“What a gun it is, to be sure!” said Harry, with a roguish laugh, as he assisted the discomforted sportsman to rise; “it knocks over game with butt and muzzle at once.”
“Quite a rare instance of one butt knocking another down,” added the accountant.
At this moment a large flock of ptarmigan, startled by the double report, rose with a loud whirring noise about a hundred yards in advance, and after flying a short distance alighted.
“There’s real game at last, though,” cried the accountant, as he hurried after the birds, followed closely by his young friends.
They soon reached the spot where the flock had alighted, and after following up the tracks for a few yards further, set them up again. As the birds rose, the accountant fired and brought down two; Harry shot one and missed another; Hamilton being so nervously interested in the success of his comrades that he forgot to fire at all.
“How stupid of me!” he exclaimed, while the others loaded their guns.
“Never mind; better luck next time,” said Harry, as they resumed their walk. “I saw the flock settle down about half-a-mile in advance of us; so step out.”
Another short walk brought the sportsmen again within range.
“Go to the front, Hammy,” said the accountant, “and take the first shot this time.”
Hamilton obeyed. He had scarcely made ten steps in advance, when a single bird, that seemed to have been separated from the others, ran suddenly out from under a bush, and stood stock-still, at a distance of a few yards, with its neck stretched out and its black eyes wide open, as if in astonishment.