It was about ten yards to the willow which hung over the water, but he could not get any nearer, for there was no more cover beyond the alder-- the true savage is never content unless he is close to his game. Bevis grasped his bow firm in his left hand, drew the arrow quick but steadily--not with a jerk--and as the sharp point covered the bird, loosed it. There was a splash and a fluttering, he knew instantly that he had hit. “Mark! Mark!” he shouted, and ran down the bank, heedless of the jagged stones. Mark heard, and came racing through the firs. The arrow had struck the moorcock’s wing, but even then the bird would have got away, for the point had no barb, and in diving and struggling it would have come out, had not he been so near the willow. The spike went through his wing and nailed it to a thick root; the arrow quivered as it was stopped by the wood. Bevis seized him by the neck and drew the arrow out. “Kill him! Kill him!” shouted Mark. The other savage pulled the neck, and Mark, leaping down the jagged stones, took the dead bird in his eager hands. “Here’s where the arrow went in.” “There’s three feathers in the water.” “Feel how warm he is.” “Look at the thick red on his bill.” “See his claws.” “Hurrah!” “Let’s eat him.” “Raw?” “No. Cook him.” “All right. Make a fire.” Thus the savages gloated over their prey. They went back up the bank and through the firs to the sward. “Where shall we make the fire?” said Mark. “In the quarry?” “That old stupe may come for sand.” “So he may. Let’s make it here.” “Everybody would see.” “By the hedge towards the elms then.” “No. I know, in the hollow.” “Of course, nobody would come there.” “Pick up some sticks.” “Come and help me.” “I shall dress--there are brambles.” So they dressed, and then found that Mark had broken a nail, and Bevis had cut his foot with the sharp edge of a fossil shell projecting from one of the stones. But that was nothing, they could think of nothing but the bird. While they were gathering armsful of dead sticks from among the trees, they remembered that John Young, who always paunched the rabbits and hares and got everything ready for the kitchen, said coots and moorhens must be skinned, they could not be plucked because of the “dowl.”