Macleod of Dare, page 229 by William Black

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230

done with: vorwarts!

"Well, Stuart," Macleod said, "what do you think of it? I don't see anything murderous or unsportsmanlike in this kind of shooting. Of course shooting with dogs is much prettier; and you don't get any exercise standing in a wet field; but the man who says that shooting those birds requires no skill at all--well, I should like see him try."

"Macleod," said the major, gravely, as they plodded along, "you may think that I despise this kind of thing; but I don't: I give you my solemn word of honor that I don't. I will even go the length of saying that if Providence had blessed me with £20,000 a year, I should be quite content to own a bit of country like this. I played the part of the wild mountaineer last night, you know; that was all very well--"

Here there was a loud call from Lord Beauregard, who had overtaken them--"Hare! hare! Mark hare?" The major jumped round, put up his gun, and banged away--shooting far ahead in his eagerness. Macleod looked on, and did not even raise his gun.

"That comes of talking," the major said, gloomily. "And you--why didn't you shoot? I never saw you miss a hare in my life."

"I was not thinking of it," Macleod said, indifferently.

It was very soon apparent that he was thinking of something other than the shooting of pheasants or hares; for as they went from one wood to another during this beautiful brief November day he generally carried his gun over his shoulder--even when the whirring, bright-plumaged birds were starting from time to time from the hedgerows--and devoted most of his attention to warning his friend when and where to shoot. However, an incident occurred which entirely changed the aspect of affairs. At one beat he was left quite alone, posted in an open space of low brushwood close by the corner of a wood. He rested the butt of his gun on his foot; he was thinking, not of any pheasant or hare, but of the beautiful picture Gertrude White would make if she were coming down one of these

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