"We heard but the distant and random gun
That the foe was sullenly firing,"
Guy quoted, laughing.
"Random! you may say that," remarked Fallowfield. "That man ought to be
in a glass case, and ticketed; he's a natural curiosity. His bag to-day
consists of one hare, one hen, and one--sex unknown, for no one saw it
rise or tried to pick it up; it was blown into a cloud of feathers
within six feet of his muzzle. Here he comes; don't ask him what he's
done--it's cruelty."
Bruce came up to us, looking rather more discontented than usual, but
not nearly so savage as the keeper who had attended him all day, who
immediately retreated among his fellows to relieve himself, by many
oaths, of his suppressed disgust and scorn. They offered him beer, but
it was no use. I heard him growl out, "That there muff's enough to spile
one's taste for a fortnit."
It was the hour of the wood-pigeons coming in to roost, and several were
wheeling over our heads at a considerable height.
"There's something for you to empty your gun at, Bruce," Sir. Raymond
said, pointing to one that came rather nearer than the rest.
He was leveling, when Forrester cried out, "Five-and-twenty to five on
the bird!"
"Done!" answered Bruce, as he pulled the trigger.
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