One day as Bobby and Mr. Kincaid were walking along looking for squirrels in the high open woods, Duke, who was always required to trail at heel for fear of alarming the game, became very uneasy. He dropped back a few steps, and attempted to escape from control on either side; he tried to get ahead--with always a deprecating side-glance at his masters; he begged in his best dog fashion.
"He acts like birds," said Mr. Kincaid. "Hie on, Duke!"
Immediately Duke sprang away, the impulse of his suddenly released energy projecting him ten feet at a bound. But at once he slowed down. Step by step he drew ahead, his beautiful feathered tail sweeping1 slowly from side to side, his delicate nostrils2 expanding and contracting, his fine intelligent eye roving here and there. He stopped. His head dropped to the level of his back and stretched straight out ahead. His tail stiffened3. Gently he raised one hind4 leg just off the ground. His eye glazed5 with an inner concentration, and the trace of slaver moistened the edges of his black and shining lips.
Mr. Kincaid cocked his gun and stepped forward.
"He's just beyond that dead log, Bobby," he said quietly.
Bobby watched with all his eyes. One, two, three steps Mr. Kincaid advanced. Now he was abreast6 of Duke. The setter merely stiffened a trifle more. Bobby's heart was beating rapidly. The whole sunlit autumn world of woodland seemed waiting in a breathless suspense7. The little boy found space for a fleeting8 resentment9 against a nuthatch on a tree-trunk near at hand for the calm, indifferent and noisy manner in which he went about his everyday business.
Suddenly a mighty10 roar shattered the stillness. Beyond Duke something swift and noisy and brown and explosive seemed to fill the air. So startling was the irruption that Bobby was powerless to gather his scattered11 senses sufficiently12 to see clearly what was happening. Mr. Kincaid's gun bellowed13; a cloud of white powder smoke hung in the mottled sunshine. And down through the trees a swift, brown, bullet-like flight crumpled14 and fell, whirling and twisting in a long slanting15 line until it hit the earth with a thump16! Bobby heard Mr. Kincaid berating17 Duke.
"Down, you villain18! Don't you try to break shot on me!"
And Duke, his hindquarters trembling with eagerness, his head turned beseechingly19 toward the man, crouched20 awaiting the signal.
Quite deliberately21 Mr. Kincaid reloaded.
"Fetch dead!" he then commanded.
Duke sprang away in long elastic22 leaps. After a moment of casting back and forth23, he returned. His head was held high, for in his mouth he carried the limp brown bird. Straight to Mr. Kincaid he marched. The man stooped and laid hands on the game. At once the dog released it, not a feather ruffled24 by his delicate mouthing.
"Good dog, Duke," Mr. Kincaid commended him. "Old cock bird," he told Bobby.
Bobby spread out the broad brown fan of a tail; he inserted his finger under the glossy25 ruffs; he stroked the smooth, brown, mottled back.
"This is more fun than squirrels," said he with conviction.
Mr. Kincaid glanced at him in surprise.
"But you can't hunt these fellows," said he, "It takes a shotgun to get 'pats.' You wouldn't have much fun at this game."
"I'd rather watch you--and Duke," replied Bobby, "than to shoot squirrels. Are there many of them?"
"Not up on the ridges," said Mr. Kincaid. "This fellow's rather a straggler. But there's plenty in the swamps and popples. Want to go after them?"
"Yes," said Bobby.
After that the two used often to follow the edges of the hardwood swamps, the creek26 bottoms, the hillsides of popples, and--later in the season--the sumac and berry-vine tangles27 of the old burnings, looking for that king of game-birds, the ruffed grouse29.
Bobby became accustomed to the roar as the birds leaped into the air, so that he was able to follow with intelligent interest all the moves in the game, but never did his heart fail to leap in response. In later years, when he too owned a shotgun, this sudden shock of the nerves seemed to be the required stimulant30 to key him instantly to his best work. A sneaker--that is to say, a bird that flushed without the customary whirr--he was quite apt to miss.
Little by little, as he followed Mr. Kincaid, he learned the habits of his game: where it was to be found according to time of day and season of year. Strangely enough this he never analyzed31. He did not consciously say to himself; "It is early in the day, and cold for the time of year, _therefore_ we'll find them in the brush points just off the swamps, _because_ they will be working out to the hillsides for the sun after roosting in the swamps." His processes of judgment32 were more instinctive33. By dint34 of repeated experience of finding birds in certain cover, that kind of cover meant birds to him. "A good place for 'pats,'" said he to himself, and confidently expected to find them. That is the way good hunters are made.
