watercourse. Here Snap leaped up, shotgun in hand.
"Here's our chance, fellows!" he whispered. "All together."
He pointed to some low trees beyond the clearing. The branches were thick with quail. All understood and took up their firearms.
"I'll shoot high, Shep can shoot low, Giant to the left and Whopper to the right," commanded the leader of the club. "All ready?"
"Yes," was the low answer, and the four weapons went off almost as one piece. There was a great fluttering in the trees and five quail were seen to drop. Then two others flew around in a fashion that told plainly they were seriously, wounded.
"Come on, we must get them!" cried Giant, and leaped forward. As the two wounded birds flew close together he blazed away a second time, and the game dropped like a stone. The rest of the quail were now out of sight.
"Seven quail!" cried Snap, enthusiastically. "I don't call that half bad."
"I call it very good," declared the doctor's son. "To-morrow we can have quail on toast."
"Where are you going to get the toast?" questioned Whopper.
