get a shot when they walked the turnip fields in line. Osborn imagined
Jardine would not have done so had he been a guest at one of the houses
he boasted about visiting.

As they climbed Malton Head another of the party had broken Dowthwaite's
drystone wall and the farmer had said more about the accident than the
damage justified. In fact, Dowthwaite was rather aggressive, and now
Osborn came to think of it, one or two others had recently grumbled about
things they had hitherto borne without complaint.

In the meantime, Osborn and Thorn, who shared his butt, looked about
while they waited for the beaters. The row of turf banks, regularly
spaced, ran back to the Force Crags at the head of the dale. The red
bloom of the ling was fading from the moor, which had begun to get brown.
Sunshine and shadow swept across it, and the blue sky was dotted by
flying, white-edged clouds. A keen wind swept the high tableland, and the
grouse, flying before it, would come over the butts very fast.

In the distance, one could distinguish a row of figures that were
presently lost in a hollow and got larger when they reappeared. They were
beaters, driving the grouse, and by and by Osborn, picking up his
glasses, saw clusters of small dark objects that skimmed and then dropped
into the heath. It was satisfactory to note that they were numerous.
Although the birds were rather wild, he could now give his friends some
sport. After a time, however, the clusters of dark dots were seen first
to scatter and then vanish. Osborn frowned as he gave Thorn the glasses.

"What does that mean? Looks as if the birds had broken back."

"Some have broken back," said Thorn. "If they've flown over the beaters,