Scroope made me angry by slapping me so hard upon the back that it hurt, and nearly caused me to let off the other barrel of the gun. Charles seemed to become one great grin, and Lord Ragnall, with a brief congratulatory “Never enjoyed a shoot so much in my life,” called to the men who were posted behind us to pick up all the dead pheasants, being careful to keep mine apart from those of Sir Junius Fortescue.
“You should have a hundred and forty-three at this stand,” he said, “allowing for every possible runner. Charles and I make the same total.”
I remarked that I did not think there were many runners, as the No. 3 shot had served me very well, and getting into the boat was rowed to the other side, where I received more congratulations. Then, as all further shooting was out of the question because of the weather, we walked back to the castle to tea.
As I emptied my cup Lord Ragnall, who had left the room, returned and asked us to come and see the game. So we went, to find it laid out in endless lines upon the snow-powdered grass in the quadrangle of the castle, arranged in one main and two separate lots.
“Those are yours and Sir Junius’s,” said Scroope. “I wonder which of you has won. I’ll put a sovereign on you, old fellow.”
“Then you’re a donkey for your pains,” I answered, feeling vexed, for at that moment I had forgotten all about the bet.
I do not remember how many pheasants were killed altogether, but the total was much smaller than had been hoped for, because of the gale.
“Jenkins,” said Lord Ragnall presently to Red Waistcoat, “how many have you to the credit of Sir Junius Fortescue?”
“Two hundred and seventy-seven, my lord, twelve hares, two woodcocks, and three pigeons.”
“And how many to that of Mr. Quatermain?” adding: “I must remind you both, gentlemen, that the birds have been picked as carefully as possible and kept unmixed, and therefore that the figures given by Jenkins must be considered as final.”