"
"Oh, I'll whistle," declared Bud, jauntily.
Sam Leggett's snigger was dexterously turned into a cough by a punch in his
ribs from Mr. Trimble's elbow, and they trudged on in silence until they
reached Buck Snort Gully, a deep ravine running from the prairie into a
stretch of heavy timber beyond, known as The Rough.
Here they stopped, and Sid Northcutt produced a coarse bag, whose mouth was
held open by a barrel hoop, and a tallow candle, which he lighted and
handed to the elate hunter. "Now, Bud," Mr. Cullum said, when the bag was
set on the edge of the gully, with its mouth towards the prairie, "you jest
scrooch down behind this here sack an' hold the candle. You kin lay the
rifle back of you, in case a wild-cat or a cougar prowls up. An' you
whistle jest as hard an' as continual as you can, whilse the balance of us
beats aroun' an' drives in the snipe. They'll run fer the candle ever'
time. An' the minit that sack is full of snipe, all you've got to do is to
pull out the prop, an' they're yourn."
"All right, Mr. Tobe," responded Bud, squatting down and clutching the
candle, his face radiant with expectation.
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