"Now then, boys, we've no time to loose," said Archer, as he replaced
his knives, which he had been employed in wiping with great care, in
their respective scabbards, "it's getting toward eight o'clock, and I
feel tolerably peckish, the milk punch and biscuits notwithstanding; we
shall not be in the field before ten o'clock, do our best for it. Now,
Jem," he continued, as that worthy, followed by David Seers and the
Captain made their appearance, hot and breathless, but in high spirits
at the glorious termination of the morning's sport--"Now, Jem, you and
the Captain must look out a good strong pole, and tie that fellow's
legs, and carry him between you as far as Blain's house--you can come up
with the wagon this afternoon and bring him down to the village. What
the deuce are you pottering at that colt about, Tom? He's not hurt a
pin's value, on the contrary--"
"Better for 't, I suppose, you'll be a tellin' me torights; better for
that all-fired etarnal tumble, aint he?" responded the fat chap, with a
lamentable attempt at an ironical smile, put on to hide his real
chagrin.
"In course he is," replied Frank, who had recovered his wonted
equanimity, and who, having been most unmercifully rallied by the whole
party for leaving his bullets at home, was glad of an opportunity to
carry the war into the enemy's country, "in course he is a great deal
better--if a thing can be said to be better which, under all
circumstances, is so infernally bad, as that brute. I should think he
was better for it. Why, by the time he's had half a dozen more such
purls, he'll leap a six foot fence without shaking a loose rail. In
fact, I'll bet a dollar I carry him back over that same wall without
touching a stone." And, as he spoke, he set his foot into the stirrup,
as if he were about to put his threat into immediate execution.
"Quit, Forester--quit, I say--quit, now--consarn the hide on you"--
shouted the fat man, now in great tribulation, and apprehending a second
edition of the tumble--"quit foolin', or by h--l I'll put a grist of
shot, or one of they green cartridges into you stret away--I will, by
the Etarnal!" and as he spoke he dropped the muzzle of his gun, and put
his thumb upon the cock.
"I say quit foolin', too," cried Harry, "both of you quit it; you old
fool, Tom, do you really suppose he is mad enough to ride that brute of
yours again at the wall?"
"Mad enough!--Yes, I swon he be," responded Tom; "both of you be as mad
as the hull Asylum down to York. If Frank arn't mad, then there aint
such a word as mad!" But as he spoke he replaced his gun under his arm,
and walked off to his horse, which he mounted, without farther words,
his example being followed by the whole party, who set off on the spur,
and reached the village in less than half an hour.
Breakfast was on the table when they got there--black tea, produced from
Harry's magazine of stores, rich cream, hot bread, and Goshen butter--
eggs in abundance, boiled, roasted, fried with ham--an omelet au fines
herbes, no inconsiderable token of Tim's culinary skill--a cold round of
spiced beef, and last, not least, a dish of wood-duck hot from the
gridiron.
"By George," said Harry, "here's a feast for an epicure, and I can find
the appetite."
"Find it"--said Forester, grinning, who, pretending to eat nothing, or
next to nothing, and not to care what was set before him, was really the
greatest gourmet and heaviest feeder of the party--"Find it, Harry? it's
quite new to me that you ever lost it. When was it, hey?"
"Arter he'd eat a hull roast pig, I reckon--leastwise that might make
Harry lose his'n; but I'll be darned if two would be a sarcumstance to
set before you, Frank, no how. Here's A---, too, he don't never eat."
"These wood-duck are delicious," answered the Commodore, who was very
busily employed in stowing away his provant, "What a capital bird it is,
Harry."
"Indeed, is it," said he, "and this is, me judice, the very best way to
eat it, red hot from the gridiron, cooked very quick, and brown on the
outside, and full of gravy when you cut; with a squeeze of a lemon and a
dash of cayenne it is sublime. What say you, Forester?"
"Oh, you wont ketch him sayin' nauthen, leastwise not this half hour--
but the way he'll keep a feedin' wont be slow, I tell you--that's the
way to judge how Forester likes his grub--jest see how he takes hold on
't."
