ITn tbe TKIloob0 witb tbc 3Bow 



at the water's edge, and by certain sway- 

 ing motions of its neck and body I knew 

 it would fly from the sHghtest noise. I 

 knelt in order to shoot under some dan- 

 gling twigs. 



"Wall, I jes be dad burn!" commented 

 Mr. Shamly, in the most approving accent, 

 when I let go a blunt arrow, and saw it 

 bowl the game over, knocking it clean from 

 behind the rock into the field of Mr. 

 Shamly's absolutely amazed vision. 

 " Ef he did n't kill it I 'm er gourd!" 

 By this time I had crossed the stream 

 at a riffle, and was holding my bird high, 

 gazing upon it triumphantly, as a fisher- 

 man does who exalts a two-pound bass 

 and mutters : " Four pounds and a half, if 

 it 's an ounce!" Then Mr. Shamly drove 

 his mules with the clattering and dripping 

 wagon through the stony ford. If possible, 

 he was prouder than I of the successful 

 shot. Throughout the rest of our journey 

 together, he talked volubly ; in the main 

 he was telling me about his own prowess 

 with the " bow 'n' arry " when he was a 

 boy. He could hit a bird every time, and 

 213 



