CHAPTER VII
ON THE MOORS
Nearly a year had passed since Nasmyth’s return when Lisle at length reached England. Soon after his arrival, he was, as Nasmyth’s guest, invited to join a shooting party, and one bright afternoon he stood behind a bank of sods high on a grouse-moor overlooking the wastes of the Border. The heath was stained with the bell-heather’s regal purple, interspersed with the vivid red of the more fragile ling, and where the uplands sloped away broad blotches of the same rich colors checkered the grass. In the foreground a river gleamed athwart the picture, and overhead there stretched an arch of cloudless blue. There was no wind; the day was still and hot.
A young lad whose sunburned face already bore the stamp of self-indulgence was stationed behind the butt with Lisle, and the latter was not favorably impressed with his appearance or conversation.
“Look out,” he cautioned by and by. “You were a little slow last time. They travel pretty fast.”
Lisle picked up his gun; he had used one in the West, though he was more accustomed to the rifle. Cutting clear against the dazzling sky, a straggling line of dark specks was moving toward him, and a series of sharp cracks broke out from the farther wing of the row of butts, which stretched across the moor. Lisle watched the birds, with fingers tightening on his gun; one cluster was coming his way, each flitting body growing in size and distinctness with marvelous rapidity. Then there was a flash beside him, and another crash as he pitched up his gun. Something struck the heather with a thud not far away, and swinging the muzzle a little, he pulled again. He was not surprised to hear a second thud, and laying down his gun he turned to his youthful companion, while a thin cloud of acrid vapor hung about him.
“Get anything?” he asked.
“I didn’t,” was the sullen answer. “Couldn’t expect it with the second barrel, after you’d filled the place with smoke. Wonder why Gladwyne’s man gave you the old black powder?”
As nearly everybody else used smokeless, this was a point that had aroused Lisle’s curiosity, though it was not a matter of much importance. Nasmyth had provided him with cartridges, but they had somehow been left behind, and on applying to Gladwyne’s keeper he had been supplied with ammunition which, it seemed, was out of date.
“After all, you have done well enough,” his companion resumed. “We’d better get on to our next station—it’s right across the moor on the high ridge yonder. Don’t bother about the birds.”