"Down, Bruff! To heel!" The dog obeyed, and cocking their guns, and keeping as close to the trees as the rocky nature of the soil would allow, the two hunters approached the game Mark had pointed out.
Strange-looking birds they were, each as big as a small turkey, and, provided that they were not of the gull tribe, promising to be an admirable addition to the pot.
But though they advanced cautiously, neither the major nor Mark could get within shot, the birds taking alarm and scurrying over the sand rapidly.
They tried again, taking shelter, going through all the manoeuvres of a stalker; but their quarry was too wary, and went off at a tremendous rate, but only to stop when well out of reach and begin digging and scratching in the sand somewhat after the fashion of common fowls.
"It's of no use," said Mark at last, throwing himself down hot and exhausted after they had followed the tempting creatures for fully a mile.
"No use!" said the major.

"What, give up! Do you know what Lord Lytton says in Richelieu ?" "No," said Mark wearily; and then to himself--"and I don't care." "`In the bright lexicon of youth there is no such word as fail.'" "But then Lord Lytton had not been out here hungry and thirsty, toiling after these sandy jack-o'-lanterns with a heavy gun," said Mark.
"Probably not," said the major.

"But, never mind: we may get a shot yet.

One more steady try, and then we'll go back." "Oh, Major O'Halloran, what a man you are to walk!" said Mark, rising wearily.
"Yes, my lad," said the major smiling.

"I belong to a marching regiment.