WHY JACK DID NOT FIRE AT THE PRAIRIE CHICKEN.
"A well?" said Jack, as they passed a curb behind the house. "I thought
you had to go to the spring for water."
"So we do," said Link.
"Why don't you use the well?"
"I d'n' know; 't ain't good for anything. 'T ain't deep enough."
"Why wasn't it dug deeper?"
"I d'n' know; father got out of patience, I guess, or out of money. 'T
was a wet time, and the water came into it, so they stunned it up; and
now it's dry all summer."
They passed a field on the sunny slope, and Jack said, "What's here?"
"I d'n' know; _'t was_ potatoes, but it's run all to weeds."
"Why didn't you hoe them?"
"I d'n' know; folks kind o' neglected 'em, till 't was too late."
Beyond the potatoes was another crop, which the weeds, tall as they
were, could not hide.
"Corn?" said Jack.
"Meant for corn," replied Link. "But the cattle and hogs have been in
it, and trampled down the rows."
"I should think so! They look like the last rows of summer!" Jack said.
"Why don't you keep the cattle and hogs out?"
"I d'n' know; 't ain't much of a fence; hogs run under and cattle jump
over."
"Plenty of timber close by,--why don't your folks make a better fence?"
"I d'n' know; they don't seem to take a notion."
Jack noticed that the river was quite near, and asked if there was good
boating.
"I d'n' know,--pretty good, only when the water's too low."
"Do you keep a boat?"
"Not exactly,--we never had one of our own," said Link. "But one came
floating down the river, and the boys nabbed that. A fust-rate boat,
only it leaked like a sieve."
"Leaked? Doesn't it leak now?"
"No?" said Link, stoutly. "They hauled it up, and last winter they
worked on it, odd spells, and now it don't leak a drop."
Jack was surprised to hear of so much enterprise in the Betterson
family, and asked,--
"Stopped all the leaks in the old boat! They puttied and painted it, I
suppose?"
"No, they didn't."
"Calked and pitched it, then?"
"No, they didn't."
"What did they do to it?"
"Made kindling-wood of it," said Link, laughing, and hitching up his one
suspender.
Jack laughed too, and changed the subject.
"Is that one of your brothers with a gun?"
"That's Wad; Rufe is down on the grass."
"What sort of a crop is that,--buckwheat?"
Link grinned. "There's something funny about that! Ye see, a
buckwheat-lot is a great place for prairie hens. So one day I took the
old gun, and the powder and shot you gave me for carrying you home that
night, and went in, and scared up five or six, and fired at 'em, but I
didn't hit any. Wad came along and yelled at me. 'Don't you know any
better 'n to be trampling down the buckwheat?' says he. 'Out of there,
quicker!' And he took the gun away from me. But he'd seen one of the
hens I started light again on the edge of the buckwheat; so he went in
to find her. 'You're trampling the buckwheat yourself!' says I. 'No, I
ain't,' says he,--'I step between the spears; and I'm coming out in a
minute.' He stayed in, though, about an hour, and went all over the
patch, and shot two prairie chickens. Then Rufe came along, and he was
mad enough, 'cause Wad was treading down the buckwheat. 'Come out of
that!' says he, 'or I'll go in after ye, and put that gun where you
won't see it again.' So Wad came out; and the sight of his chickens made
Rufe's eyes shine. 'Did ye shoot _them_ in the buckwheat?' says he.
'Yes,' says Wad; 'and I could shoot plenty more; the patch is full of
'em.' Rufe said he wanted the gun to go and shoot ducks with, on the
river; but he didn't find any ducks, and coming along back he thought he
would try _his_ luck in the buckwheat,--treading between the spears! He
had shot three prairie chickens, when father came along, and scolded
him, and made him come out. 'I've heard you fire twenty times,' says
father; 'you're wasting powder and ruining the crop. Let _me_ take the
gun.' 'But _you_ mustn't ruin the crop,' says Rufe. Father's a splendid
shot,--can drop a bird every time,--only he don't like to go hunting
very often. He thought 't would pay for _him_ to go through the patch
_once_; besides, he said, if the birds were getting the buckwheat, we
might as well get the birds. He thought _he_ could tread between the
spears! Well, since then," said Link, "we've just made a hunting-ground
of that patch, always treading between the spears till lately; now it's
got so trampled it never'll pay to cut it; so we just put it through.
See that hen!"
There was a sound of whirring wings,--a flash, a loud report, a curl of
smoke,--a broken-winged grouse shooting down aslant into the buckwheat,
and a young hunter running to the spot.
"That's the way he does it," said Rufe, getting up from the grass.
He greeted Jack good-naturedly, inquired about Snowfoot, heard with
surprise of Vinnie's arrival, and finally asked if Jack would like to
try his hand at a shot.
"I should," replied Jack, "if it wasn't for treading down your
buckwheat."
"That's past caring for," said Rufe, with a laugh. "Here, Wad, bring us
the gun."
"Is that your land the other side of the fence?" Jack asked.
"That lot belongs to old Peakslow," said Rufe, speaking the name with
great contempt. "And he pretends to claim a big strip this side too.
That's what caused the feud between our families."
"He hates you pretty well, I should judge," replied Jack; and he told
the story, as Vinnie had told it to him, of her encounter with Peakslow
on the deck of the schooner.
"He's the ugliest man!" Rufe declared, reddening angrily. "You may thank
your stars you've nothing to do with him. Now take the gun,"--Wad had by
this time brought it,--"go through to the fence and back, and be ready
to fire the moment a bird rises. Keep your dog back, and look out and
not hit one of Peakslow's horses, the other side of the fence."
"He brought home a new horse from Chicago a day or two ago," said Wad;
"and he's just been out there looking at him and feeling for ringbones.
If he's with him now, and if you _should_ happen to shoot _one_ of 'em,
I hope it won't be the horse!"
Jack laughed, and started to go through the buckwheat. He had got about
half-way, when a hen rose a few feet from him, at his right. He was not
much accustomed to shooting on the wing; and it is much harder to hit
birds rising suddenly, at random, in that way, than when they are
started by a trained dog. But good luck made up for what he lacked in
skill; and at his fire the hen dropped fluttering in the grass that
bordered the buckwheat.
[Illustration: SHOT ON THE WING.]
"I'll pick her up!" cried Link; and he ran to do so; while Wad carried
Jack the powder and shot for another load.
"But I ought not to use up your ammunition in this way!" Jack protested.
"I guess you can afford to," replied Wad. "It was mostly bought with
money we sold that fawn-skin for."
Jack was willing enough to try another shot; and, the piece reloaded, he
resumed his tramp.
He had nearly reached the fence, when a bird rose between it and him,
and flew over Peakslow's pasture. Jack had brought the gun to his
shoulder, and was about to pull the trigger, when he remembered
Peakslow's horses, and stopped to give a hasty glance over the fence.
Down went the gun, and Jack stood astonished, the bird forgotten, and
his eyes fixed on an object beyond.
What Wad said of their neighbor having brought out a new horse from
Chicago, together with what the captain of the Heron said of one of
Peakslow's span being a light roan, rushed through his thoughts. He ran
up to the fence, and looked eagerly over; then gave a shout of joy.
After all his futile efforts to find him,--chasing about the country,
offering rewards, scattering hand-bills,--there was the lost horse, the
veritable Snowfoot, grazing quietly in the amiable Mr. Peakslow's
pasture!