TWO SHOTS 



scanning with quick glances the thickets, 

 imagining himself the last Mohican on 

 the warpath, or Leather-Stocking scout- 

 ing in the primeval wilderness. 



Under his breath he tells the confid- 

 ing chickadees and woodpeckers what 

 undreamed-of danger they would be in 

 from such a brave, were he not in pur- 

 suit of nobler game. Then he hears 

 a sudden rustle of the dry leaves, the 

 quit! quit! of a partridge, catches a 

 glimpse of a rapidly running brown ob- 

 ject, which on the instant is launched into 

 a flashing thunderous flight. Impelled 

 by the instinct of the born sportsman, 

 he throws the gun to his shoulder, and 

 scarcely with aim, but in the direction of 

 the sound, pulls trigger and fires. 



On the instant he is ashamed of his 

 impulsive haste, which fooled him into 

 wasting a precious charge on the inani- 

 mate evergreen twigs and sere leaves 

 that come dropping and floating down 

 to his shot, and is thankful that he is 

 the only witness of his own foolishness. 



But what is that ? Above the patter 

 and rustle of falling twigs and leaves 

 conies a dull thud, followed by the rapid 

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