Part 7 (1/2)
And away we went again, spinning down a little descent, to a flat s.p.a.ce between the hill-foot and the river, having a thick tangled swamp on the right, and a small boggy meadow full of gra.s.s, breast-high, with a thin open alder grove beyond it on the left. Just as we reached the bridge Harry pulled up.
”Jump out, boys, jump out! Here's the spot.”
”I tell you there aint none; darn you! There aint none never here, nor haint been these six years; you know that now, yourself, Archer.”
”We'll try it, all the same,” said Harry, who was coolly loading his gun. ”The season has been wetter than common, and this ground is generally too dry. Drive on, Tim, over the bridge, into the hollow; you'll be out of shot there; and wait till we come. Holloa! mark, Tom.”
For, as the wagon wheels rattled upon the bridge, up jumped a c.o.c.k out of the ditch by the road side, from under a willow brush, and skimmed past all of us within five yards. Tom Draw and I, who had got out after Harry, were but in the act of ramming down our first barrels; but Harry, who had loaded one, and was at that moment putting down the wad upon the second, dropped his ramrod with the most perfect sang-froid I ever witnessed, took a cap out of his right-hand pocket, applied it to the cone, and pitching up his gun, knocked down the bird as it wheeled to cross the road behind us, by the cleverest shot possible.
”That's pretty well for no birds, anyhow, Tom,” he exclaimed, dropping his b.u.t.t to load. ”Go and gather that bird, Frank, to save time; he lies in the wagon rut, there. How now? down charge, you Chase, sir! what are you about?”
The bird was quickly bagged, and Harry loaded. We stepped across a dry ditch, and both dogs made game at the same instant.
”Follow the red dog, Frank!” cried Archer, ”and go very slow; there are birds here!”
And as he spoke, while the dogs were crawling along, cat-like, pointing at every step, and then again creeping onward, up skirred two birds under the very nose of the white setter, and crossed quite to the left of Harry. I saw him raise his gun, but that was all; for at the self-same moment one rose to me, and my ear caught the flap of yet another to my right; five barrels were discharged so quickly, that they made but three reports; I cut my bird well down, and looking quickly to the left, saw nothing but a stream of feathers drifting along the wind.
At the same time, old Tom shouted on the right,
”I have killed two, by George! What have you done, boys?”
”Two, I!” said Archer. ”Wait, Frank, don't you begin to load till one of us is ready; there'll be another c.o.c.k up, like enough. Keep your barrel; I'll be ready in a jiffy!”
And well it was that I obeyed him, for at the squeak of the card, in its descent down his barrel, another bird did rise, and was making off for the open alders, when my whole charge riddled him; and instantly at the report three more flapped up, and of course went off unharmed; but we marked them, one by one, down in the gra.s.s at the wood edge. Harry loaded again. We set off to pick up our dead birds. Shot drew, as I thought, on my first, and pointed dead within a yard of where he fell. I walked up carelessly, with my gun under my arm, and was actually stooping to bag him, as I thought, when whiz! one rose almost in my face; and, bothered by seeing us all around him, towered straight up into the air. Taken completely by surprise, I blazed away in a hurry, and missed clean; but not five yards did he go, before Tom cut him down.
”Aha, boy! whose eye's wiped now?”
”Mine, Tom, very fairly; but can that be the same c.o.c.k I knocked down, Archer?”
”Not a bit of it; I saw your's fall dead as a stone; he lies half a yard farther in that tussock.”
”How the deuce did you see him? Why, you were shooting your own at the same moment.”
”All knack, Frank; I marked both my own and yours, and one of Tom's besides. Are you ready? Hold up, Shot! There; he has got your dead bird.
Was I not right? And look to! for, by Jove! he is standing on another, with the dead bird in his mouth! That's pretty, is it not?”
Again two rose, and both were killed; one by Tom, and one by Archer; my gun hanging fire.
”That's nine birds down before we have bagged one,” said Archer; ”I hope no more will rise, or we'll be losing these.”
But this time his hopes were not destined to meet accomplishment, for seven more woodc.o.c.k got up, five of which were scattered in the gra.s.s around us, wing-broken or dead, before we had even bagged the bird which Shot was gently mouthing.
”I never saw anything like this in my life, Tom. Did you?” cried Harry.
”I never did, by George!” responded Tom. ”Now do you think there's any three men to be found in York, such darned etarnal fools as to be willing to shoot a match agin us?”
”To be sure I do, lots of them; and to beat us too, to boot, you stupid old porpoise. Why, there's Harry T--- and Nick L---, and a dozen more of them, that you and I would have no more chance with, than a gallon of brandy would have of escaping from you at a single sitting. But we have shot pretty well, to-day. Now do, for heaven's sake, let us try to bag them!”
And scattered though they were in all directions, among the most infernal tangled gra.s.s I ever stood on, those excellent dogs retrieved them one by one, till every bird was pocketed. We then beat on and swept the rest of the meadow, and the outer verge of the alders, picking up three more birds, making a total of seventeen brought to bag in less than half an hour. We then proceeded to the wagon, took a good pull of water from a beautiful clear spring by the road-side, properly qualified with whiskey, and rattled on about one mile farther to the second bridge. Here we again got out.