"He hates you pretty well, I should judge," replied Jack; and he told the story, as Vinnie had told it to him, of her encounter with Peakslow on the deck of the schooner.
"He's the ugliest man!" Rufe declared, reddening angrily. "You may thank your stars you've nothing to do with him. Now take the gun,"—Wad had by this time brought it,—"go through to the fence and back, and be ready to fire the moment a bird rises. Keep your dog back, and look out and not hit one of Peakslow's horses, the other side of the fence."
"He brought home a new horse from Chicago a day or two ago," said Wad; "and he's just been out there looking at him and feeling for ringbones. If he's with him now, and if you should happen to shoot one of 'em, I hope it won't be the horse!"
Jack laughed, and started to go through the buckwheat. He had got about half-way, when a hen rose a few feet from him, at his right. He was not much accustomed to shooting on the wing; and it is much harder to hit birds rising suddenly, at random, in that way, than when they are started by a trained dog. But good luck made up for what he lacked in skill; and at his fire the hen dropped fluttering in the grass that bordered the buckwheat.
SHOT ON THE WING.
"I'll pick her up!" cried Link; and he ran to do so; while Wad carried Jack the powder and shot for another load.