A fairly large empty wooden box, for the reception of
exploded shells, marked the spot on which the shooters would stand. The
rotary trap lay in plain sight eighteen yards away. That completed the
list of arrangements, which were, in the light of modern methods, as
every trap shooter of to-day will recognize, exceedingly crude.

The men, however, supplied the interest which the equipment might lack.
At that time every trap-shot was also a field shot. The class which
confines itself to targets had not even been thought of. And good
picked-shots have in common everywhere certain qualities, probably
developed by the life in the open, and the unique influences of woodland
and upland hunting. They are generous, and large in spirit, and
absolutely democratic--the millionaire and the mechanic meet on equal
ground--and deliberate in humour, and dry of wit. The quiet chaffing,
tolerant, good-humoured, genuine intercourse of hunters cannot be
matched in any other class.

The components of this group had each served his apprenticeship in the
blinds or the cover. They knew each other in the freemasonry of the
Field; and when they met together, as now, they spoke from the gentle
magic of the open heart.

One exception must be made to this statement, however. Joseph Newmark,
in advance of his time, shot methodically and well at the trap, never
went afield, and maintained toward his neighbours an habitual dry
attitude of politeness.

Bobby seated himself on the ground and prepared to listen with the
completest enjoyment. These men were to him great or little according
as they shot well or ill. That was to him the sole criterion. It did not
matter to him that Mr. Heinzman controlled the largest interests in the
western part of the state--he "couldn't hit a balloon"; nor that young
Wellman was looked upon as worthless and a loafer--he was well up among
the first five.

Nearly everybody smoked something. The tobacco smelled good in the open
air.

"Well," remarked Kincaid, "if that Stafford party doesn't show up before
long, I'm going home. I can't stand you fellows without some excitement
for a counter-irritant."

"That's right, Kin," called somebody, "Better start that old Buzzard
toward town pretty soon, if you want to get in for breakfast--there's a
good moon!"

But at this moment a delivery wagon turned into the field, and drove
briskly to the spot. From it Mr. Stafford descended spryly.

"Sorry to be a little late, boys