“Get him—did you get him?” yelled Spotty once more.
“I sure did,” laughed Grant, breaking down the gun to eject the empty shells. Blowing through the barrels, he slipped in fresh cartridges, snapped the gun together, pushed through the bushes to pick up the partridge, and had almost reached the rabbit when Rouser came bellowing forth from the woods to stop in surprise and sniff around the furry, blood-stained body.
“Say, you’re a holy terror!” spluttered Davis, as he came crunching and crashing through the alders. “You can shoot some, can’t you?”
“It’s a cinch with a shotgun,” laughed Rod. “I’ve always done most of my shooting with a rifle.”
“Don’t believe Bunk thought that rabbit would circle back this way,” confessed Davis. “If he had, he wouldn’t have gone up-stream. He’ll be coming pretty soon, now that Rouser’s quit talking after that shooting. We had better go meet him.”
Already the dog was sniffing around in the bushes for a fresh scent. Spotty called the animal, and they pushed up-stream, soon discovering Lander approaching.
“I didn’t,” acknowledged Spotty. “I put up a biddy, but I missed her. Rod brought her down, though, and he got that rabbit, too.”
His gun tucked under his arm, Lander looked at the partridge and the rabbit in evident surprise.
“Great luck,” he commented, with an evident shade of chagrin. “Good work for a greenhorn. Sometimes it happens that way; the feller who’s green gets all the chances.”
“Greenhorn!” snickered Spotty. “You should see him shoot. Here, Rouser, come back here! Come back, sir!”
The old dog had been slipping away into the woods, but he returned at the command.
“Well, we’ll have our stew all right,” said Lander. “That’s a consolation for us, Spot.”
They moved on, Bunk leading and directing the dog. After a time another track was picked up, and again Rouser went baying off into the woods.
“We’ll wait a while and see which way he turns,” said Bunk, who hoped to pick the lucky location for himself this time.
“Hark! What’s that?” cried Davis suddenly, as the distant report of a gun drifted to their ears.
“Somebody else out for rabs, I guess,” growled Lander. “Yes, there’s their dog. Listen!”
Another hound, much farther away than Rouser, was heard giving voice.