14 The Amateur Poacher 



When, suddenly, there was a sh'ght rustling 

 among the boughs of an oak in the other hedge, as 

 of wings against twigs : it was a woodpigcon, better 

 game than a rabbit. He would, I knew, first look 

 round before he settled himself to preen his feathers 

 on the branch, and, if everything was still while that 

 keen inspection lasted, would never notice me. This 

 is their habit — and the closer you are underneath 

 them the less chance of their perceiving you : for a 

 pigeon perched rarely looks straight downwards. If 

 flying, it is just the reverse ; for then they seem to 

 see under them quicker than in any other direction. 



Slowly lifting the long barrel of the gun — it was 

 fortunate the sunlight glancing on the bright barrel 

 was not reflected towards the oak — I got it to bear 

 upon the bird ; but then came a doubt. It was all 

 eight-and-tvventy yards across the angle of the mea- 

 dow to the oak — a tremendous long shot under the 

 circumstances. For they would not trust us with the 

 large copper powder-flask, but only with a little 

 pistol-flask (it had belonged to the pair of pistols we 

 tried to find), and we were ordered not to use more 

 than a charge and a half at a time. That was quite 

 enough to kill blackbirds. (The noise of the report 

 was always a check in this way ; such a trifle of 

 powder only made a slight puff.) 



