A light shower had fallen the night before and the air was fresh and fragrant with the smell of wet gra.s.ses and moist earth.

The rattle of wheels close behind a.s.sured them that Frank and his load were near.

"Kansas certainly takes the cake for climate," d.i.c.k called to them, happily reckless about corrupting the young folk with his slang. Alice promptly reproached him.

"Mrs. Morton would send you home by the first train if she heard you."

d.i.c.k a.s.sumed an air of mock woe. "Oh, I say there, Chicken Little, don't mention that little matter of the cake--that particular cake isn't respectable, Alice says."

It was Frank who got the first shot.

"Here, Marian, take the lines quick. Hold them tight--they may jump when I fire. Turn out of the road--to the right--slowly now. Stop!"

Frank drew the gun to his shoulder and took careful aim while the others were still vainly trying to see something to shoot at. A snap, a flash, and a bird whirred up a hundred paces away, flew a few feet from the ground, and fell.

Frank ran to the spot and held up a good-sized plover. Marian and Alice examined it pitifully.

"What a slender delicate thing it is! It seems a shame to kill it. I like the excitement of hunting but I always want to cry over the victims," said Alice with a sigh.

Sherm caught sight of a covey soon after. He and Ernest slipped out of the wagon and stole up as close as possible. Ernest got two with the scattering bird shot, but Sherm missed.

"You were too anxious, lad. Stop an instant always before you fire to make sure your hand is steady," the Captain consoled him kindly.

Sherm profited by this advice and brought down his next bird. Captain Clarke left the game to the boys until their first zest for the sport was satisfied. Chicken Little frequently discovered the birds before either of the boys, and was eager to have a turn herself, as was also Katy. Gertie put her hands to her ears every time a gun was fired and openly hoped they wouldn't find any more game to shoot at. Captain Clarke advised the girls to wait a little, and watch the boys carefully to see exactly how they aimed and rested their guns, and he would help them both a little later. But Ernest soon undertook Katie's education and was surprised to find he had a very apt pupil. Katy had as steady a nerve and as true an eye as either of the boys. Ernest began to be alarmed lest his pupil win his honors away from him.

"You must have shot before, Katy."

"I have with a revolver. Uncle Sim used to let me shoot at a target. And he had an archery club last summer."

The Captain did his best for Chicken Little but she did not do nearly so well as Katy, though she made one shot the Captain considered quite extraordinary.

"It's a pretty long range for a novice, little neighbor, but you can try it."

Two birds flew up where she had seen one. "Oh, dear, I missed," she lamented.

"I'm not so sure," said Sherm. "Let's go see."

He helped her down and they made a brisk run toward the spot where the grouse had risen. After a few minutes, Sherm stooped and picked up a bird considerably to the right of where Chicken Little had aimed.

"Well, I'll be jiggered!" he exclaimed with a puzzled expression. "You did get one."

He stood looking down thoughtfully at the ground. Chicken Little hurried to him elated, but her joy was short-lived. Snuggled among the gra.s.ses was an empty nest.

"Oh, do you 'spose she was on the nest? But I couldn't have seen her if she had been--and it's empty."

By way of reply, Sherm stooped again and picked up a baby grouse from a clump of weeds. Fear had frozen it into a motionless wee brown image.

"Oh, the poor little darling! I took its mother." Chicken Little looked ready to cry.

Bending down Sherm parted the weeds and gra.s.ses cautiously.

"Here's another--and another. We must hunt them, Chicken Little, and take them home or they will all starve. Gee, what can we put them in?"

Jane slipped her hat elastic from under her braid, and taking a handful of long gra.s.s to line it with, soon made a snug nest. They tucked the mottled downy bunches into it.

"What in Sam Hill are you people doing over there?" called Ernest.

"Little grouse--come help us find them," Sherm called back. "Be careful now or you'll step on them," he warned as Ernest and the girls came running up. "They are the slyest little codgers--you don't see them until you are right on them."

Gertie was on her knees peering before the words were out of his mouth.

She lifted a fourth mite from its hiding place, and a fifth, and a sixth, almost as fast as she could pick them up. "Oh, aren't they dear?

May I hold them, Jane, when we get back to the wagon?" Gertie was caressing them with hands and eyes.

There were ten chicks cuddled in the hat, when after a thorough search of the weeds, Ernest announced that they must surely have them all. But to make sure they went over the ground in all directions once more.

Jane was very sober. Sherm tried to cheer her.

"You couldn't help it, Chicken Little. You didn't mean to." Sherm smiled his funny smile as he said this.

"Why are you smiling? Oh, I know--I believe so, too."

"What secrets are you talking?" Katy was curious.

"Yes, speak United States, it isn't polite to leave your guests in the dark this way," growled Ernest.

Jane haughtily declined to explain just then. When they returned to the wagon, they found the Captain as much interested in the shot, as he was in the prairie chicks.

"That was really a wonderful hit, little girl. I congratulate you."

Jane stole a glance at Sherm. He wasn't looking at her, but he was smiling. Jane smiled, too.

"Yes, Captain Clarke," she replied demurely, "it was rather astonishing."

This was too much for Sherm who chuckled openly. Captain Clarke looked from one to the other inquiringly. The others were completely mystified.

"Well, I'd just like to know what you two are up to." Katy wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"Can't a fellow laugh without having to give an account of himself?"

Sherm parried, still trying to stave off the mirth that possessed him.

Chicken Little's face was sweetly sober. "He's appreciating my--skill--the rest of you don't seem to realize what a feat----" A sound, something between a crow and a suppressed steam whistle interrupted her. Sherm whooped until he was red in the face. Chicken Little regarded him reproachfully, but continued: "You see most anybody can hit the chicken they aim at, but it takes a fine shot to hit one you didn't know was there." She grinned mischievously up at the Captain who grinned back delightedly.

"Really, Chicken Little?"

"Really." She joined in the general laugh.

"What did you want to tell for?" Sherm had enjoyed having the joke to himself.

She didn't answer then, but later she whispered: "Because the Captain--I didn't want him praising me that way!"