“But you are not a poacher.”
“I don't know about that. I hunt in every field and piece of woods I find, no matter who owns them.”
“Perhaps I had better change that,” said Lester, after thinking a moment, “and say market-shooters instead of pot-hunters.”
“There are no such things as market-shooters in the county.”
“But there are market-trappers,” said Lester. “There are persons here, who are catching quails and shipping them out of the state.”
“Yes, there is one who thinks of going into the business, and I got him the job. It wouldn't look very well for me to turn around now and tell him that he must not do it.”
“You could say to him that you have had reason to change your mind lately, and that you know it isn't right to do such things.”
“But I haven't changed my mind.”
“You ought to. The first thing you know there will be no birds for you and me to shoot.”
“I'll risk that. You may trap two hundred dozen if you want to, and send them out of the county, and when you have done it, I will go out any morning with my pointer and shoot birds enough for breakfast. I'll leave more in the fields, too, than you can bag in six months,” added Don, and Bert saw the point he was trying to make, if Lester did not. “Besides, what right have I to tell Dave what he shall do and what he shall not do? He'd laugh at me.”