efore I should not venture to
call Sir Junius, late Mr. van Koop, my friend, at least in earnest."

He laughed again.

"Well, the individual with whom you make bets subscribed largely to the
funds of his party. I am telling you what I know to be true, though the
amount I do not know. It has been variously stated to be from fifteen
to fifty thousand pounds, and, perhaps by coincidence, subsequently was
somehow created a baronet."

I stared at him.

"That's all the story," he went on. "I don't like the man myself, but he
is a wonderful pheasant shot, which passes him everywhere. Shooting has
become a kind of fetish in these parts, Mr. Quatermain. For instance, it
is a tradition on this estate that we must kill more pheasants than on
any other in the country, and therefore I have to ask the best guns, who
are not always the best fellows. It annoys me, but it seems that I must
do what was done before me."

"Under those circumstances I should be inclined to give up the thing
altogether, Lord Ragnall. Sport as sport is good, but when it becomes a
business it grows hateful. I know, who have had to follow it as a trade
for many years."

"That's an idea," he replied reflectively. "Meanwhile, I do hope that
you will win back your--L5 from Sir Junius. He is so vain that I would
gladly give L50 to see you do so."

"There is little chance of that," I said, "for, as I told you, I have
never shot pheasants before. Still, I'll try, as you wish it."

"That's right. And look here, Mr. Quatermain, shoot well forward of
them. You see, I am venturing to advise you now, as you advised me
yesterday. Shot does not travel so fast as ball, and the pheasant is a
bird that is generally going much quicker than you think. Now, here we
are. Charles will show you your stand. Good luck to you."

Ten minutes later the game began outside of a long covert, all the
seven guns being posted within sight of each other. So occupied was I in
watching the preliminaries, which were quite new to me, that I allowed
first a hare and then a hen pheasant to depart without firing at them,
which hen pheasant, by the way, curved round and was beautifully killed
by Van Koop, who stood two guns off upon my right.

"Look here, Allan," said Scroope, "if you are going to beat your African
friend you had better wake up, for you won't do it by admiring the
scenery or that squirrel on a tree."

So I woke up. Just at that moment there was a cry of "cock forward."
I