The next day was spent much as the preceding one had been spent.  At eleven o’clock seven more traps were ready for the field.  Then the mule and wagon were brought into use again, and the new traps were distributed along the fence.  When the boys came back they took time to eat lunch, after which the coop was put into the wagon, and they set out to visit the traps they had set the day before.

“There’s nothing here,” said Bert, as he drew rein in front of the thicket in which the first trap was located.  He could not see the trap, but his ears told him all he wanted to know.  If there had been any quails in it they would have uttered their notes of alarm as soon as they heard the wagon coming.

“No, there’s nothing here!” said Don, after listening a moment.  “I’ll scatter a little more corn about and make sure that the trap is all right.”

He got out of the wagon as he spoke, and while he was working his way into the thicket he flushed a blue-jay, which flew into a tree close by and scolded him with all its might.  Don shied a stick at it and kept on to the trap.  It was down, and there was something in it which fluttered its wings against the bars and made the most frantic efforts to escape.  Don knew it was not a quail, so he did not stop to see what it was.  He threw back the slide, thrust his hand into the opening and when he clutched the bird received a severe bite from it.  “I have half a mind to wring your little neck for you,” thought Don, as he brought the fluttering captive, a beautiful red-bird, into view.  “Not because you have bitten me, but because you will make it your business to come here and spring this trap every day.  Red-birds and blue-jays are perfect nuisances when a fellow is trapping, and I wouldn’t blame Dave for shooting every one he sees.”

But Don did not injure the bird.  He was a sportsman, and never made war on game of this sort.  He tossed the captive into the air and it flew away out of sight.

Having set the trap again and scattered a little more corn about to replace that which had been picked up by the birds, Don went back to the wagon and Bert drove on down the field.  They found the second trap thrown, and the marks of little teeth on the ear of corn that was tied to the trigger showed that a ground squirrel had been at work.  The third trap was also sprung, and the shrill, piping notes of alarm which came to their ears when Bert stopped the wagon, told them that they had made their first capture.  Jumping quickly out of the wagon the boys made their way into the bushes, and when they came within sight of the trap they found that it was so full that the little prisoners had scarcely room to turn about.

“Here’s the first instalment of your hundred and fifty dollars, Dave,” cried Don.  “We’ve got more than a dozen, I know!”

Having stopped up the ends of the trenches so that the quails could not escape, Don thrust his arm through the opening in the top of the trap and began passing out the birds to his brother and David, who carried them to the wagon and put them into the coop.  He counted them as he took them out, and found that there were nearer two dozen than one, twenty being the exact number.  One, however, escaped from Bert, who, through fear of injuring it, handled it too tenderly.