He went
quickly and cautiously toward the place, then waited for the next
drumming. It was slow in coming, so he knelt down by a mossy,
rotten log, and struck it with his hands to imitate the thump and
roll of the partridge. At once this challenge procured response.
"Thump -- thump -- thump,, thump rrrrrrrrrrrr" it came, with
martial swing and fervour, and crawling nearer,
Rolf spied the drummer, pompously strutting up and down a log
some forty yards away. He took steady aim, not for the head -- a
strange gun, at forty yards -- for the body. At the crack, the
bird fell dead, and in Rolf's heart there swelled up a little
gush of joy, which he believed was all for the sake of the
invalid, but which a finer analysis might have proved to be due
quite as much to pride in himself and his newly bought gun.
Night was coming on when he got back, and he found the Dutch
parents in some excitement. "Dot Indian he gay no bring Annette
indoors for de night. How she sleep outdoors -- like dog -- like
Bigger -- like tramp? Yah it is bad, ain't it?" and poor old
Hendrik looked sadly upset and mystified.
"Hendrik, do you suppose God turns out worse air in the night
than in the day?"
"Ach, dunno.
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