“Where did they come from? Do you know?”
“Not exactly, though I believe they came from somewhere in New York State. Why, Fred Sage is my chum.”
“Oh, is he?” The stranger’s eyes were now bright with interest and his manner eager.
“You bet he is,” nodded Roy. “He’s a fine chap, too. We’re gunning together to-day. He’s the fellow I spoke of. I left him back yonder with his dog. Do you know the Sages? If you do, perhaps they might give you a recommendation that would help you get work.”
At this moment the report of a gun, only a short distance away, rang through the woods.
“That’s Fred—that’s him now,” cried Hooker. “I’ll bet he bagged that old biddy.” Then he lifted his voice and shouted: “Hey, Fred! Here I am, out in the road. Did you get anything?”
“I didn’t miss that time,” came back the triumphant answer. “It’s a partridge.”
“The one I was after, I reckon,” said Roy, with a touch of chagrin. “She must have run on the ground so that I lost track of her. Here comes Fred now.”
There was a sound of someone pushing through the underbrush, and Roy, facing the woods, waited for his chum to appear. In a few moments, followed by the dog, Sage came out of the woods, triumphantly holding aloft a dead partridge.
“The other one fooled me and I lost her,” he said; “but I got a good open chance at this old biddy. She didn’t get away.”