptied both barrels.  Thereupon he died, his curiosity as to what a movable brown pyramid might be still unsatisfied.

Uncle Jim, the kid, and I had great fun cruising for jackrabbits.  Uncle Jim sat in the middle and drove while the kid and I hung our feet over the sides and constituted ourselves the port and starboard batteries.  Bumping and banging along at full speed over the uneven country, we jumped the rabbits, and opened fire as they made off.  Each had to stick to his own side of the ship, of course.  Uncle Jim’s bird dog, his head between our feet, his body under the seat, watched the proceedings, whining.  It looked like good fun to him, but it was forbidden.  A jackrabbit arrested in full flight by a charge of shot turns a very spectacular somersault.  The dog would stand about five rabbits.  As the sixth turned over, he executed a mad struggle, accomplished a flying leap over the front wheel, was rolled over and over by the forward momentum of the moving vehicle, scrambled to his feet, pounced on that rabbit, and most everlastingly and savagely shook it up!  Then Uncle Jim descended and methodically and dispassionately licked the dog.

Jackrabbits were good small-rifle game.  They started away on a slow lope, but generally stopped and sat up if not too seriously alarmed.  A whistle sometimes helped bring them to a stand.  After a moment’s inspection they went away, rapidly.  With a .22 automatic one could turn loose at all sorts of ranges at all speeds.  It was a good deal of fun, too, sneaking about afoot through the low brush, making believe that the sage was a jungle, the tiny pellets express bullets, the rabbits magnified—­I am sorry for the fellow who cannot have fun sometimes “pretending!” In the brush, too, dwelt little cottontails, very good to eat.  The jackrabbit was a pest, but the cottontail was worth getting.  We caught sight of him first in the bare open spaces between the bushes, whereupon he proceeded rapidly to cover.  It was necessary to shoot rather quickly.  The inexperienced would be apt to run forward eagerly, hoping to catch a glimpse of the cottontail on the other side; but always it would be in vain.  That would be owing to the fact that the little rabbit has a trick of apparently running through a brush at full speed, but in reality of stopping abruptly and squatting at the roots.  Often it is possible to get a shot by scrutinizing carefully the last place he was seen.  He can stop as suddenly as a cow pony.