WALKING UP 155 
well did we know one another’s form and every inch 
of the 17,000 acres, or thereabouts, which make up 
that well-known sporting estate, that I verily believe 
on that ground no three men could have beaten us. 
My uncle was almost like a boy himself, singularly 
active and powerful, and an exceptionally fine shot. 
We understood every wave of his hand or look of his 
eye, and learnt thoroughly all that can be done by 
three guns and a few well-trained men on the war- 
path for partridges, whether in the hot days of early 
September, when a good-natured tenant of the old- 
fashioned sort would insist on our walking through 
the standing barley and beans, or in the late October, 
when the fields were cleared, and by running, circum- 
venting, half-mooning, and occasional impromptu 
driving, we managed to get the birds into a scanty 
field of cold wet swedes or a welcome bit of gorse- 
cover. 
He had a little Irish red retriever, called Gunner, 
the best, I think, I eversaw. It was a treat to see this 
little beast on a winged bird: No jumping about with 
his head in the air, but with nose to the ground and 
at a terrific pace he would carry the scent down 
the drill right through fresh unsprung birds to the 
end of the field, double back, down and up again, 
lose it for a moment, execute a perfect cast for him- 
