IN THE MARSH. 129 
est degree. Away down in front of us, watch that big 
flock of mallards ; they circle and sail, undecided where 
to alight. It does seem that—whew ! That was a close 
call. He didn’t miss my head two feet, and he was 
going fully a hundred and fifty miles an hour. If he 
had struck me, you would have hada green-winged 
teal, and I would have been laid up for repairs. It has 
always seemed strange to me that more hunters don’t 
get hit with low flying ducks, when the light is dim. 
I once knew of a friend being knocked senseless by a 
falling duck, and one time in Western Iowa I had a 
narrow escape myself. But the worse scare I ever had 
was when shooting geese in Dakota. A twelve pound- 
er just missed my head. Hello! Just look at them 
down there; by Willow Island. Some hunter has 
routed them out. Keep quiet, there they come. Don’t 
shoot! Don’t shoot! See how they turn to my eall. 
Watch sharp! Hold two feet ahead of that drake, and 
let him have it. Good shot! But then you ought to 
have killed the duck. I got my pair. The trouble was 
you shot too quick and got behind her. One of mine 
is crippled; shoot him again. What? Missed him on 
the water? Try him again. Well, I declare if you 
haven’t missed again. ‘Try itonce more, and hold at the 
line of his body where it touches the water. There, 
that’s more like it; you have filled him full. It is not 
surprising that you missed him twice, for you shot over 
him. I could see where your shot struck the water. 
Oh, I don’t doubt but that you held on the duck ; 
that’s just where you were in error. Instead of holding 
on you should have held under. The tendency with a 
shot-gun at a stationary mark is always to over-shoot. 
One instinctively pulls with a slight jerk, and the 
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