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THE SHACK OF THE MUSKRAT TRAPPER
65

"Talk about your sporting blood, you sure wiped my eye that time," he said.

"The bird was a little too close for your shot to scatter; I had a better chance as it flew away farther. You'd have dropped him with your second barrel, I reckon, old fellow," cried Frank, hurrying forward to pick up the partridge.

"Yes, I've no doubt I would; but that's the first time I ever had any one step in and beat me clean. I'll have to watch out for you after this, you sly 'possum. But then you've shot lots of these birds up in Maine, I suppose?"

"Plenty of them; but up there they light in trees, and the natives don't hesitate to drop them while they sit."

"That's little short of murder," said Jerry.

After an hour's walk they reached the camp of old Jesse.

"There it is, boys," said Frank, pointing ahead.

"And he's home, too; something I hardly expected at this time of day," from Jerry. "Because if he has a line of traps the morning is the time he tends them, I'm told."

As they approached, the man in the camp turned and saw them. He was a tall and angular fellow, well on in years, and with keen eyes that seemed always looking for signs around him.

"Say, boys, this here is right nice o' you, comin'