At that moment Phra raised his gun and fired at a similar bird, as it crossed the river, and dropped just at the edge of the opening.
A turn or two of the oar sent the boat alongside, the bird was retrieved, and Harry was in ecstasies with its beautiful shades of turquoise blue, pale drab, and grey.
"It's the kind father was saying he was so eager to get a specimen of," cried Harry. "Do you think any more will come if we wait?"
"I don't think so," was the reply; "but let's try."
They waited for half an hour, but not another bird appeared, and they went on, having the luck to bring down one of the lovely ground thrushes at the next opening.
After this Phra shot one of the scarlet-breasted trogons, a beautiful insect-eating bird, nearly allied to our goatsuckers and cuckoos, with, in addition to its rosy, scarlet breast, a delicate pencilling of grey and black, while the greater part of its back was of a fine metallic green.
Flycatchers with inordinately long tails were the next trophies, and Harry was beginning to think that enough had been secured for Sree to skin and preserve, when Phra pressed his companion's arm, and pointed to what looked like a streak of vivid blue being drawn in the air just above the water.
It was too far off to fire, so the boys strained their eyesight to note where the beautiful object settled, but without result, so the boat was urged gently forward, and, finger on trigger, the boys watched the spot where they had last seen the bird.
"It has a splendid tail, Hal," said Phra, in a whisper. "You had better fire."
"No, you; it's a beauty."