As he spoke there was a whirl of wings, Walter's shotgun spoke twice, and a brace of plump partridges struck the ground with a thud.
The report of the firearm woke the prairie into life. Hundreds of birds rose from amongst the tall grass. For the next few minutes, Walter was busy with his gun, while Charley with his heavy rifle could only stand idle watching.
"Never mind, my turn will come," he declared. "That little popgun you have will not be any good against big game."
When the frightened birds had at last passed beyond range, the boys gathered up those that had fallen victims; four partridges, three doves, and a full dozen of black and red rice-birds.
"Good," approved Charley, as he surveyed the feathered heap. "Those are all fine eating and will provide us with a couple of dandy meals. The only fault I have to find is that they use up too much ammunition. If we use it up at this rate, we will have none when the outlaws come."
"We can make traps for the birds," Walter suggested. "I know how to rig up a figure-four trap that will fool the wisest of them."
"Well, we will not bother with traps this trip," Charley said. "We have got enough birds for the present. We can come again to-morrow and fix up for them."
"What shall we do with these?" Walter inquired. "We don't want to turn back yet, and they are too heavy to carry with comfort."
"Leave them tied up in the first tree we come to and get them on our way back," his chum answered.
With this object in view, the two boys turned their steps towards the nearest clump of timber. At their first step amongst its dry twigs and branches, there was a crash amongst the bushes and a form of yellowish brown shot past them like an arrow.