140 WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 
That’s right, you have got the hang of it. Just lay them 
on the bow, as we will want to set them out in the place 
we are going to. Don’t move! Don’t move! Ha! ha! 
got fooled, didn’t she? A widgeon. She saw the de- 
coys, saw us, still her curiosity got the better of her, 
and although she was fully sixty yards when I fired she 
was killed sure. It’s surprising what long shots one 
will make at times. About two weeks ago I killed 
a mallard off fully sixty yards. My partner smiled at 
the shot ; just then another came over, I should think 
seventy yards high. I killed that. It flashed on me 
that I had on my shooting clothes, and that it was sure 
death for one to come near me. Just at that instant a 
mallard swooped down and passed me, going like the 
wind. She wasn’t more than thirty feet from me, and 
was missed clean, with both barrels. Such is every 
duck-shooter’s experience. Pick up that last decoy, 
and while you are wrapping it, I will “ pike ” down to- 
ward our destined place. ‘ Pike,” you will remember 
is the local saying for “scull.” Seat yourself com- 
fortably on the bottom in the hay, get your gun in 
readiness, for as we go down through this tangled rice 
we will surely get a shot; even now we are so far in, 
that I wouldn’t be surprised if at any moment a pair of 
mallards would jump—splendid! That was as neat and 
pretty a double as you ever made, but you shot awfully 
quick. No use being in a hurry on those close shots. 
You had lots of time, for they always rise straight up 
over the rushes ten to thirty feet before flying off. 
Pick them up by the bill or head and shake off the 
water before throwing them in the boat. Handsome 
pair, aren’t they? So dissimilar in looks, too. The 
drake gorgeous in his green, purple and white; the 
