They were gasping for breath, for it had been a hard pull up the curve of the hill. He worked fast, back and forth, swinging at the end of each tack, his head down and only his back and his busy tail showing above the dry brown grass. The dog hit the scent of the bird and it stopped him quivering: for a second he stood sucking it up through his nostrils, and then he started to quarter. Both of them were sweating in dark patches through their khaki shirts, for the African sun still had heat although it stood half-mast down the sky. Two boys and a dog followed it up from the valley: the dog led, with his tongue flopping pink from the corner of his mouth, and the twins ran shoulder to shoulder behind him. It drooped its wings and hung its legs as it reached the crest and then dropped into cover. A single wild pheasant FLEW up the side of the hill almost brushing the tips of the grass in its flight.
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