He turned and began to push his way into the alders and the other two men kept pace with him, one on either side. It was hard going; they could see only a little way. Now and then Chet whistled again, but for the most part they went quietly. Woodcock may not be found in open stubble like the obliging quail. You will come upon them singly or by twos in wet alder runs or upon birch-clad knolls or even in the shelter of a clump of evergreens—in thick cover almost always, where it is difficult for a man to shoot; and the bird must usually be killed before it has gone twenty yards in flight or it goes scot-free.
In such a cover as this the men were now hunting for Job; and at the end of fifteen minutes, in which they had worked back and forth and to and fro without discovering the dog, Hayes and the doctor were ready to give up.
“Call him in,” Hayes told Chet. “Maybe we’ll see the bird get up. We can’t find him and we’re wasting time.”
Chet hesitated, then he said: “I’ll shoot. Maybe that’ll scare up the bird.”
On the last word his gun roared and through its very echoes each of the three men heard the tinkle of a bell, and Chet, who was nearest, cried: “There he is! Careful! The bird’s moving.”
The dog was in the very center of the cover they had traversed—in a little depression where he chanced to be well hidden. They had passed within twenty feet of him, yet had he held his point. Hayes was the first to do homage.
“By gad,” he cried, “that is some dog, McAusland!”
“You be ready to shoot,” Chet retorted. “I’ll walk up the bird.”
They said they were ready; he moved in to one side of Job and the woodcock got up on whistling wings. Hayes’ first shot knocked him down.
Job found another bird a little farther on and Chet killed it before it topped the alders. Then they approached the spot where he had marked down that first woodcock, the one which had been flushed by the too-rangy dogs. He called Job, pointed, said briefly: “Find dead bird, Job.”