40 “COME DUCK SHOOTING WITH ME” 
is yours alone. The excitement of the approach, the 
imitated call that brings closer acquaintance, the aim, 
the shot, the falling bird, and the ‘‘splash’’ that records 
the prize, all belong to you. There’s no conten- 
tion. There’s no uncertainty. Nobody can claim 
the birds you shot. Nothing stands between yourself 
and the day’s limit but your own skill and perhaps 
a little luck. You are on your mettle and must do 
your best. 
A pair of spoonbills were the first comers. They saw 
the decoys and never hesitated, coming in so unex- 
pectedly close that I simply waited to see what would 
happen. They pitched down into the water not more 
than ten yards from the blind. A duck shooter will 
stand a good deal, but he draws the line when ducks fly 
into the blind and alight on his gun barrel, which was 
almost what these spoonbills did. We all three jumped 
about the same instant, I to my feet and the spoonbills 
high in air. It wasaneasy double. Only one lost bird 
so far that morning. I began to pat myself figuratively 
on the back. But pride cometh before a fall. I missed 
my next four shots and they were ail at mallards too, 
the gamest duck of them all. 
The sound of the double shot had hardly died away 
when a pair of mallards coming from the south took 
all my attention. I wanted both of them but I bagged 
neither. They appeared to be coming to the decoys, 
perhaps would pass a trifle outside of them. Then and 
there I made my mistake. They surely would have 
come within range if I had only kept quiet. But in 
my eagerness to help a good thing along I gave them 
the mallard feed call. Perhaps my accent was out of 
tune; something certainly went wrong, as both mallards 
the moment they heard my call rose rapidly and passed 
