circling out low over the waves would alight 
again on the shore ahead of them. At length 
they started a dozen plovers that flew first one 
way and then another, as if trying to decide 
where to settle. While moving to and fro they 
arose as high as a hundred feet or more above the 
sand, and then all at once the duck hawk bore 
down upon them. When they saw him ther 
darted for the beach, but there was no time to 
get out of the air before he was among them. 
Bump, bump, bump, bump, almost as quickly 
as that he struck four of the flock one after 
another. Two fell dead on the sand, another 
dropped into the water, and the fourth Black 
Warrior carried away with him. . 
“That settles it,’ vowed the sportsman; 
“this whole region is dominated by one old duck 
hawk. What chance does a gunner have? No 
more shooting here for me; I’m done for good.” 
It is said that Mr. Wing that very night 
offered to sell his share in the club for half of 
what it cost him, and it is generally known that 
he has never gone back there again. 
In and around New York are a number of 
162 
