The dog went in, began to work. When the other men came up Chet said: “I think I hurt that first bird. He dropped in here. Job will find him.”
“Let’s send the other dogs in, too,” Hayes suggested. “Mine hasn’t learned retrieving yet.”
Chet nodded and the other two dogs plunged into the cover to one side of Job and began to circle, loping noisily. Job looked toward them with an air of almost human disgust at such incompetency, then went on with his business of finding the bird.
The men, watching, saw then a curious thing: they saw old Job freeze in a point and as he did so the other dogs charged toward him. One, Gunther’s, caught the scent ten feet away and froze. The other hesitated, then came on—and Job growled, a warning deadly growl. The other dog stopped still.
Chet exclaimed: “Now ain’t that comical? Hear old Job tell him to freeze?”
Hayes nodded and the three stood for a moment, watching the motionless dogs, silent. Then the young dog stirred again and Job moved forward two paces and flattened his head so low it almost touched the ground and—growled again.
Chet laughed.
“All right, Job,” he called. “Dead bird! Fetch it in!”
Job did not move, and Hayes said: “Maybe it’s not dead.
“I’ll walk in,” Chet told him. “I won’t shoot. You do the shooting.”