Poor Dodge, being somewhat biased by the accident of ownership, looked on us as a lot of barbarians—­as, for the time being, we were; nice, happy barbarians having a good time.  He worked his dogs conscientiously, and muttered in his beard.  The climax came when, in the joyous excitement of the occasion, someone threw out a chance remark on “those ——­ dogs” being in the way.  Then Dodge withdrew with dignity.  Having a fellow-feeling as a dog-handler I went over to console him.  He was inconsolable; and so remained until after lunch.

In this manner we made our way slowly down the length of the slough, and then slowly back again.  Of the birds originally flushed from the Egyptian corn into the thicket but a small proportion had left that thicket for the open country of the tumbleweed and sage; and of the latter we had been able to shoot at a very, very small percentage.  Nevertheless, when we emptied our pockets, we found that each had made his bag.  We counted them out, throwing them into one pile.

“Twenty-four,” counted the Captain.

“Twenty-four,” Tom enumerated.

“Twenty-four,” Uncle Jim followed him.

We each had twenty-four.  And then it developed that every man had saved just one bird of his limit until after lunch.  No one wanted to be left out of all the shooting while the rest filled their bags; and no one had believed that anybody but himself had come so close to the limit.

So we laughed, and shouldered our guns, and trudged across country to the clump of cottonwood where already the girls had spread lunch.

That was a good lunch.  We sat under shady trees, and the sunlit plains stretched away and away to distant calm mountains.  Near at hand the sparse gray sagebrush reared its bonneted heads; far away it blurred into a monochrome where the plains lifted and flowed molten into the canons and crevices of the foothills.  Numberless crows, blackbirds, and wildfowl crossed and recrossed the very blue sky.  A gray jackrabbit, thinking himself concealed by a very creditable imitation of a sacatone hummock, sat motionless not seventy yards away.

After lunch we moved out leisurely to get our one bird apiece.  Some of the girls followed us.  We were now epicures of shooting, and each let many birds pass before deciding to fire.  Some waited for cross shots, some for very easy shots, some for the most difficult shots possible.  Each suited his fancy.

“I’m all in,” remarked each, as he pocketed his bird; and followed to see the others finish.

* * * * *

Next day, our baggage piled in most anywhere, our farewells all said, we bowled away toward town in the brand-new machine.  Redmond sat in the front seat with the chauffeur.  It was his first experience in an automobile, and he sat very rigidly upright, eyes front, his moustaches bristling.