i8o Sporting Sketches 



pens, some few yards from the spot indicated by the 

 dog. One vanished over the wall of saplings, but the 

 others sped away side by side up the creek. The little 

 " sixteen " spoke twice in rapid succession, one cock 

 coming down in the open and the other just as the 

 leaves were closing behind him in the brush. Any 

 one hearing the reports might have fancied that the 

 gun was not properly charged, for they sounded 

 strangely weak and there was but a suggestion of 

 smoke. Duckett evidently fancied that something 

 was wrong, for his voice sounded from the brush. 



" What de debbil's wrong wid dat baby gun ? Am 

 it sufferin' from a cold, or did yo' load yo' own 

 shells?" 



" Wood powder, you old duffer ! " and the owner 

 of the gun laughed aloud, for he guessed that the 

 mysterious but valuable explosive was an unknown 

 quantity to his sable friend. 



" Did yo' kill um ? " was the next query, and after 

 being answered in the affirmative the darky could 

 be heard crashing his way through the thicket. His 

 over-keenness made him careless, and he flushed the 

 third bird and drove it out directly in front of the 

 weak-voiced gun, and it, too, was secured. 



" Golly ! dat's the funniest-soundin' stuff I ebber 

 did hear. Whar yo' get dat, Marse Ned ? " 



" Now, see here, mister, you get right back into 

 that brush ! A bargain's a bargain and you're not 

 near the tree yet." 



"But I'se jest " 



" Never mind now ! You just misfigured a trifle, 

 that's all, and I stay in the open till the tree is 

 reached." 



