296 WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 
There is one thing the hunter should never forget, 
that is, to mark the flight of a goose he feels satisfied 
he has hit hard. They will often fly off, to all appear- 
ances unhurt, only to let go everything after flying 
from 75 to 500 yards, and then fall stone dead, making 
a resounding thud on the frozen ground, not unlike 
thumping the earth with a stuffed club. It is surpris- 
ing how far one can hear this thud, and I can safely 
say, without fear of contradiction, that a goose falling 
on the frozen ground from a height of sixty to eighty 
yards with a slight wind blowing toward the shooter, 
the thud can be heard three quarters of a mile, if not 
farther. Geese are very tenacious of life, and some- 
times after being hard hit will rise in the air, set their 
wings, and sail toward the earth, slightly descending, 
without a quiver of their set wings, and finally alight 
softly on their feet, teeter forward, then backward, 
and pitch forward again dead, with outstretched wings. 
As we were riding along through the tall bottom grass, 
which in the low land waved its flaunting yellow points 
at our sides, occasionally we heard the faint honk of a 
goose. We tried our best to locate it, scanning closely 
every point of the now blue sky. At the North, hung 
heavily against the heavens a long stretch of what the 
residents called bluffs. They were hills, reaching per- 
haps an actual elevation of fifty feet, sloping gently 
back from the bottom land. We were coming from tle 
South, and as far as the eye could see in the direction 
of the East and West, there was one unbroken line of 
rank coarse slough grass interspersed with fields of 
yellow corn, and an occasional farm house, that stood 
out in bold relief against the bright s'*y, with its 
drifting white and blue clouds. The driver called our 
