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dozens of guinea fowl were already perched on every tree； watching the dog； who was bouncing and yelling below them； satisfactorily distracting their attention from me while i arranged myself and chose my bird at leisure。
a guinea fowl beset by a yapping dog tends to show uneasiness by turning slowly around and around on its perch； but it turns on its own axis and so presents a more or less stable target。 there was one occasion when a bird sitting on a low bush was so fascinated by the dog that i was able to lean over and pluck it off the branch by the legs。 then i wrung its neck。 i have never before revealed this deplorable incident to a soul。 when i took the fowl home； i explained that the bullet had struck its beak and stunned it； and said carelessly that it sounded very like one of my brother’s more tortuous feats。
i knew very well that when my brother came home； that would be the end of me。 and； in fact； on the evening of his arrival my brother took me into the bush； saying； “now； let’s see you do it。”
the dog went yapping off after a flock of guinea fowl。 i shot negligently at a bird rising into a tree； shrugged； and said self…critically； “damned bad shot。” my brother； of course； saw at once that all sport with that flock was at an end； but the dog continued to whine pointedly under various plump birds while my brother and i walked off in search of airborne targets。
this happened several times。 my mother plained that the larder was empty。 then； luckily； my brother got a duiker that had presented a long shot downhill in bad light。 we ate the duiker for a whole week （the main disadvantage of living in a sportsman’s paradise is the tedium of the diet） and i was able to say that it was altogether unsporting to kill things while we were in no need of meat。 but then there were ten days more of my brother’s holidays to get through； and my exposure was clearly imminent。 i tried to defer it by saying that i was incapable； for psychological reasons； of shooting anything while watched。 i went off into the bush by myself； and my brother secretly followed and caught me in the act of shooting a sitting bird at four or five yards。 i told him his behavior was sneaking and caddish； but he was too shocked to listen。 he felt the blow to the family honor so profoundly that he said nothing that evening at supper。 i think he was wondering how to break it to my father in the least traumatic way。
that night； my brother went out spot…shooting—hunting with a light。 spot…shooting the way he did it was not unsporting； because he saw to it that the chances were substantially on the other side。 only crude types use the headlights of cars； my brother fixed a weak bicycle lamp to his forehead and went forth into the night like a quixotic cyclops。 the usual practice is to fix the eyes of an animal with the light； then walk as close as possible to the hypnotized creature and shoot it。 my brother’s method meant that the creature would be interested but not fixed。 it would have plenty of opportunity to run away。
he returned from that expedition severely depressed。 apparently； he had seen two green eyes fifty yards off。 they had not moved。 he had shouted； but nothing had happened。 he’d switched off his head lamp and fired between the eyes。 they had not moved。 he had fired again。 it was obviously impossible that he could have missed； but he had fired three times more。 then he had walked up to his target convinced that he would find five corpses piled up there。 he had found； instead； two glow…worms on a log。 the incident was such a blow to his pride that he forgot to discuss my case with my parents。 this was； on the whole； lucky for the household； which； after my brother went back to school； i continued to supply with meat until one happy day when i was able to leave for the city and the delights of civilization。
my talents as hunter were useful on one other occasion。 it happened that while in the city i became engaged； or attached—the precise word for this relationship evades me—to a young man who was in every way a sportsman。 his conceptions of honor were intricate； and caused me hours of introspection； as a result of which i concluded we were ill…matched。 he； however； did not think so； and tried to persuade me that my reluctance to join my fate eternally to his was the result of tender age； i was sixteen at the time。
among other virtues； he had ideas about hunting； shooting； and fishing that can be described only as classic。 he had a large number of gold and silver medals for marksmanship； and was； naturally； eager to visit our farm； where he could prove himself。 since leaving scotland ten years before； never once had he set foot on any shooting ground but a target range。
for a while； i made excuses； but at last they ran out； and we went home for a weekend visit。 i took him guinea…fowl shooting； since i was famed for this； but； of course； i pressed the rifle into his hand with the self…denial proper to a good hostess。 at once； he showed the correctness of his upbringing by saying that no one had ever heard of shooting birds with a rifle。 but he tried。 he missed a good many guinea fowl running along the ground； which was hardly surprising； seeing the speed they get up。 then he missed a lot more flying up into the trees。 he hit none。 by that time； he was in a bad temper。 he pushed the rifle back into my hand and said； “well； then； you show me how to do it。”
the guinea fowl were by now all safely up in the trees。 we threw stones at them； and even shook the trees； but they wouldn’t budge。 i could not shoot。 we began walking home along a track through the bush while i prayed that no second flock of birds would announce itself。 i planned； if i heard the “chink； chink；” to talk very loudly and drown it。 suddenly he shouted； “look！ now’s your chance！”
hundreds of feet away； a partridge dodged among the ruts of the road。 i doubt whether even my brother could have hit it。 a small puff of wind raised the dust。 i saw my chance； and； muttering； “damn this dust；” i fired at random into it。
the dust subsided。 the partridge lay dead； shot through the head—a running shot； from behind； at a hundred and seventy yar