"I heard Alderdene talking about it," he said, smilingly inspecting the
girl's attire of khaki with its buttoned pockets, gun pads, and Cossack
cartridge loops, and the tan knee-kilts hanging heavily pleated over
gaiters and little thick-soled shoes. He had never cared very much to
see women afield, for, in a rare case where there was no affectation,
there was something else inborn that he found unpleasant--something
lacking about a woman who could take life from frightened wild things,
something shocking that a woman could look, unmoved, upon a twitching,
blood-soiled heap of feathers at her feet.

Meanwhile Dawson, dog-whip at salute, stood knee deep among his restless
setters, explaining the ceremony with which Mr. Ferrall ushered in the
opening of each shooting season:

"It's our own idee, Miss Landis," he said proudly; "onc't a season Mr.
Ferrall and his guests likes it for a mixed bag. 'Tis a sort of picnic,
Miss; the guns is in pairs, sixty yards apart in line, an' the rules is,
walk straight ahead, dogs to heel until first cover is reached; fire
straight or to quarter, never blankin' nor wipin' no eyes; and ground
game counts as feathers for the Shotover Cup."

"Oh! It's a skirmish line that walks straight ahead?" said Siward,
nodding.

"Straight ahead, Sir. No stoppin', no turnin' for hedges, fences, water
or rock. There is boats f'r deep water and fords marked and corduroy f'r
to pass the Seven Dreens. Luncheon at one, Miss--an hour's rest--then
straight on over hill, valley, rock, and river to the rondyvoo atop
Osprey Ledge. You'll see the poles and the big nests, Sir. It's there
they score for the cup, and there when the bag is counted, the traps are