"Are there many wood-duck about this season, Tom?" asked Forester,
affecting to be perfectly careless and indifferent to all that had
passed. "Did you kill these yourself?"
"There was a sight on them a piece back, but they're gittin' scase--
pretty scase now, I tell you. Yes, I shot these down by Aunt Sally's big
spring-hole a Friday. I'd been a lookin' round, you see, to find where
the quail kept afore you came up here--for I'd a been expectin' you a
week and better--and I'd got in quite late, toward sundown, with an
outsidin' bevy, down by the cedar swamp, and druv them off into the big
bog meadows, below Sugarloaf, and I'd killed quite a bunch on them--
sixteen, I reckon, Archer; and there wasn't but eighteen when I lit on
'em--and it was gittin' pretty well dark when I came to the big spring,
and little Dash was worn dead out, and I was tired, and hot, and
thunderin' thirsty, so I sets down aside the outlet where the spring
water comes in good and cool, and I was mixin' up a nice long drink in
the big glass we hid last summer down in the mudhole, with some great
cider sperrits--when what should I hear all at once but whistle,
whistlin' over head, the wings of a whole drove on 'em, so up I buckled
the old gun; but they'd plumped down into the crick fifteen rod off or
better, down by the big pin oak, and there they sot, seven ducks and two
big purple-headed drakes--beauties, I tell you. Well, boys, I upped gun
and tuck sight stret away, but just as I was drawin', I kind o' thought
I'd got two little charges of number eight, and that to shoot at ducks
at fifteen rod wasn't nauthen. Well, then, I fell a thinkin', and then I
sairched my pockets, and arter a piece found two green cartridges of
number three, as Archer gave me in the Spring, so I drawed out the small
shot, and inned with these, and put fresh caps on to be sarten. But jest
when I'd got ready, the ducks had floated down with the stream, and
dropped behind the pint--so I downed on my knees, and crawled, and Dash
along side on me, for all the world as if the darned dog knowed; well, I
crawled quite a piece, till I'd got under a bit of alder bush, and then
I seen them--all in a lump like, except two--six ducks and a big drake--
feedin', and stickin' down their heads into the weeds, and flutterin' up
their hinder eends, and chatterin' and jokin'--I could have covered them
all with a handkercher, exceptin' two, as I said afore, one duck and the
little drake, and they was off a rod or better from the rest, at the two
different sides of the stream--the big bunch warn't over ten rods off
me, nor so far; so I tuck sight right at the big drake's neck. The water
was quite clear and still, and seemed to have caught all the little
light as was left by the sun, for the skies had got pretty dark, I tell
you; and I could see his head quite clear agin the water--well, I draw'd
trigger, and the hull charge ripped into 'em--and there was a scrabblin'
and a squatterin' in the water now, I tell you--but not one on 'em riz--
not the darned one of the hull bunch; but up jumped both the others, and
I drawed on the drake--more by the whistlin' of his wings, than that I
seen him--but I drawed stret, Archer, any ways; and arter I'd pulled
half a moment I hard him plump down into the creek with a splash, and
the water sparkled up like a fountain where he fell. So then I didn't
wait to load, but ran along the bank as hard as I could strick it, and
when I'd got down to the spot, I tell you, little Dash had got two on
'em out afore I came, and was in with a third. Well, sich a cuttin' and
a splashin' as there was you niver did see, none on you--I guess, for
sartin--leastwise I niver did. I'd killed, you see, the drake and two
ducks, dead at the first fire, but three was only wounded, wing-tipped,
and leg-broken, and I can't tell you what all. It was all of nine
o'clock at night, and dark as all out doors, afore I gathered them three
ducks, but I did gather 'em; Lord, boys, why I'd stay till mornin, but
I'd a got them, sarten. Well, the drake I killed flyin' I couldn't find
him that night, no how, for the stream swept him down, and I hadn't got
no guide to go by, so I let him go then, but I was up next mornin'
bright and airly, and started up the stream clean from the bridge here,
up through Garry's backside, and my boghole, and so on along the meadows
to Aunt Sally's run--and looked in every willow bush that dammed the
waters back, like, and every bunch of weeds, and brier-brake, all the
way, and sure enough I found him, he'd been killed dead, and floated
down the crick, and then the stream had washed him up into a heap of
broken sticks and briers, and when the waters fell, for there had been a
little freshet, they left him there breast uppermost--and I was glad to
find him--for I think, Archer, as that shot was the nicest, prettiest,
etarnal, darndest, long good shot, I iver did make, anyhow; and it was
so dark I couldn't see him."
