Often, when the sharp crack of the gun, and the ping of the fatal leaden messengers, has rung the death-peal of one of these prairie-chiefs, I have watched the whirring wing drop powerless, and the arrowy flight stop in mid-career, and, with a heavy thud, the bird come crashing down. Rushing to pick him up, and keeping my eye steadily on the spot where he fell, I have felt a little mystified at not seeing my friend: here he fell, I am quite sure; so I trudge up and down, circle round and round, until a slight movement—an effort to run, or a dying struggle—attracts my attention, and then I find I have been the whole time close to the fallen bird. But so closely do the back and outspread wings resemble the dead foliage and sandy soil, that it is almost impossible for the most practised eye to detect these birds when crouching on the ground; and there can be no doubt that it as effectually conceals them from birds of prey.
This bird is abundantly distributed on the western slope of the Rocky Mountains, ranging right and left of the Boundary-line, the 49th parallel of north latitude. It is particularly abundant on the tobacco-plains near the Kootanie river, round the Osoyoos lakes, and in the valley of the Columbia.
I have never seen this grouse on the western side of the Cascade range. This bird is also found in the Red River settlements, in the north of Minnesota, as well as on the shores of Hudson’s Bay, and on the Mackenzie river. Mr. Ross notes it as far north as the Arctic Circle.
Of the different species of grouse I met with in my rambles (described in vol. ii.) not one has come so often under my observation as this, the sharp-tailed grouse. Its favourite haunt is on open grassy plains,—in the morning keeping itself concealed in the thick long grass, but coming in about midday to the streams to drink, and dust itself in the sandy banks; it seldom goes into the timber, and, if it does, always remains close to the prairie, never retiring into the depths of the forest.
They lay their eggs on the open prairie, in a tuft of grass, or by the foot of a small hillock; nesting early in the spring, and laying from twelve to fourteen eggs. The nest is a hole scratched out in the earth, a few grass-stalks and root-fibres laid carelessly and loosely over the bottom; the eggs are of a dark rusty-brown, with small splashes or speckles of darker brown thickly spattered over them.
After nesting-time, they first appear in coveys or broods about the middle of August; the young birds are then about three parts grown, strong on the wing, and afford admirable sport. At this time they live by the margins of small streams, where there is thin timber and underbrush, with plenty of sandy banks to dust in. About the middle of September and on into October they begin to pack; first two or three coveys get together, then flock joins flock, until they gradually accumulate into hundreds. On the first appearance of snow they begin to perch, settling on high dead pine-trees, the dead branches being a favourite locality; or, should there be any farms, they pitch round on the top of the snake-fences. At the Hudson’s Bay trading-post at Fort Colville there were large wheat-stubbles; in these, after the snow fell, they assembled in vast numbers. Wary and shy they are now, and most difficult to get at; the cause being, I apprehend, the snow rendering every moving thing so conspicuous, it is next to impossible for dogs to hunt them.
Their food in the summer consists principally of berries—the snowberry (Symphoricarpos racemosus), and the bearberry (Arctostaphylos uva-ursi). The leaves of this latter plant are used to a great extent, both by Indians and traders, to mix with or use instead of tobacco, and called kini-kinick; the leaves being dried over the fire, and rubbed up in the hand to powder, and smoked in a pipe. The wild roseberries (Rosa blanda and Rosa mirantha), and many others, usually designated huckleberries, constitute the food generally consumed by these birds during summer and autumn; although I have often found quantities of wheat-grains and larvæ of insects, grass-seeds, and small wild flowers in their crops. Their thickly-feathered feet enable them to run upon the snow with ease and celerity, and they dig holes and burrow underneath it much after the fashion of the ptarmigan.
During the two winters we spent at Colville, flocks of these birds congregated about the corn-stacks and hayricks at our mule-camp, and at the Hudson’s Bay trading-post, Fort Colville. The temperature at that time was often down to 29° and 30° below zero, and the snow three feet deep; yet these birds did not at all appear to suffer from such intense cold, and were strong, wild, and fat during the entire winter, which lasted from October until near April before the snow entirely cleared.
In this valley (the Colville valley) the Commissioner and myself had, I think, as brisk and nice a bit of shooting as I ever enjoyed. If I remember aright, it was towards the end of September, and the birds had packed. We rode down one clear bright morning, about six miles, to the Horse-Guards. Do not at once hastily imagine any analogy between Colville valley and Whitehall. The heavy man, with his heavy boots, heavy sword, heavy dress, heavy walk, and heaviest of all heavy horses—so conspicuous a feature in our London sights—is represented here by the genuine savage, thin and lissom as an eel; his equipment a whip, a lasso, a scalping-knife, and sometimes a trade-gun; a pad his saddle, and the bands of horses, some two hundred in number, his charge. A stream of cold clear water rambles quietly down the hillside; and as the hills are thickly dotted with bunch-grass, affording most glorious pasturage, the Hudson’s Bay fort horses are always pastured here, and guarded by Indians; hence comes the name—‘the Horse-Guards.’
The Colville valley is, roughly speaking, about thirty miles long, the hills on one side being densely studded with pine-trees, and on the other quite clear of timber, but thickly clothed up to their rounded summits with the bunch-grass. This is a peculiar kind of grass, that grows in tufts, and its fattening qualities are truly wonderful.