The fair promise of the morning had departed, the sky was overcast, and a wind, blowing in strong gusts, was rising rapidly, driving before it occasional scurries of snow.
"My word," said Lord Ragnall, who had joined me, "the Lake covert--that's our great stand here, you know--will take some shooting this afternoon.

We ought to kill seven hundred pheasants in it with this team, but I doubt if we shall get five.

Now, Mr.Quatermain, I am going to stand Sir Junius Fortescue and you back in the covert, where you will have the best of it, as a lot of pheasants will never face the lake against this wind.

What is more, I am coming with you, if I may, as six guns are enough for this beat, and I don't mean to shoot any more to-day." "I fear that you will be disappointed," I said nervously.
"Oh, no, I sha'n't," he answered.

"I tell you frankly that if only you could have a season's practice, in my opinion you would make the best pheasant shot of the lot of us.