"Beautiful shot, Frank! Do all your work
like that, and we'll get twenty couple before night!"
"Have I killed him!" answered I, half doubting if he were not quizzing
me.
"Killed him? of course you have; doubled him up completely! But look
sharp! there are more birds before me! I can hardly keep the dogs down,
now! There! there goes one--clean out of shot of me, though! Mark! mark,
Tom! Gad, how the fat dog's running!" he continued. "He sees him! Ten to
one he gets him! There he goes--bang! A long shot, and killed clean!"
"Ready!" cried I. "I'm ready, Archer!"
"Bag your bird, then. He lies under that dock leaf, at the foot of yon
red maple! That's it; you've got him. Steady now, till Tom gets loaded!"
"What did you do?" asked I. "You fired twice, I think!"
"Killed two!" he answered. "Ready, now!" and on he went, smashing away
the boughs before him, while ever and anon I heard his cheery voice,
calling or whistling to his dogs, or rousing up the tenants of some
thickets into which even he could not force his way; and I, creeping, as
best I might, among the tangled brush, now plunging half thigh deep in
holes full of tenacious mire, now blundering over the moss-covered
stubs, pressed forward, fancying every instant that the rustling of the
briers against my jacket was the flip-flap of a rising woodcock.
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