I fire--a snap shot--and cut out some fur, but do no further harm; the
pellets bury themselves in the earth. But, startled and perhaps just
stung by a stray shot, the rabbit bolts fairly at last twenty yards in
front of Orion, the spaniel tearing at his heels.
Up goes the double-barrel with a bright gleam as the sunlight glances on
it. A second of suspense: then from the black muzzle darts a cylinder
of tawny flame and an opening cone of white smoke: a sharp report rings
on the ear. The rabbit rolls over and over, and is dead before the dog
can seize him. After harling the rabbit, Orion hangs him high on a
projecting branch, so that the man who is following us at a distance may
easily find the game. He is a labourer, and we object to have him with
us, as we know he would be certain to get in the way.
We then tried a corner where two of these large mounds, meeting, formed
a small copse in which grew a quantity of withy and the thick grasses
that always border the stoles. A hare bolted almost directly the dogs
went in: hares trust in their speed, rabbits in doubling for cover. I
fired right and left, and missed: fairly missed with both barrels. Orion
jumped upon the mound from the other side, and from that elevation sent
a third cartridge after her.
It was a long, a very long shot, but the hare perceptibly winced. Still,
she drew easily away from the dogs, going straight for a distant
gateway.
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