Joe's heart sank within him. His father and Dan were slaughtering Mr. Warren's blue-headed birds at an alarming rate in a distant part of the wood-lot, and he was not there to stop them.
The guide must have been able to read the thoughts that were in Joe's mind, for he repeated, with a ring of triumph in his tones:
"Why don't you report them fellers, and have them arrested?"
"Four shots," said Mr. Brown, admiringly. "They got in their work pretty lively, didn't they? I have heard that these English partridges and quails are the nicest birds in the world to shoot, and I'd give twenty dollars if we could get a chance to empty four barrels at them in that fashion. I wonder if they are good shots, and how many birds they got."
When Mr. Brown said that he had given Brierly a handsome sum of money to lead him to a place where he could have a good day's shooting among Mr. Warren's imported game, he had given Joe a pretty good insight into his character; but now, the boy was quite disgusted with him.
Could it be expected that ignorant fellows like Brierly would yield willing obedience to the laws, when intelligent men deliberately violated them because they wanted to brag over the size of the bags they had made?
"They are good shots, Mr. Brown," said Brierly, with a grin. "I could tell the noise them guns make among a million, and I know the names of the man and boy who were behind them when they were fired. They were Silas and Dan Morgan—this chap's father and brother."
"Well, he's a pretty specimen for a game-warden, I must say!" exclaimed Mr. Brown. "No doubt he wants to keep all the fine shooting for his own family. I don't believe a word he has said to us, and I think we can go on with our sport without wasting any more time with him."
"I don't care whether you believe me or not," answered Joe, the hot blood mantling his face as he spoke. "If you shoot over these grounds, you will find out before night that I have told you nothing but the truth."