'That's so; and a big bag it was: enough for a fortnight. But there's no knowing! There must have been a hole come in it, or something; anyway, there's no shot... that's to say, there's enough for ten charges left.'
'What are we to do now? The very best places are before us--we're promised six coveys for to-morrow....'
'Well, send me to Tula. It's not so far from here; only forty miles. I'll fly like the wind, and bring forty pounds of shot if you say the word.'
'But when would you go?'
'Why, directly. Why put it off? Only, I say, we shall have to hire horses.'
'Why hire horses? Why not our own?'
'We can't drive there with our own. The shaft horse has gone lame... terribly!'
'Since when's that?'
'Well, the other day, the coachman took him to be shod. So he was shod, and the blacksmith, I suppose, was clumsy. Now, he can't even step on the hoof. It's a front leg. He lifts it up... like a dog.'
'Well? they've taken the shoe off, I suppose, at least?'