'And gets away, I suppose,' muttered, George Keene, still out of temper. 'Don't see the fun of it.' 'Wait a bit,' retorted Lewis gaily. 'Now you must remember that the _rôle_ you have to play depends on how the bird breaks. There is no time to settle. The nearest in must ride it, the rest choose their parts as best--steady, mare, steady!' It was only a faint '_te-tetar--te-tetar_,' in the far distance, but Bronzewing started, and even George's pony cocked its ears; while humanity went on breathlessly in line, the horses' feet at a walk giving out a hollow sound on the hard soil, the yellow sunshine casting hard shadows. 'Look out!' cautioned Lewis, in a whisper. 'There's a partridge running on ahead; by you, I think, Fitzgerald.' 'Don't see it?' 'Farther to the left. The mare sees it. We must trot a bit, or it won't rise fair. Steady, lass, steady!' 'I see it,' came in excited tones from George, 'by the big bush, Miss Tweedie.' 'That's another,' cautioned Lewis again. 'Take care and don't----' _Whirr, buzz! Whirr, buzz!_ 'Ride it! Ride it!' The cry came from two quarters; but Shâhzâd was already extended, and Rose forgetful of everything save those brown wings low down against the horizon. She was closer on them this time, for she could see their skimming swoop as they neared a heavy clump of cover. Yet she felt she must lose them, as she had done before, when to her relief she saw Lewis shoot ahead.' 'All right,' he shouted, 'I'm on. Look out for yourself.' There was a cut of his thong against thorns as he rose Bronzewing to a hedge which Rose had not seen. But she had scarcely steadied herself in the saddle from the half-considered leap in his wake before the partridge was down and up again at right-angles to its first flight; Lewis meanwhile bringing the mare round all he knew, and shouting, 'Ride it, Miss Tweedie! ride it.' Shâhzâd, still steadied by the jump, was in hand, and, therefore, on the track in a second, snorting in mad hurry and excitement, and the bird was not quite so fast this time, or Rose was riding straighter, for she saw the last skim of the wings change to running feet as it touched the grey brown earth which tinted so perfectly with its plumage. 'Not there! not there!' came that warning voice from behind. 'It's run on. The next bush--put Shâhzâd over it.' A leap, a scurry, a flutter, and the quarry was up again, heading in its hurry for an impossible open, backed by bare plough. Bronzewing being now alongside, Rose found leisure to glance round for the others. 'Gone after the second partridge,' said Lewis. 'I was afraid of it. There's a hedge twenty yards ahead, Miss Tweedie, I'll mark.' They were over it, almost in the stride, and now the bird was below the horizon, a mere shadow of darker brown against the plough.