He grasped his rifle, took a quick, careless aim, and fired. A long-legged, flying cockerel keeled over and began to kick.
"Gracious me!" ejaculated the woman.
"Two, did you say?" asked the man behind the gun.
"I said two."
Again the rifle cracked. A second chicken flopped down, this one with its head shot off at the neck.
The eyes of the minister of war were large with amazement. The distance had been seventy yards, if it had been a step. When little Jimmie Corbett came running forward with the two dead cockerels a slight examination showed that the first had also been shot through the neck.
Dick smiled.
"Shall I shoot another and send it for a present to Don Manuel, Jimmie?" he pleasantly inquired.
Mr. Ainsa met his persiflage promptly.
"I do assure you, señor, it will not be at all necesair. Don Manuel can shoot chickens for himself—and larger game."