“There’s your chance,” said Fred, loading his gun; “slip off now and try your luck.”
Alta jumped to the ground in a flutter of excitement.
“Keep cool now,” cautioned her companion, as he passed her the weapon and grasped her horse’s rein. “They won’t run far.”
She stepped ahead a few yards, and sighting one of the birds through the brush, raised the gun rather uncertainly and fired. A whir of wings followed the report.
“Oh, I knew I’d miss it!” she cried, handing back the gun.
“But you didn’t miss,” said Fred, running into the grove and lifting up the prize.
Alta clapped her hands and began to dance with delight; but she stopped in her expressions of glee when she took the dead bird in her hands, and began to smooth its torn, blood-stained feathers.
“It’s a shame to kill these beautiful creatures,” she said, soberly; “but there’s a thrill about it. I didn’t think I could hit anything.”
“I wonder if I can scare up the flock again,” said Fred. “Will you stay here while I try?”
“Certainly!” said Alta, taking the reins of both horses, while he disappeared through the grove.