As they reached the lower end of the island Dave held up his hand as a warning.
“I think I saw some partridges ahead,” he said, in a low voice. “If they are there we don’t want to disturb them. Put down the hamper and take off your skates, and we’ll try to bag them.”
His chums were not slow in complying with his commands, and soon the crowd was making its way toward the center of the island, where grew a dense clump of cedars. They had to work their way through the brushwood.
“Ouch!” exclaimed Shadow, presently.
“What’s the trouble?” whispered Roger.
“Scratched my hand on a bramble bush,” was the reply. “But it isn’t much.”
“Be careful of your guns,” cautioned Dave. “Don’t let a trigger get caught in a bush or you may have an accident.”
“There they are!” cried Ben, in a strained voice. “My, what a lot of ’em!”
He pointed ahead, and to one side of the tall cedars they saw a covey of partridges, at least twenty in number, resting on the ground.
“All together!” said Dave, in a low, steady voice. “Fire as you stand, those on the right to the right, those on the left to the left, and those in the center for the middle of the flock. I’ll count. Ready? One, two, three!”