CHAPTER XXI
THE CHINESE BUTTON
Game was not so plentiful in the woods about the camp, as the three chums had hoped. Frank, Ned and Bart tramped along, keeping a close watch for anything that would promise to restock the larder, but, for some time, the most they saw, were numbers of small birds—too small to shoot.
“Why can’t we scare up a covey of partridges?” asked Ned, rather disgustedly, after they had been out an hour or more.
“Why don’t you wish for a herd of deer, or a drove of bears, that is if bears go in droves,” suggested Bart. “You want things too easy, you do.”
“I don’t care whether they’re easy or not, as long as there are some of them,” retorted Ned. “I’d like to hear how this gun sounds when it’s shot off.”
“Hark! What’s that?” exclaimed Bart, looking up as a sudden whirring noise was audible in the air over their heads.
The boys looked up, and, to their surprise, saw a big flock of wild ducks, flying quite low. It was rather early in the season for them, as they learned later, but they did not stop to think of that. Without further words, they raised their guns and blazed away.
“Hurrah! We got some!” yelled Ned, as he saw several of the wild fowl tumbling earthward.
“The other barrel!” exclaimed Frank. “We may not get another chance, and we’d better kill enough to last us a week.”