Father's a splendid
shot,--can drop a bird every time,--only he don't like to go hunting
very often. He thought 't would pay for _him_ to go through the patch
_once_; besides, he said, if the birds were getting the buckwheat, we
might as well get the birds. He thought _he_ could tread between the
spears! Well, since then," said Link, "we've just made a hunting-ground
of that patch, always treading between the spears till lately; now it's
got so trampled it never'll pay to cut it; so we just put it through.
See that hen!"

There was a sound of whirring wings,--a flash, a loud report, a curl of
smoke,--a broken-winged grouse shooting down aslant into the buckwheat,
and a young hunter running to the spot.

"That's the way he does it," said Rufe, getting up from the grass.

He greeted Jack good-naturedly, inquired about Snowfoot, heard with
surprise of Vinnie's arrival, and finally asked if Jack would like to
try his hand at a shot.

"I should," replied Jack, "if it wasn't for treading down your
buckwheat."

"That's past caring for," said Rufe, with a laugh. "Here, Wad, bring us
the gun."

"Is that your land the other side of the fence?" Jack asked.

"That lot belongs to old Peakslow," said Rufe, speaking the name with
great contempt. "And he pretends to claim a big strip this side too.
That's what caused the feud between our families."

"He hates you pretty well, I should judge," replied Jack; and he told
the story, as Vinnie had told it to him, of her encounter with Peakslow
on the deck of the schooner.

"He's the ugliest man!" Rufe declared, reddening angrily. "You may thank
your stars you've nothing to do with him. Now take the gun,"--Wad had by
this time brought it,--"go through to the fence and back, and be ready
to fire the moment a bird rises. Keep your dog back, and look out and
not hit one of Peakslow's horses, the other side of the fence."

"He brought home a new horse from Chicago a day or two ago," said Wad;
"and he's just been out there looking at him and feeling for ringbones.
If he's with him now, and if you _should_ happen to shoot _one_ of 'em,
I hope it won't be the horse!"

Jack laughed, and started to go through the buckwheat. He had got about
half-way, when a hen rose a few feet from him, at his right. He was not
much accustomed to shooting on the wing; and it is much harder to hit
birds rising suddenly, at random, in that way, than when they are
started by a trained dog. But good luck ma