But come, we must go
down to Tom; hark how the old hound keeps bawling."
Well, down we went. The spaniels quickly retrieved his dead birds, and
flushed some fifteen more, of which we gave a clean account--Harry
making up for lost time by killing six cock, right and left, almost
before they topped the bushes--seven more fell to me, but single birds
all of them--and but one brace to Tom, who now began to wax indignant;
for Archer, as I saw, for fun's sake, was making it a point to cut down
every bird that rose to him, before he could get up his gun; and then
laughed at him for being fat and slow. But the laugh was on Tom's side
before long--for while we were yet in the valley, the report of a gun
came faintly down the wind from beyond the hill, and as we all looked
out attentively, a grouse skimmed the brow, flying before the wind at a
tremendous pace, and skated across the valley without stooping from his
altitude. I stood the first, and fired, a yard at least ahead of him--on
he went, unharmed and undaunted; bang went my second barrel--still on he
went, the faster, as it seemed, for the weak insult.
Harry came next, and he too fired twice, and--tell it not in Gath--
missed twice! "Now, Fat-Guts!" shouted Archer, not altogether in his
most amiable or pleasing tones; and sure enough up went the old man's
piece--roundly it echoed with its mighty charge--a cloud of feathers
drifted away in a long line from the slaughtered victim--which fell not
direct, so rapid was its previous flight, but darted onward in a long
declining tangent, and struck the rocky soil with a thud clearly audible
where we stood, full a hundred yards from the spot where it fell.
Pages:
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142