“We’ll give those crows something to remember us by,” said the youngest of the Rover boys.
“All ready!” yelled Jack. “Take aim!” He paused another instant. “Fire!”
Bang! Crack! Bang! went the guns in almost a perfect volley. The reports were followed by a scream from the woman in the house and a yell of delight from the red-headed boy. Then nine of the crows were seen to be coming down, some dropping rapidly, showing they had been killed instantly, and others fluttering as if badly wounded. With loud caws the other birds wheeled abruptly and flew out of sight.
“That’s the time we brought ’em down!” cried Jack, in satisfaction. “Those crows at least won’t bother any more chickens.”
“Gosh! but you’re some hunters, ain’t you?” said the red-headed boy, his eyes wide in wonder.
“Oh, that was easy,” answered Jack. “Come on, fellows, let’s go after the birds that we wounded and put them out of their misery.”
Three of the crows had been only wounded, and they were quickly dispatched, and then the boys walked back to the farmhouse where they found a lean woman awaiting them.
“You young men certainly came in the nick of time,” she declared emphatically. “I’m very much obliged to you, and I’m sure my husband will be too when he gets back from his work. Those crows are the plague of my life. I can’t keep the chicks locked up all the time, they need the air and the sunshine. But every time I let ’em out those crows get after them.”
“Want them crows?” asked the red-headed boy.
“No. You can have them,” answered Jack. “But I wouldn’t mind having a drink of water,” he added.