230 A MEDLEY OF SPORT 



against the reeds which formed my natural " bhnd." 

 Then I knew that in spite of our lecture regarding high 

 shots Madcap Hood had pulled at a low-flying bird, for 

 the pellets travelled at too great a racket for falling shot. 



The intolerable row made by Hood and his beaters 

 was so great, however, that it would have been quite 

 useless attempting to warn the first named against 

 saluting my fellow guns or myself with a fresh discharge 

 of No. 5 " chilled " ; and besides, the coots were beginning 

 to move. 



It was not without a feeling of uneasiness, however, 

 that I watched the progress of the beaters and the move- 

 ments of the dusky fowl, for, as every shooting man 

 knows, a stray shot pellet, even when fired at a couple 

 of hundred yards' range, may ruin the sight of an eye 

 for ever. 



At length the first bunch of coots rose, and with a 

 smart breeze behind them the birds passed between 



H and myself at a great pace, affording rattling 



sporting shots. Holding, as I imagined, well on to a 

 single bird flying a little outside the " bunch," I pulled, 

 and had the somewhat unsatisfactory satisfaction of 

 seeing him go on his way unscathed, while one of his bald- 

 headed fellows — at which, by the way, I had not even 

 thrown a glance — doubled up like a black glove to the 

 contents of my right barrel. A second coot, with a 

 wing down, dropped to my left and then ran into a 

 dense clump of sedges, from which haven of refuge, to 

 the best of my belief, he was never gathered. I had no 



