i88 TEN YEARS OF GAME-KEEPING 



front ; its height was improving rapidly. I was 

 just contemplating the addition of another laurel- 

 leaf to the crown of youthful success, when from the 

 corner of my eye I saw the man on my right put up 

 his gun. I hesitated. He fired and killed the cock 

 a bird which by no stretch of imagination could 

 have been called anyone's but mine. I said nothing. 

 If I had said a tenth of what I felt, I should have 

 said a lot. Just as we were about to sit down to 

 lunch, my bird-grabber hinted at a pompous, con- 

 descending regret that he had shot the pheasant I 

 suppose really with the intent to draw public attention 

 to his own prowess. In as humble a tone as I could 

 manage, I said : ' Don't mention it. Seeing that you 

 were about to shoot, I thought it as well to wait in 

 reserve.' 



The perfumed shooter is not unknown to the 

 keeper. Once so heavily was a shooter scented that 

 I was driven to make excuse for alleged deficiency 

 of my retriever's nose, confiding to another sports 

 man that so long as the perfume-wafter was in the 

 wind my dog had no chance. The shooter who 

 is everlastingly winging birds, either because he is 

 a bad shot or a good one much given to firing 

 long shots, is a perfect pest when walking up 

 partridges. When the host happens to be a 

 shooter of this description, the keeper and his 

 dog have a particularly bad time. However well 

 birds have been marked, they are not to be 



