s.

"Where have you fellows b-been? I've been at work here for an hour and
have got things pretty near ready. I put some new boughs on the booth so
that it l-looks all r-right, and I've got a couple of flyers and a
flutterer in that basket."

We entered the booth from the rear. The front was open from the
covering to within three feet of the ground, so that we could stand up
and shoot, and when we crouched down, would be hidden.

[Sidenote: THE PIGEON RIG]

In front of the booth was a post about four feet high, in one side of
which the end of a pole about five feet long was fastened so that it
worked as if on a hinge. A string was tied to the pole and ran over the
top of the post. By pulling the string, the further end of the pole
could be raised or lowered by a person in the booth. Further from the
booth the top and branches of a small tree had been cut off, leaving a
standard twelve feet high, and to this a pole about twenty feet long had
been fastened, so that it looked a good deal like a well sweep.

The end of the pole pointed toward the hut, but not directly. It slanted
a little to one side in order that when the pigeons lighted on the pole
we could get a good raking shot at them. Our pigeons had soft pads of
leather called boots sewed round each leg to protect them from the
strings which we fastened to them. We tied the strings to the boots of
a pigeon, sewed a bandage over his eyes, and tied him to the further end
of the pigeon stool. This was the stool pigeon. We also called him the
flutterer or hoverer.

"Now give us the flyers."

Amos took out two more pigeons, and we tied long and strong strings to
their boots.

"Now they're ready. But there's hardly enough string for the long flyer.
We ought to let him go up at least forty feet."

"Cut a little off the string of the short flyer then, and tie it on to
the other. The strings were the same length."

We looked round, to see if any pigeons were flying, but none were in
sight.

"There don't seem to be any about. I'm afraid, Davy, Pigeon Tuesday
won't be a success this time."

"You wait. They'll be here by and by."

"They're f-flying well now. I was f-fishing in Swithin Reed's mill
p-pond, yesterday afternoon, and Venus Roe came over and said that
Swithin shot a lot of pigeons in the m-morning."

[Sidenote: A FLIGHT IN SIGHT]

"Venus Roe! Who's she?"

"D-don't you know? She's a little n-nigger girl about twelve years old,
and belongs to Swith