Tbe Wizard of tbe Wetlands 51 



on dry going. Presently we began to get a bit anx- 

 ious and to more than half wish for the canines left 

 securely kennelled at home. Upon such ground, 

 with birds plentiful, dogs are unnecessary, but 

 where, as sometimes happens, the snipe are broadly 

 scattered, the conditions are reversed. 



We were some thirty yards apart, when suddenly 

 I heard the well-known whip-hip-hip of bent wings 

 and the " Scaip-sca-ip ! " as an artful dodger flushed 

 before Tom. Old " Take-your-Time " was a picture 

 as he flashed the beautiful arm into position, then 

 waited those straining seconds till the dodging 

 ceased. Then came the puny " squinge " of smoke- 

 less, and somebody's long bill was settled in full. 

 Breaking the gun as he went, and never taking his 

 eyes off that one spot of a thousand similar spots, 

 Tom moved forward thirty yards and retrieved. The 

 whole performance was a perfect illustration of the 

 deliberate method of which he undeniably was a 

 master. 



" That long brute's dead-on to-day," was my in- 

 ward comment, as I moved ahead. 



" Whip-hip ! Whip-hip Scaip-sca-ip ! " 



A brace of unpatented corkscrews were ready to 

 bore holes in the whence, but the light gun just 

 cleared its throat a couple of times and both birds 

 hearkened to the warning, and that before the second 

 had time to make one decent twist. 



" I'll mark the last one," said Tom, as I went to 

 the first bird. Right well he knew how I'd com- 

 pletely lose track of one the moment I left the firing 

 point, and he followed the best method, to stand in 

 his tracks and keep his eyes on the spot and direct 



