140 DUCKING DAYS 



Can you blame them I What a thrill it gives you to see 

 the gleam of its generous chamiel again after an ab- 

 sence! The splendid skyline of its timbered shores, the 

 beautiful islands and bayous and the tree-clad bluffs, at 

 times near by and at other times hazy on the distant 

 horizon! A feeling of gratefulness comes over me when 

 I again find myself on its broad bosom, scanning the 

 \dsta of blue v/aters, with its reflections of blue and 

 white clouds. 



A Bluebill Shoot 



On a fine October forenoon I was approaching the 

 Copperas Creek dam on the Illinois after a long journey. 

 The river men further up the river said there was a 

 good stage of water and I could go right ' ' over the top. ' ' 

 I found it true. Early in the morning it had been so 

 foggy that I could not see across the river. Now, how- 

 ever, it had cleared up and the sun was shining. Soon 

 after passing over the dam I began to see large flocks 

 of bluebills ahead of me on the river. 



*'Now here is where the old hunter makes some ob- 

 servations for future use," I said to myself. ''I can 

 use those fellows later on," and I did. Of course, blue-, 

 bills were not mallards, but they would answer for some 

 sport until I learned the overflowed country a little, as 

 I had never shot in this locality before. 



I went on down to Liverpool (some six or seven miles), 

 as I wanted to rest a little and get the lay of the country. 



