Who does not recall the joyous thrill that comes with the preparation
for a hunt--the powder-horns and shot pouches scattered here and
there--the cleaning of guns, the glances at the sky to determine whether
wind and weather are propitious, the barking of the dogs as their eyes
gleam in anticipation of the day's sport.
Major LeCroix critically examined Dr. Hissong's gun: "Too much choke in
the barrel for quail. Shawn, don't you load that rusty piece of yours
too heavily." Reaching above the doorway, he brought down his
muzzle-loading gun, with its silver mounted hammers and lock shields,
and as he caressingly drew his coat-sleeve along the barrels, he said,
"They don't know how to make them like this nowadays."
They went forth into the frosty, bracing air. They walked leisurely
along the bank of the little creek, where a crust of ice fringed the
shore. "Major," said Horton, "de las' time I see dat big flock uv birds,
wuz in de stubble de uther side de orchid." The Major worked the dogs
toward the stubble-field. Sam, the old English setter, began to trail,
halting occasionally to sniff the breeze.
"I think we will locate them in the sorghum patch," said the Major. Sam
was creeping cautiously through the sage grass just above the sorghum
field. Presently he came up erect and rigid, Bess, the trim little Irish
setter, behind him at back-stand. "Steady, there! Ho, steady! Can you
beat that, doctor?" cried the Major. "Get to the lower side of them,
Shawn, so we can drive them to the orchard--flush, Sam!" The old setter
sprang forward and the birds arose from the ground with an exciting
flutter. The guns roared and two birds fell. Doctor Hissong was
reloading, ramming the charge home with a long hickory ramrod. With
trembling hand, Major LeCroix drew the cork from his powder-horn, and
endeavored to pour the powder into the barrel.
"Let me load for you," said Shawn.
"No, indeed, I'm not too old to load my gun." He stood for a moment
looking at the shot-pouch. "Here, boy, maybe you had better load for
me." A tinge of sadness crept over his features, but gave way to an
expression of joy when Shawn said, "You and the doctor got your birds
that time, I missed." Horton gave Shawn a grateful glance. They got into
the scattered birds, the Major and Doctor Hissong thoroughly enjoying
the sport. As each bird came from cover, Shawn held his fire, and
followed closely after the shots of doctor Hissong and Major LeCroix,
and as each bird fell, he would shout, "Good shot, Major!" or "Good
shot, doctor!" They got into the lower bottoms, and by noon Horton
showed a fine bag of game. Shawn modestly refused to claim but a few of
the birds, but Horton knew of his unerring marksmanship, and wondered
at his unselfishness. Major LeCroix and Doctor Hissong were in jubilant
spirits as they turned homeward. Old Sam, the setter, limped painfully
behind the doctor.
[Illustration: "You and the doctor got your birds."]
"What crippled Sam?" asked the Major.
"I loaned him to a young fellow from Ohio last winter," said the doctor,
"I reckon about the greenest young man that ever went into the field. He
told Brad that he didn't know when nor how to shoot at the birds, and
the old black rascal said, 'Jes' shoot whar de dawg sets,' and
unfortunately Sam got tired and sat down, and got a load of bird-shot in
his hind-legs."
As they put their guns away that afternoon, Major LeCroix again examined
Shawn's cheap gun. Then came the supper of broiled birds, cooked as only
Mary could cook them, and at the table-board they went over the field
again, the work of the dogs, the Major meanwhile waxing eloquent over
the trueness of his gun.
Shawn lay again in the old Empire bed, watching the dying embers in the
fireplace. Softly the door opened--the Major entered, a lighted candle
in one hand, and his beloved muzzle-loader in the other. "Shawn, I have
been thinking it all over; I will hunt no more, but there are many days
for you in the field, but you _must_ have a gun, and I am giving you
mine." He paused at the door, held the candle aloft, the soft light
falling on his silvery hair, "Good night and pleasant dreams."
And the night was filled with pleasant dreams for Shawn, for that
afternoon as he and Lallite stood upon the porch, gazing upon the wintry
stream, she drew near him and said, "It will be so lonesome tomorrow
when you are gone," and something in the tone of the voice echoed the
same words in his heart.