alled his head native, a stocky Visayan, and ordered him to start
the beaters out, explaining to his guests that they would take their
places in an hour. The three then strolled through the streets of the
little village Lindsey had built for his laborers and their families,
a double row of neat bamboo huts, grass roofed, of which he was very
proud. Returning, they passed a huge machine rusting under a rough
shed, Lindsey's ill-fated hemp machine, introduced a little too early
to an ignorant people.

Lindsey unlocked a trunk and brought out three high-powered rifles,
two of them borrowed, contrary to the law of a land where firearms
must be zealously protected against falling into hostile hands. He led
the way through the long rows of abaca which drooped listless fronds
in the quivering heat, and into the cool woods which surrounded his
fields. They went on for a half-hour into deeper jungle, emerging into
a strip of natural clearing from which they could hear the beaters
converging toward them. Lindsey stationed Terry at the left end of the
break, Bronner in the center where the shooting should be best,
himself taking the right end.

As the beaters approached, crashing the underbrush and shouting
lustily, the three stood motionless, guns ready: the suspense grew
tense and the beaters grew silent as they hurried, unseen, from the
line of fire. A moment of dead silence, then Lindsey heard to his
right a dry twig snap and turning saw a big boar slip out from the
brush and pause, its ugly tusks foam-flecked. His heavy gun crashed,
the boar leaped convulsively across the clearing, falling at a second
shot. As it dropped he whirled to cover a big buck which sped across
his field of fire: as it fell he heard the cracking of a lighter
weapon to his right and thought, as he shot again and again, that his
guests were not being disappointed in their sport.

It was fast work while it lasted. Lindsey inspected with keen
satisfaction the bag of two pigs and one deer that had fallen to his
gun: he had missed one boar and another, which he had wounded, had
escaped down the trail which led to his house. He turned to see how
his friends had fared.

The Major was known as a crack shot but no game lay before him.
Approaching him, surprised, Lindsey saw that he was absent-mindedly
putting his rifle at safe the while he stared at Terry.

"Major, I'm sorry you had no chances--" Lindsey began but the Major
interrupted him.

"Chances! C