ABSTRACT
Lucky for you if you are able to get steady footing enough to shoot. Three sweeps of the wing have oarried the bird into the wind, which has apparently been trying to thrash you off the rooks all the morning, and down which he goes at once with a velooity that it would take a driven partridge a quarter of a mile to attain. Nevertheless you hold on to him, as his stagger and the backward twist of his head (sure sign of a sorely wounded bird) show. But the wings are unbroken, and keeping them spread out he sweeps down the hillside, to fall at length-dead, no doubt, but beyond your ken, or the reoovering powers of the keenest and best of retrievers, if you had suoh a one with you.
