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"Perhaps they don't need a guide," said Joe. "Because they wear good clothes and own fine dogs, it is no sign that they don't know woodcock ground or a snipe bog when they see it, as well as you do. Perhaps they are all better hunters and wing-shots than you ever dare be."

"Not much they ain't," exclaimed Dan, who got fighting mad whenever his brother threw out a hint of this kind. "I can beat any feller who wears them kind of clothes; and as for them fine dogs of their'n, I'll take Bony and get more partridges in a day than they can shoot in a week."

"Well, then, why ain't you satisfied? What are you growling about?"

"'Cause they're 'ristocrats—that's what I'm growling about," answered Dan, looking savagely across the flat at his brother, while Silas nodded a silent but hearty approval. "I am getting tired of seeing so much style every day, while I am so poor that I can't hardly raise money enough to buy powder and shot, and some fine day I'll bust up some of these hunting parties. I've got just as much right to see fun as they have."