A Match at Chickens 185 



seemed he never would shoot. At last the big 

 gun roared, the chicken went down like a wet 

 rag, and I also " tumbled " to something ! This 

 man understood the game, he knew he had a hard- 

 shooting gun, and he had faced the traps. Still, 

 his method lacked finish, and all things consid- 

 ered there was nothing very alarming about the 

 performance, for it really seemed as though a 

 clever sprinter might have broken shot and 

 caught the fowl. Appearances, however, are 

 deceptive. 



" Go ! " said an unmistakable voice, and at 

 the sound of it there was a roar of wings and 

 half a dozen birds flushed. Two bore to the 

 right, and to cut the head off the first and repeat 

 on the slow follower was easy enough. 



" Good boy ! well done, suh ! " exclaimed the 

 colonel, then we gathered the birds and handed 



them over. M 's was fairly well peppered, 



while one of the others was minus the head and 

 most of the neck. The colonel grunted at the 

 sight and looked earnestly at me, but I could 

 make nothing of his expression. Again we moved 

 on, and to make short a long story, we were fairly 

 settled down to work with the kills even at nine 

 straight. Three more of mine were headless, 

 and as we went to another point, I heard the 

 colonel say — "Wish he'd hit one squarely, I'd 

 dearly like to see what the little gun can do." 



