Ain't we, kid?" Again Bessie Belle
tossed her head high. "That's 'yes,' with the reverse English,"
the speaker explained. "Now you just rest yourself, ma'am, and
order your breakfast. What 'll it be--quail, dove, or cottontail?"
"Why--whatever you can get."
"That ain't the kind of restaurant we run. Bessie Belle would sure
be offended if she understood you. Ever see anybody call a quail?"
"Can it really be done?"
Law's face brightened. "You wait." He led his mare down the
arroyo, then returned, and, taking his Winchester from its
scabbard, explained: "There's a pair of 'top-knots' on that side-
hill waitin' for a drink. Watch 'em run into my lap when I give
the distress signal of our secret order." He skirted the water-
hole, and seated himself with his heels together and his elbows
propped upon his spread knees in the military position for close
shooting. From where he sat he commanded an unobstructed view of
the thicket's edge. Next he moistened his lips and uttered an
indescribable low whistle. At intervals he repeated the call,
while the woman looked on with interest. Suddenly out of the grass
burst a blue quail, running with wings outstretched and every
feather ruffled angrily.
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