As they came out of a dense patch of scrubby woods, into a little semi-cleared place, a whirr of wings startled all of them.
“There they go—partridges!” yelled Bert, bringing up his gun and firing quickly.
“Missed!” he groaned a moment later as he saw the brace of plump birds whirr on without so much as a feather ruffled.
“You don’t know how to shoot!” grunted Jack. “You’re not quick enough.”
“Well, I’d like to see you shoot anything when it jumps up right from under your feet, and almost knocks you over,” was Bert’s defence of himself.
“That’s right,” chimed in George. “I couldn’t get my gun ready, either, before they were out of sight.”
“You’ve got to be always on the lookout,” said Tom. “Well, the first miss isn’t so bad. None of us is in proper shape yet. We’ll get there after a while.”
A little disappointed at their first failure, the boys went on again, watching eagerly from side to side as they advanced. No more did Bert use his camera. He wanted to make good on a real shot.
“Well, there’s game here, that’s certain,” said Tom. “If we can only get it!”
Almost as he spoke there was a whirr at his very feet. He started back, and half raised his rifle, not thinking, for the moment, that it was not a shotgun. Then he cried: