64 WILD FOWL SHOOTING 
It is like going from darkness into day-light, when 
we suddenly, and to you unexpectedly, come out of the 
deep woods into the broad water of Rice Lake. There 
are hunters before us. We see their decoys, and 
cheerily greeting them, leave the most noted resort of 
the whole trip in the possession of strangers. Why 
care we? just below us is Turkey Slough, where from 
time immemorial, year in and year out, ducks have 
been killed by the hundreds. The day is fast disap- 
pearing. We place out our decoys in a likely place, 
and kill the ducks in that manner. At times, a pair or 
a single one alights just out of reach. Silently and 
stealthily we emerge from our hiding place and the 
floating brush pile is transformed into a fiery mass ; 
and we gather the dead, and once more seek the pro- 
tecting willows. 
Thus the day slips along. Ducks come in at night 
by thousands, the constant booming of guns does not | 
drive them away. On the contrary, it seems to act as 
a signal, pointing out to the stragglers where the major- 
ity are. Satiated with decoy shooting, we scull along 
the banks, the willows, in the shallow water, the sub- 
merged ground, the grassy knolls where seeds are found, 
the little patches of smart-weed ridges, where the 
acorns are dropping into the water with a sullen 
“ plunk,” and then, into the broad deep water,—secur- 
ing game everywhere. ; 
You feel tired? Indeed! Lay your gun listlessly 
down, and declare you won't fire another shot! no 
matter what comes along! You bring your hand to 
your eyes, wishing for a moment to shut out the sight 
of constant flying ducks, that wild come before you. 
“ Ah—unk! Ah—unk!” At this well-known sound, 