"A sweet shot, Tom," responded Forester, "a sweet pretty shot, if there
had only been one word of truth in it, which there is not--don't answer
me, you old thief--shut up instantly, and get your traps; for we've done
feeding, and you've done lying for the present, at least I hope so--and
now we'll out, and see whether you've poached up all the game in the
country."
"Well, it be gettin' late for sartain," answered Tom, "and that'll save
your little wax skin for the time; but see, jest see, boy, if I doesn't
sarve you out, now, afore sundown!"
"Which way shall we beat, Tom," asked Harry, as he changed his riding
boots for heavy shooting shoes and leggins; "which course to-day?"
"Why, Timothy's gittin' out the wagon, and we'll drive up the old road
round the ridge, and so strike in by Minthorne's, and take them ridges
down, and so across the hill--there's some big stubbles there, and nice
thick brush holes along the fence sides, and the boys does tell us there
be one or two big bevies--but, cuss them, they will lie!--and over back
of Gin'ral Bertolf's barns, and so acrost the road, and round the upper
eend of the big pond, and down the long swamp into Hell hole, and Tim
can meet us with the wagon at five o'clock, under Bill Wisner's white
oak--does that suit you?"
"Excellently well, Tom," replied Harry, "I could not have cut a better
day's work out myself, if I had tried. Well, all the traps are in, and
the dogs, Timothy, is it not so?"
"Ey! ey! Sur," shouted that worthy from without, "all in, this
half-hour, and all roight!"
"Light your cigars then, quick, and let us start--hurrah!"
Within two minutes, they were all seated, Fat Tom in the post of honor
by Harry's side upon the driving box, the Commodore and Frank, with
Timothy, on the back seat, and off they rattled--ten miles an hour
without the whip, up hill and down dale all alike, for they had but
three miles to go, and that was gone in double quick time.
"What mun Ay do wi' t' horses, Sur?" asked Tim, touching his castor as
he spoke.
"Take them home, to be sure," replied Harry, "and meet us with them
under the oak tree, close to Mr. Wisner's house, at five o'clock this
evening."
"Nay! nay! Sur!" answered Tim, with a broad grin, eager to see the
sport, and hating to be sent so unceremoniously home, "that winna do,
I'm thinking--who'll hug t' gam bag, and carry t' bottles, and make t'
loonchun ready; that winna do, Sur niver. If you ple-ease, Sur, Ay'll
pit oop t' horses i' Measter Minthorne's barn here, and shak' doon a
bite o' hay tull 'em, and so gang on wi' you, and carry t' bag whaile
four o' t' clock, and then awa back and hitch oop, and draive doon to t'
aik tree!"
"I understand, Tim," said his master, laughing; "I understand right
well! you want to see the sport."
"Ayse oophaud it!" grinned Timothy, seeing at once that he should gain
his point.
"Well! well! I don't care about it; will Minthorne let us put up the
beasts in his barn, Tom?"
"Let us! let us!" exclaimed the fat man; "by gad I'd like to see Joe
Minthorne, or any other of his breed, a tellin' me I should'nt put my
cattle where I pleased; jest let me ketch him at it!"
"Very well; have it your own way, Tim, take care of the beasts, and
overtake us as quick as you can!" and as he spoke, he let down the bars
which parted a fine wheat stubble from the road, and entered the field
with the dogs at heel. "We must part company to beat these little woods,
must we not, Tom?"
