14 DUCKING DAYS 



and a quick second shot rolled him over before he had 

 recovered his breath sufficiently to begin diving. 



The last leg of the route, a quarter-mile scull across 

 the head of the pond to the home island lay before me. 

 I had nearly circled the lake and picked up in the opera- 

 tion that great delight of the bird hunter, a mixed bag. 

 And well mixed though it was, luck so willed it another 

 variety was still to be added. 



Nothing appeared until I had neared the neighborhood 

 of the anchored stool and noted three small fowl clus- 

 tered quite apart by themselves — which I at first judged 

 in the distance to be teal. Bearing down upon the trio 

 they began swimming smartly off, but not so fast but 

 what one could soon manoeuvre within range. On setting 

 up they did not rise as anticipated but pulled in together, 

 and thinking to settle the hash of all three and ' ' Hover- 

 ize" on my somewhat scarce ammunition at one and the 

 same time I laid the pattern of a heavy charge from a 

 well-choked barrel exactly on the spot occupied by the 

 three birds at 40 yards. In my mind's eye they were 

 already in the float, but it was another case of counting 

 one's chickens ere they hatch, for every one of the little 

 sinners went under at the crack without having received 

 so much as a scratch. On emerging they were widely 

 separated but headed into the home cove, and by working 

 back and forth I finally bagged the three with as many 

 shots, and strangely enough, as they swam with nought 

 but their bullet heads above the surface. They were 

 ruddy duck, the ''chicken canvasback" of the South. 



