"
"Now, now, my dear Miss Ellen," began Stevenson, "can't you be a good
fellow and run back home? We're off the reservation, and really--this,
you see, is a judge of the Supreme Court! We're doing nothing unlawful."
He motioned toward Judge Reeves, who looked suddenly uncomfortable.
Major Williams added his counsel. "It is a little sport between Captain
Orme and Mr. Cowles, Miss Ellen."
"Sport, great sport, isn't it?" cried the girl, holding out her drabbled
hands. "Look there"--she pointed toward the pile of dead
birds--"hundreds of these killed, for money, for sport. It _isn't_
sport. You had all these birds once, you owned them."
And there she hit a large truth, with a woman's guess, although none of
us had paused to consider it so before.
"The law, Miss Ellen," began Judge Reeves, clearing his throat, "allows
the reducing to possession of animals _feroe naturoe_, that is to say,
of wild nature, and ancient custom sanctions it."
"They were already _reduced_" she flashed. "The sport was in getting
them the first time, not in butchering them afterward."
Stevenson and Williams rubbed their chins and looked at each other. As
for me, I was looking at the girl; for it seemed to me that never in my
life had I seen one so beautiful.
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