ng with them. Had not the first creature seen you approach you
might have reached your destination without hearing one disturbing
sound. As a rule, in the daytime, they are not heard, but at night no
one can enter these woods without the echoes being aroused. When they
begin to shriek there is no sleep for any one in my house."

"So I should say. Well, never mind them now, we have other matters on
hand. What coverts are we going to shoot over first?"

Hervey had followed his host to the stable. A strange-looking little
creature came from the obscurity within. He was an undersized man with
a small face, which seemed somehow to have shrivelled up like a dead
leaf. He had a pair of the smallest eyes Hervey had ever seen, and not
a vestige of hair on his face. His head was covered with a crown of
bristly grey hair that seemed to grow in patches, and his feet were
both turned in one direction--to the right.

"Take this plug and give him a rub down, Chintz," said Iredale. "When
he's cool, water and feed him. Mr. Malling won't need him until about
eight o'clock."

Then he turned towards the house.

"He don't waste words," observed Hervey, indicating the man, who had
silently disappeared into the stable, taking the horse with him.

"No; he's dumb," replied Iredale. "He's my head boy."

"Boy?"

"Yes. Sixty-two."

The two men passed into Iredale's sitting-room. It was plainly but
comfortably furnished in a typical bachelor manner. There were more
signs of the owner's sporting propensities in the room than anything
else, the walls being arranged with gun-racks, fishing-tackle, and
trophies of the chase.

"We'll draw the bush on the other side of the Front Hill, otherwise
known as the 'Haunted Hill,'" said Iredale, pointing to a gun-rack.
"Select your weapon. I should take a mixed bore--ten and twelve. We
may need both. There are some geese in a swamp over that way. The
cartridges are in the bookcase; help yourself to a good supply, and
one of those haversacks."

Hervey did as his host suggested.

"Why 'Haunted Hill'?" he asked curiously.

Iredale shrugged.

"By reason of a little graveyard on the side of it. Evidently where
the early settlers buried their dead. It is a local name given, I
suppose, by the prairie folk of your neighbourhood. Come on."

The two men set out. Nor did they return until six o'clock. Their
shoot was productive of a splendid bag--prairie chicken and geese.
Both men were excellent shots.