He tried to lift the gun, but Saladine spoke sharply. “Hold on. Look at the dog. He didn’t chase the deer.”
Westley realized then that Reck was, in fact, still marking game, moving slowly on ahead of them. But Proutt cried: “He’d smelled it; he didn’t see it go. Or there’s another ahead.”
“He didn’t chase the deer,” said Saladine. Westley, without speaking, moved forward behind the dog. And of a second his heart could beat again.
For they came to where the buck had been lying, to his bed, still warm. And Reck passed over this warm bed, where the deer scent was so strong the men could almost catch it themselves; passed over this scent as though it did not exist, and swung, beyond, to the right, and up the slope. The buck had gone forward and down.
“He’s not after deer,” said Saladine.
They knew what he was after in the next instant; for wings drummed ahead of them, and four partridges got up, huge, fleeting shadows in the darkening woods. And Reck’s nose followed them in flight till they were gone, then swung back to Westley, wrinkling curiously, as though he asked:
“Why did you not shoot?”
Westley went down on his knees and put his arms about the dog’s neck; and then he came to his feet uncertainly as Proutt exclaimed: “Hell, he was after deer. He knew we were watching. Took the birds.”
Westley tried to find a word, but Saladine, that silent man, stepped forward.
“Westley,” he said, “wait a minute. You, Proutt, be still.”