My father got down on his hands and knees and steered crawling. I followed. He moved surprisingly fast on all fours and I had quite a job to keep up with him. Every few seconds he would glance back at me to see if I was all right, and each time he did so, I gave him a nod and a smile.
We crawled on and on, and then at last we were kneeling safely behind a big clump of bushes right on the edge of the clearing. My father was nudging me with his elbow and pointing through the branches at the pheasants.
The place was absolutely stiff with them. There must have been at least two hundred huge birds strutting around among the tree-stumps.
You see what I mean? He whispered.
It was a fantastic sight, a poacher's dream come true. And how close they were. Some of them were not ten paces from we're we knelt. The hens were plump and creamy-brown. They were so fat their breast- feathers almost brushed the ground as they walked. The cocks were slim and elegant, with long tails and brilliant red patches round the eyes, like scarlet spectacles. I glanced at my father. His face was transfixed in ecstasy. The mouth was slightly open and the eyes were sparkling bright as they stared at the pheasants.