"Any luck?" asked Holcomb.
The butler drew from the wide pocket of a well-worn leather hunting coat a pair of ruffled partridges.
"Good enough!" exclaimed Holcomb.
"'Twas a bit of devil's luck," returned Blakeman, dropping into his native brogue, which he always suppressed in service. "Both birds jumped back of me, but I got 'em."
"You're a good shot," declared Billy.
"No, my friend," replied Blakeman modestly, "I used to be a good shot; I'm only a lucky shot now. It's not often I make a double. Where have you been?"
"Over to look at some timber on the West Branch."
"I heard voices," Blakeman said, "full half an hour ago"—and he pointed in the direction from which Holcomb had come—"and did you see anybody?"
"Yes," said Holcomb, after a moment's thoughtful hesitation, "I did."
"Whom?"