6 DtJCKING DAYS 



Still, in duck Imnting as in other things, one never 

 can tell what can't be done till it is attempted, and 

 "nothing ventured nothing gained" applies with per- 

 haps more force to wildfowling than any other branch 

 of sport. I would chuck and chance it, and throwing off 

 the weather covers of the float found its hay-cushioned 

 bottom dry as a chip, and with gun, glass and shells 

 deposited in their respective places, a single shove suf- 

 ficed to bury the shore from sight. 



AVhile still upon the shingle beach of the island one 

 could visualize in a way the general lay of the land. But 

 once enveloped in that mystery of fog, sense of direction 

 quickly became a thing of the past with nothing tangible 

 to focus upon, and one guess as good as another. 



Out near the entrance to the lower bay were Joe's 

 anchored decoys. A fleet maintained to help coax down 

 such of the wild birds, high flying, as might be inclined 

 to pass on and hold them once they were in. In the 

 fond belief I was progressing in their direction I sculled 

 gently along, the meanwhile straining with expectant eye 

 for their familiar forms. Ah! There they were. But 

 no; decoys have heads and necks and these dark lumps 

 show neither. They look like the toggle floats of some 

 trotline fisherman, greatly magnified in the dense vapor, 

 and I about so decide when from one of the lumps a 

 snake-like head topped by a gamey head whips watch- 

 fully erect. Black duck for a dollar. 



