"There they are!" cried Ben, in a strained voice. "My, what a lot of 'em!"
He pointed ahead, and to one side of the tall cedars they saw a covey of partridges, at least twenty in number, resting on the ground.
"All together!" said Dave, in a low, steady voice. "Fire as you stand, those on the right to the right, those on the left to the left, and those in the center for the middle of the flock. I'll count. Ready? One, two, three!"
Crack! bang! crack! bang! went the shotguns and pistols. Then came a rushing, rattling, roaring sound, and up into the air went what was left of the covey, one partridge, being badly wounded, flying in a circle and then directly for Roger's head. He struck it with his gun barrel and then caught it in his hands, quickly putting it out of its misery. The other boys continued to bang away, but soon the escaping game was beyond their reach.
"A pretty good haul!" cried Dave, as he and his chums moved forward. "Three here and the one Roger has makes four. Boys, we won't go back empty-handed."
"Who hit and who missed?" questioned Sam.
"That would be a hard question to answer," returned Phil. "Better let the credit go to the whole crowd," and so it was decided.
"Well, there isn't much use in looking for
