“It’s a cinch with a shotgun,” laughed Rod. “I’ve always done most of my shooting with a rifle.”
“Don’t believe Bunk thought that rabbit would circle back this way,” confessed Davis. “If he had, he wouldn’t have gone up-stream. He’ll be coming pretty soon, now that Rouser’s quit talking after that shooting. We had better go meet him.”
Already the dog was sniffing around in the bushes for a fresh scent. Spotty called the animal, and they pushed up-stream, soon discovering Lander approaching.
“Get anything?” asked Bunk.
“I didn’t,” acknowledged Spotty. “I put up a biddy, but I missed her. Rod brought her down, though, and he got that rabbit, too.”
His gun tucked under his arm, Lander looked at the partridge and the rabbit in evident surprise.
“Great luck,” he commented, with an evident shade of chagrin. “Good work for a greenhorn. Sometimes it happens that way; the feller who’s green gets all the chances.”
“Greenhorn!” snickered Spotty. “You should see him shoot. Here, Rouser, come back here! Come back, sir!”
The old dog had been slipping away into the woods, but he returned at the command.
“Well, we’ll have our stew all right,” said Lander. “That’s a consolation for us, Spot.”