. Then Peerless II found a
covey and Larsen flushed them and shot. And so for an hour it went.

Then Comet disappeared, and old Swygert, riding hard and looking for
him, went out of sight over a hill. But Comet had not gone far. As a
matter of fact, he was near by, hidden in some high straw, pointing a
covey of birds. One of the spectators spied him, and called the judges'
attention to him. Everybody, including Larsen, rode up to him, but still
Swygert had not come back.

They called him, but the old man was a little deaf. Some of the men rode
to the top of the hill but could not see him. In his zeal, he had got a
considerable distance away. Meanwhile, here was his dog, pointed.

If any one had looked at Larsen's face he would have seen the exultation
there, for now his chance had come--the very chance he had been looking
for. It's a courtesy one handler sometimes extends another who is absent
from the spot, to go in and flush his dog's birds.

"I'll handle this covey for Mr. Swygert," said Larsen to the judges, his
voice smooth and plausible, on his face a smile.

And thus it happened that Comet faced his supreme ordeal without the
steadying voice of his god. He only knew that ahead of him were birds,
and that behind him a man was coming through the straw, and that behind
the man a crowd of people on horseback were watching him. He had become
used to that but when, out of the corner of his eye he saw the face of
the advancing man, his soul began to tremble.

"Call your dog in, Mr. Larsen," directed the judge. "Make him
backstand."

Only a moment was lost while Peerless, a young dog himself, came
running in and at a command from Larsen stopped in his tracks behind
Comet, and pointed. Larsen's dogs always obeyed, quickly, mechanically.
Without ever gaining their confidence, Larsen had a way of turning them
into finished field-trial dogs. They obeyed because they were afraid not
to.

According to the rules the man handling the dog has to shoot as the
birds rise. This is done in order to test the dog's steadiness when a
gun is fired over him. No specification is made as to the size of the
shotgun to be used. Usually, however, small-gauge guns are carried. The
one in Larsen's hands was a twelve-gauge, and consequently large.

All morning he had been using it over his own dog. Nobody had paid any
attention to it, because he shot smokeless powder. But now, as he
advanced, he reached into the left-hand pocket of his