But no; as they advanced the birds still went on, running well out of range and stopping again to scratch and feed.
There were about fifteen of them, and the more they kept ahead the more eager grew their stalkers, till after this had been going on for another half-hour Bruff could stand it no longer, but dashed off at full speed, barking furiously, with the result that instead of running off like the wind the birds stopped staring for a few seconds and then all took flight.
“That’s done it!” cried the major angrily. “Hang that dog! No: look, Mark!”
“Yes, we may get a shot now,” he cried; “they’re all in those trees.”
“Well, keep close in, and we’ll have a try.”
They had a couple of hundred yards to go to where Bruff stood barking furiously at the birds, which kept in the moderately high boughs staring stupidly down at him, and so intent upon the beast, so novel evidently to them, that the two hunters had a chance to get close up, and taking his time from the major, Mark fixed the quivering sight of his gun on one of the birds, and drew trigger just as the major fired twice.
As the smoke blew away there was a whirring of wings and three heavy thuds upon the ground.
Away went the birds, but only about fifty yards more, to settle again, Bruff keeping up with them, and again taking their attention by barking furiously.
The manoeuvres of approaching were again successfully gone through, and this time the major whispered:
“Loaded again?”