"I guess so--I'll go on with A---; his Grouse and my Dash will work well
enough, and you and Frank keep down the valley hereaways; we'll beat
that little swamp-hole, and then the open woods to the brook side, and
so along the meadows to the big bottom; you keep the hill-side coverts,
and look the little pond-holes well on Minthorne's Ridge, you'll find a
cock or two there anyhow; and beat the bushes by the wall; I guess
you'll have a bevy jumpin' up; and try, boys, do, to git 'em down the
hill into the boggy bottom, for we can use them, I tell you!" and so
they parted.
Archer and Forester, with Shot and Chase at heel, entered the little
thicket indicated, and beat it carefully, but blank; although the dogs
worked hard, and seemed as if about to make game more than once. They
crossed the road, and came into another little wood, thicker and wetter
than the first, with several springy pools, although it was almost upon
the summit of the hill. Here Harry took the left or lower hand, bidding
Frank keep near the outside at top, and full ten yards ahead of him.
"And mind, if you hear Tom shoot, or cry 'mark,' jump over into the open
field, and be all eyes, for that's their line of country into the swamp,
where we would have them. Hold up, good dogs, hold up!"
And off they went, crashing and rattling through the dry matted briers,
crossing each other evenly, and quartering the ground with rare
accuracy. Scarcely, however, had they beat ten paces, before Shot
flushed a cock as he was in the very act of turning at the end of his
beat, having run in on him down wind, without crossing the line of
scent. Flip--flip--flap rose the bird, but as the dog had turned, and
was now running from him, he perceived no cause for alarm, fluttered a
yard or two onward, and alighted. The dog, who had neither scented nor
seen the bird, caught the sound of his wing, and stood stiff on the
instant, though his stern was waved doubtfully, and though he turned his
sagacious knowing phiz over his shoulder, as if to look out for the
pinion, the flap of which had arrested his quick ear. The bird had
settled ere he turned, but Shot's eye fell upon his master, as with his
finger on the trigger-guard, and thumb on the hammer, he was stepping
softly up in a direct line, with eye intently fixed, toward the place
where the woodcock had dropped; he knew as well as though he had been
blessed with human intellect, that game was in the wind, and remained
still and steady. Flip--flap again up jumped the bird.
"Mark cock," cried Forester, from the other side of the wood, not having
seen any thing, but hearing the sound of the timber doodle's wing
somewhere or other; and at the self-same moment bang! boomed the full
report of Harry's right hand barrel, the feathers drifting off down wind
toward Frank, told him the work was done, and he asked no question; but
ere the cock had struck the ground, which he did within half a second,
completely doubled up--whirr, whirr-r-r! the loud and startling hubbub
of ruffed grouse taking wing at the report of Harry's gun, succeeded--
and instantly, before that worthy had got his eye about from marking the
killed woodcock, bang! bang! from Forester. Archer dropped butt, and
loaded as fast as it was possible, and bagged his dead bird quietly, but
scarcely had he done so before Frank hailed him.
"Bring up the dogs, old fellow; I knocked down two, and I've bagged one,
but I'm afraid the other's run!"
"Stand still, then--stand still, till I join you. He-here, he-here good
dogs," cried Harry, striding away through the brush like a good one.
In a moment he stood by Frank, who was just pocketing his first, a fine
hen grouse.
"The other was the cock," said Frank, "and a very large one, too; he was
a long shot, but he's very hard hit; he flew against this tree before he
fell, and bounded off it here; look at the feathers!"
"Ay! we'll have him in a moment; seek dead, Shot; seek, good dogs; ha!
now they wind him; there! Chase has him--no! he draws again--now Shot is
standing; hold up, hold up, lads, he's running like the mischief, and
won't stop till he reaches some thick covert."
Bang! bang! "Mark--ma-ark!" bang! bang! "mark, Harry Archer, mark," came
down the wind in quick succession from the other party, who were beating
some thick briers by the brook side, at three or four fields' distance.