All day long thus they would tramp, forcing their way through the blackthorn thickets35; clambering over and under the dead-falls and debris37 of the slashings; climbing the side hills with the straight, silvery shafts38 of the poplars; wandering down the narrow aisles39 of the old logging roads; plodding40 doggedly41 across the unproductive fields that lay between patches of cover; always lured42 on in the hope of more game farther on, picking up a bird here, a bird there, each an adventure in itself. And occasionally, once in a great while, they ran against a glorious piece of luck, when the grouse rose in twos and threes, this way, that, and the other, until the air seemed full of them. Mr. Kincaid, very intent, shot and loaded as fast as he was able. Sometimes things went right, and the bag was richer by two or three birds. Again they went wrong. The first grouse to rise might be the farthest away. Mr. Kincaid would snap-shoot at it, only to be overwhelmed, after his gun was empty, by a half dozen flushing under his very feet. Or a miss at an easy first would spell humiliation43 all along the line. Then Bobby and Duke would be much cast down.
"Thing to do," said Mr. Kincaid, "is to shoot one bird at a time. If you get to thinking of the second before you've killed the first, you won't get either. It's a hard thing to learn. I haven't got it down pat yet."
* * * * *
The short autumn days went fast. Before they knew it the pale sun had touched the horizon and the world was turning cold and gray. Then came the long laden44 tramp back to old Bucephalus, or perhaps to town, if they had started out afoot. They were always very tired; but, as to Bobby, at least, very happy.
Generally speaking they wandered through the country at will. Shooting was not then as popular as it is now, nor the farms as close together. Sometimes, however, they came across signs warning against trespass45 or hunting. Then, if the cover seemed especially desirable, Mr. Kincaid used sometimes to try to obtain permission of the owner of the land. Once or twice, having overlooked the sign, they were ordered off. The farmers were good-natured, even though firm.
But some four miles to the eastward46 lay a deep long swamp following the windings47 between hills where Mr. Kincaid and Bobby had a very disagreeable experience. It was late in the afternoon, so Bobby had become tired. Duke made game on the outskirts48 of a dense49 thicket36, hesitated, then led the way cautiously into the tangle28.
"It's pretty thick," Mr. Kincaid advised Bobby; "you'd better sit on the stump50 there until I come out."
Bobby did so. A moment or so after Mr. Kincaid had disappeared, the little boy became aware of a man approaching across the stump-dotted field. He was a short, thickset man, with a broad face almost entirely51 covered with a beard, a thick nose, and little, inflamed52 snapping eyes. He was clad in faded and dingy53 overalls54, and carried a pitchfork.
"Who's that shooting in here?" he shouted at Bobby as soon as he was within hearing. "What do you mean by hunting here? You must have passed right by the sign."
"Don't you want shooting here? No; we didn't see the sign," replied Bobby.
By this time the man had approached, and Bobby could see his bloodshot little eyes flickering55 with anger.
"You lying little snipe," he roared. "You must have seen the sign. You couldn't help it. I've a mind to tan your hide good."
"What's this?" asked Mr. Kincaid's quiet voice.
The man whirled about.
"Oh, it's you, is it?" he snarled56. "Well, what do you mean by trespassing57 on my farm?"
"I didn't know it was your farm, in the first place; and I didn't know shooting was prohibited in the second place."
"That's too thin. You came right by that sign at the corner. Now just make tracks off this farm about as fast as you can go."
"Certainly," agreed Mr. Kincaid, quite unruffled. "I never shoot on a man's land when he doesn't want me to."
He turned, and at once the man became abusive, just as a dog gains courage as his enemy passes. Bobby listened, his eyes wide with dismay and shock. Never had he heard quite that sort of language. Finally Mr. Kincaid happened to glance down at his small companion. He slipped the shells from his gun and leaned it against a stump.
"About face!" he said sharply to the man. "You can't talk that way before this baby. We are going off your place as straight and as fast as we can. You shoulder your pitchfork and go back to your house."
The man started again on a string of objurgation.
"I mean what I say," said Mr. Kincaid with deadly emphasis. "About face. If you open your mouth again I shall certainly kill you."
