DA YS ON THE ILLINOIS. I07 



Lulled to sleep by the cackle of flying brant, 

 the quack of mallards in the pond near by, the 

 deep To-zvhoooo of the great owl in the tree be- 

 side us, the Scaipe of wandering snipe, the far- 

 reaching Grrrrrroooooooo of sandhill cranes trav- 

 eling in the dome of night, and the shrill quaver- 

 ing cry of the raccoon in the timber behind us, 

 we rose at daybreak for the morning flight of 

 water-fowl. Though this generally lacked the 

 bewildering intensity of the evening flight, there 

 was yet enough rush and bustle to upset a highly 

 respectable equilibrium. 



Perhaps a lone mallard opens the ball. Slowly 

 winging his way out of the circle of gray, he 

 crosses the sky in dim outline above you. It is 

 so dark there seems little danger of his seeing 

 you ; but his wings begin to thump the air with 

 extra force as he climbs rapidly out of danger. 

 He is not quite quick enough, though, and at 

 the report of your gun his neck doubles up and 

 down he comes. On the instant the air throbs 

 beneath ten thousand wings, and a wild medley 

 of energetic quacks, dolorous squeals, melodious 

 honks, and discordant cackles resounds from far 

 and near as the myriads of ducks, geese, and 



