"Bring up the dogs, old fellow; I knocked down two, and I've bagged one, but I'm afraid the other's run!"
"Stand still, then--stand still, till I join you. He-here, he-here good dogs," cried Harry, striding away through the brush like a good one.
In a moment he stood by Frank, who was just pocketing his first, a fine hen grouse.
"The other was the cock," said Frank, "and a very large one, too; he was a long shot, but he's very hard hit; he flew against this tree before he fell, and bounded off it here; look at the feathers!"
"Ay! we'll have him in a moment; seek dead, Shot; seek, good dogs; ha! now they wind him; there! Chase has him--no! he draws again--now Shot is standing; hold up, hold up, lads, he's running like the mischief, and won't stop till he reaches some thick covert."
Bang! bang! "Mark--ma-ark!" bang! bang! "mark, Harry Archer, mark," came down the wind in quick succession from the other party, who were beating some thick briers by the brook side, at three or four fields' distance.
"Quick, Forester, quick!" shouted Archer; "over the wall, lad, and mark them! those are quail; I'm man enough to get this fellow by myself. Steady, lads! steady-y-y!" as they were roading on at the top of their pace. "Toho! toho-o-o, Chase; fie, for shame--don't you see, sir, Shot's got him dead there under his very nose in those cat-briers. Ha! dead! good lads--good lads; dead! dead! fetch him, good dog; by George but he is a fine bird. I've got him, Forester; have you marked down the quail?"
"Ay! ay! in the bog bottom!"
"How many?"
"Twenty-three!"