The Quail 79 



sounded as one ; then Doc's second barrel rang 

 out, and a puff of feathers told that his hand was 

 in. I always shoot with both eyes open, and the 

 eye that had not been too intent on the birds had 

 detected a swiftly leaping shape which darted 

 into the grass. Swinging round, I held low and 

 well ahead of the shaking grass. 



" What's that — rabbit ? " asked Doc. 



" What's that " answered for itself. We heard 

 a wrathful sputtering, like a man's sweet, low talk 

 when he unexpectedly finds something hard in 

 a dark room, and then a voice — such a voice ! 

 — cried unto heaven, '''■ Mee — yow-r-r — ow-r ! 

 Mee-yow-r-r ! " 



We grinned at each other as I said, " Keep 

 the dogs down till I finish that devil." It was 

 a big, hard-looking Thomas, and the number nine 

 had raked him well forward. He was growling 

 and swearing savagely, and he made a bounce at 

 me. Old foot-ball training helped there. The 

 right boot met him fairly, and he sailed over a 

 clump of bushes. 



" Wonderful what a trifle of ' number nine ' can 

 do," sagely remarked Doc. 



" Shot or boot ? " I retorted. 



" Oh, the second barrel, by all means ; you're 

 deadliest with it ! " snapped Doc, grinning like a 

 fiend. 



The dogs soon found the dead birds and, after 



