Oddly enough, I found that this wild work suited me, for as time went on and the pheasants grew more and more impossible, I shot better and better.

One after another down they came far behind me with a crash in the brushwood or a splash in the lake, till the guns grew almost too hot to hold.

There were so many of them that I discovered I could pick my shots; also that nine out of ten were caught by the wind and curved at a certain angle, and that the time to fire was just before they took the curve.

The excitement was great and the sport splendid, as anyone will testify who has shot December pheasants breaking back over the covert and in a tearing gale.

Van Koop also was doing very well, but the guns in front got comparatively little shooting.