same moment there was another appalling whir on his right—­followed by a bang from Sir Hugh’s gun—­and another bird fell headlong.  After the briefest pause for reloading, the setter, that had obediently dropped at the first shot, was encouraged to go forward, the guns warily following.  But it turned out that this had been an outlying brace of birds; the dogs were soon ranging freely again; Roderick picked up the slain grouse, and the whole party went on.

“Sorry you didn’t get the first shot, Mr. Moore,” said Sir Hugh, who was a short, thick-set man, with a fresh-colored face, iron-gray hair, and keen, light-blue eyes.

“I wish the birds would all rise to you two,” Lionel said.  “Then I shouldn’t have to pitch into myself for missing.”

“Oh, you’ll soon get into the way of it,” Sir Hugh said, good-naturedly.  “There’s never much doing along this face.”

“I’ll bet Bruce is on to something,” Captain Waveney exclaimed, suddenly.  In fact, only one of the ranging setters was now in sight; and Roderick had quickly run up to the top of a heathery knoll, to have them both in view.  At the same moment they saw him hold up his arm to warn the inattentive Venus.

“How, Venus!  How, Venus!” he called, in a low voice; and immediately the dog, observing that its companion was drawing on to a point, became rigid.

The guns were on the scene directly; and they were just in time; for, with a simultaneous rattle of wings that seemed to fill the air, a small covey of birds sprang from the heather and appeared to vanish into space.  At least Lionel saw nothing of the others; his attention was concentrated on one that seemed to be flying away in a straight line from him; and after pausing for half a second (during which he was calling on himself to be cool) he pulled the trigger.  To his inexpressible satisfaction the bird stopped in mid-air and came down with a thump on the heather, where it gave but one flutter and then lay still.  He turned to see what his companions had done, with their brisk fusillade.  But he could not make out.  They were still watching the setter, that was again being encouraged to go on, lest a stray bird or two might still be in hiding.  However, the quest was fruitless.  The whole of the small covey had risen simultaneously.  So Roderick picked up the dead birds and put them on a conspicuous stone, at the same time signalling to the gillie with the pony, who was slowly coming up.  Then the shooting-party went forward again.

“How many birds rose then?” Lionel asked of his host.

“Five.”

“And you got them all?” he said, judging by what he had seen the head keeper pick up.

“Oh, yes, we got them all.  They spread out like a fan.  Waveney got one brace and I another.  I suppose,” he added, with a smile, “you were too intent on your own bird to notice?”

“Yes, I was,” he said, honestly; but he was none the less elated, for he knew that a good beginning would give him confidence.