142 DUCKING DAYS 



shooting there, and finally the birds became wise; they 

 would swing in at top speed and just outside of the outer- 

 most decoys and that would be your only chance. Not 

 very easy to hit under such conditions, either. 



Coming down the river when about a half mile below 

 where I had been shooting, a fellow living on a cabin- 

 boat hailed me and started to talk to me. He asked me 

 where I came from. I told him from up the river 175 

 miles. "Well," he said, "you came a long ways to shoot 

 bluebills." "Yes," I said. "I shoot them sometimes. 

 I am not the only one. I wanted to get acquainted with 

 the country a little. Tomorrow I am going after the 

 big ducks." 



A Duck Stalk 



On my trip down the river the first day, when about 

 a mile below Grist Island, I saw a flock of bluebills feed- 

 ing near shore. Backing my boat quietly in before they 

 had seen me, I thought I would try and get a shot from 

 the bank at them by going back in the woods and coming 

 out opposite to them. 



There was an oat stubble-field along the top of the 

 banli for some distance, with a fringe of timber along 

 the river. It was excellent wallving. 



Directly a farmer came towards me carrying a gun. 

 lie was on thei same mission I was, as I found. He said 

 he had seen a flock of mallards alight along the baiilv. 

 He suggested that w^e go together and try and get a 



