"Say sixty," corrected the girl, taking the rabbit from one of the spaniels. "Better luck next time, Mr. Farrar."
The sub reloaded, conscious at the same time of a numbing pain in his right shoulder. Letting off both barrels of a twelve-bore simultaneously, he reflected, causes the gun to recoil considerably more than the comparatively slight kick of a .303 Service rifle.
Without the chance of another shot the three "sportsmen" gained the summit of the tor, the A.P. looking considerably dejected at his failure as a prophet.
"Last time I was on leave I bagged seven on this hill," he declared in substantiation of his shattered claim. "Wonder what's up with the little beasts to-day?"
"I see by the papers that rabbits are included in meat rations," observed Winifred. "Consequently, as in other cases, there is an immediate shortage. If only the Controller would place U-boats on the list of controlled articles, they, too, would doubtless disappear."
"Hard lines on submarine hunters, then," added the A.P. "My worthy brother-in-law would be hard up for a job; and as for young Barcroft——"
"Allow me to remind you," interrupted the sub, "that discussing U-boat strafers won't find the ingredients for a rabbit pie. Which way now, old bird?"
Eric Greenwood shaded his eyes and gazed down into the valley, that literally simmered in the blazing sunshine. Everywhere wisps of mist were rising as the sun's rays beat upon the dew-sodden grass.
"We'll try in the direction of Bold Tor," he replied. "It's a good three miles, but we can have something to eat when we get to the top and still get back well in time for lunch."
For the best part of an hour the three guns proceeded at varying distances apart, but ill-luck attended them. Not another rabbit was to be seen, despite the fact that the girl and her two companions moved with deliberate stealth, with the well-trained dogs following silently at Winifred's heels.