"Quick, Forester, quick!" shouted Archer; "over the wall, lad, and mark
them! those are quail; I'm man enough to get this fellow by myself.
Steady, lads! steady-y-y!" as they were roading on at the top of their
pace. "Toho! toho-o-o, Chase; fie, for shame--don't you see, sir, Shot's
got him dead there under his very nose in those cat-briers. Ha! dead!
good lads--good lads; dead! dead! fetch him, good dog; by George but he
is a fine bird. I've got him, Forester; have you marked down the quail?"
"Ay! ay! in the bog bottom!"
"How many?"
"Twenty-three!"
"Then we'll have sport, by Jove!" and, as he spoke, they entered a wide
rushy pasture, across which, at some two or three hundred yards, A---
and fat Tom were seen advancing toward them. They had not made three
steps before both dogs stood stiff as stones in the short grass, where
there was not a particle of covert.
"Why, what the deuce is this, Harry?"
"Devil a know know I," responded he; "but step up to the red dog, Frank
--I'll go to the other--they've got game, and no mistake!"
"Skeap--ske-eap!" up sprang a couple of English snipe before Shot's
nose, and Harry cut them down, a splendid double shot, before they had
flown twenty yards, just as Frank dropped the one which rose to him at
the same moment. At the sound of the guns a dozen more rose hard by, and
fluttering on in rapid zig-zags, dropped once again within a hundred
yards--the meadow was alive with them.
"Did you ever see snipe here before, Tom? asked Harry, as he loaded.
"Never in all my life--but it's full now--load up! load up! for heaven's
sake!"
"No hurry, Tom! Tom--steady! the birds are tame and lie like stones. We
can get thirty or forty here, I know, if you'll be steady only--but if
we go in with these four dogs, we shall lose all. Here comes Tim with
the couples, and we'll take up all but two!"
"That's right," said A---; "take up Grouse and Tom's dog, for they won't
hunt with yours--and yours are the steadiest, and fetch--that's it, Tim,
couple them, and carry them away. What have you killed, Archer?" he
added, while his injunctions were complied with.
"One woodcock and a brace of ruffed grouse! and Frank has marked down
three-and-twenty quail into that rushy bottom yonder, where we can get
every bird of them. We are going to have great sport to-day!"
"I think so. Tom and I each killed a double shot out of that bevy!"
"That was well! Now, then, walk slowly and far apart--we must beat this
three or four times, at least--the dogs will get them up!"
It was not a moment before the first bird rose, but it was quite two
hours, and all the dinner horns had long blown for noon, before the last
was bagged--the four guns having scored, in that one meadow, forty-nine
English snipe--fifteen for Harry Archer--thirteen for Tom Draw--twelve
for the Commodore, and only nine for Forester, who never killed snipe
quite so well as he did cock or quail.
"And now, boys," exclaimed Tom, as he flung his huge carcase on the
ground, with a thud that shook it many a rod around--"there's a cold
roast fowl, and some nice salt pork and crackers, in that 'ar game bag--
and I'm a whale now, I tell you, for a drink!"
"Which will you take to drink, Tom?" inquired Forester, very gravely--
"fowl, pork, or crackers? Here they are, all of them! I prefer whiskey
and water, myself!" qualifying, as he spoke, a moderate cup with some of
the ice-cold water which welled out in a crystal stream from a small
basin under the wreathed roots of the sycamore which overshadowed them.
"None of your nonsense, Forester--hand us the liquor, lad--I'm dry, I
tell you!"
"I wish you'd tell me something I don't know, then, if you feel
communicative; for I know that you're dry--now and always! Well! don't
be mad, old fellow, here's the bottle--don't empty it--that's all!"
"Well! now I've drinked," said Tom, after a vast potation, "now I've
drinked good--we'll have a bite and rest awhile, and smoke a pipe; and
then we'll use them quail, and we'll have time to pick up twenty cock in
Hell-hole arterwards, and that won't be a slow day's work, I reckon."