The old man's bent58 shoulders had straightened, his mild blue eye flashed fire. So he must have looked to his soldiers before the storming of Molino del Rey. His hands were quite empty of a weapon, and his age was hardly a match for the other's brute59 strength. Nevertheless the farmer at once turned back, after a parting, but milder, admonition.
Mr. Kincaid picked up his gun, tucked it under his arm and trudged60 forward. Bobby was trembling violently with excitement and anger.
"Why--why--" he gasped61, as yet unable to cast his thoughts into speech.
Mr. Kincaid glanced down. A faint and amused smile flickered62 under his moustache.
"You aren't going to do that sort of a crank the honour of keeping stirred up, are you?" "That's Pritchard--the worst crank in Michigan. He's quarrelled with every one. I never did know where his farm was, or I should have taken pains to keep off."
They climbed into the cart and drove away toward town.
"I believe I'll make a hunter of you, Bobby," pursued Mr. Kincaid after they were going. "It's a good thing to be. Of course there's the fun of it--the 'pats,' the quail63, the jacksnipe, the 'cock. But then there's the other part, too."
They had come out on the sandhills over the town. Mr. Kincaid drew up Bucephalus and contemplated64 it as it lay below them, its roofs half hidden in the mauve and lilac of bared branches, its columns of smoke rising straight up in the frosty air.
"Of course, I don't know, Bobby, whether you'll ever be a hunter or not. It all depends on where you live and how--the chance to get out, I mean. But, sonny, you can always be a sportsman, whatever you do. A sportsman does things because he likes them, Bobby, for no other reason--not for money, nor to become famous, nor even to win--although all these things may come to him and it is quite right that he take them and enjoy them. Only he does not do the things for them, but for the pleasure of doing. And a right man does not get pleasure in doing a thing if in any way he takes an unfair advantage. That's being a sportsman. And, after all, that's all I can teach you if we hunt together ten years. Do you think you can remember that?"
"Yes, sir," replied Bobby soberly.
"There's only one other thing," went on Mr. Kincaid, "that is really important, and it isn't necessary if you remember the other things I've told you. It's pretty easy sometimes to do a thing because you see everybody else doing it. Always remember that a true sportsman in every way is about the scarcest thing they make--and the finest. So naturally the common run of people don't live up to it. If _you_--not the thinking you, nor even the conscience you, but the way-down-deep-in-your-heart _you_ that you can't fool nor trick nor lie to--if that _you_ is satisfied, it's all right." He turned and grinned humorously at his small companion. "I've nothing but a little income and an old horse and two dogs and a few friends, Bobby; I've lived thirty years in that little place there; and a great many excellent people call me a good-for-nothing old loafer, but I've learned the things I'm telling you now, and I'm just conceited65 and stuck-up enough to think I've made a howling success of it."
"_I_ don't think that," said Bobby, laying his cheek against the man's threadbare sleeve.
"Of course you don't, Bobby," said Mr. Kincaid cheerfully, "and I'll tell you why. It's because you and I speak the same language, although you're a little boy and I'm a big man."
收听单词发音 |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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thump
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| v.重击，砰然地响；n.重击，重击声 | |
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berating
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| v.严厉责备，痛斥( berate的现在分词 ) | |
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villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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beseechingly
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| adv. 恳求地 | |
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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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tangles
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| （使）缠结， （使）乱作一团( tangle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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grouse
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| n.松鸡；v.牢骚，诉苦 | |
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stimulant
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| n.刺激物，兴奋剂 | |
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analyzed
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| v.分析( analyze的过去式和过去分词 )；分解；解释；对…进行心理分析 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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debris
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| n.瓦砾堆，废墟，碎片 | |
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shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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aisles
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| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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plodding
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| a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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lured
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| 吸引，引诱（lure的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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trespass
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| n./v.侵犯，闯入私人领地 | |
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eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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windings
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| （道路、河流等）蜿蜒的，弯曲的( winding的名词复数 )； 缠绕( wind的现在分词 )； 卷绕； 转动（把手） | |
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outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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50
stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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52
inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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54
overalls
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| n.（复）工装裤；长罩衣 | |
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flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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trespassing
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| [法]非法入侵 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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trudged
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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quail
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| n.鹌鹑；vi.畏惧，颤抖 | |
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contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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conceited
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| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
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