Читать книгу Ben Comee - M. J. Canavan - Страница 6

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IN WHICH ARE DETAILS OF A GREAT FOX HUNT

When the winter came there were a great many quail about our barn. Smiling Bill Smith, who worked for us—Old Bill Smiley some folks called him, on account of the broad grin he always wore—said to me:—

"Them whales, Ben, pretty near bother the life out of me. They creep in through the cracks and crannies and eat the grain. If I go over by the grain chest, the first thing I know, there's a whir, and a cloud of them darts up in front of my face. Sometimes it makes my heart come right up in my mouth. I wish there wasn't a whale round the place."

"Quails, Bill. What makes you call them whales?"

"Whales I heard them called when I was a boy, and whales they are to me."

CATCHING QUAIL

"Perhaps you think it was one of these whales that swallowed Jonah?"

"I never did think so, Benny. But if he did, it was a miracle, sure enough."

Davy helped me make a figure-4 trap to catch them. One Saturday morning I met Edmund down at John Buckman's store, trading some butter and eggs for tea and sugar.

"Come up to the house, Edmund. I've got a figure-4 trap; and we'll catch some quail."

We set the trap, and put some grain under the box. Several quail flew down, hopped about, and soon discovered the grain. While they were pecking away at it, they sprang the trap. The box fell over them, and we caught three.

"Now, Edmund, you find some grass-seed in the barn, and sprinkle it in a line from the door. And I'll go and get the gun, and we'll take a raking shot at them."

I went after the gun, and gave it to him. We hid in the barn, and before long some more quail flew down and began to eat the seed. When they were well in line he fired, and killed four and wounded several. The wounded ones hopped about, cried out, and took on piteously, and acted like so many little children in distress.

I did not like this at all, and Edmund seemed very much troubled.

"Come on, Edmund. We've got to kill those that are sure to die. The rest we will put in a box with some hay, and perhaps they will get well."

We wrung the necks of three, and put the others in a box and covered it over.

Then we looked at each other, and Edmund opened his basket, and let those we had caught fly away.

"No more quail shooting for me, Ben. They're too human. By George, I know just how a murderer feels."

One snowy winter day, Davy came to our barn, where I was foddering the cattle, and said:—

"Ben, this storm will be over to-morrow, and will make fine snowshoeing. Amos Locke is going with me fox-hunting, and we want you to come too."