VICISSITUDES OF SINK-BOX SHOOTING 49 
into the air and flew slowly over to take a look at my 
sink box. 
It was ‘‘Casey’’; he was always the first on the wing 
and the first to make a morning callon me. It was not 
a sentimental visit. ‘‘Casey’’ didn’t care at all for me 
personally, for his mind was of the practical order. He 
wanted to breakfast on a dead duck that was out of 
gunshot of the sink box. I have often wondered what 
‘‘Casey’’ did when there was no one shooting there. 
Did he still cruise up and down with the same expectant 
businesslike air that he did when I was in the sink box 
and watching him, or did he give up hope of a meat 
breakfast and tackle the tougher job of finding some- 
thing eatable alongshore?—for gulls after all are 
scavengers. 
‘Casey’ always watched every duck shot at. When 
they fell within gunshot of the blind, he flew by regard- 
ing the victim in a casual, impersonal manner. But 
woe be it to the wounded duck who fell outside the 
charmed circle, for ‘‘Casey’’ knew somehow just how 
far my gun carried. I took a long shot at a redhead 
duck. Hit hard, he fell on a slant three hundred yards 
away. Swimming straight ahead he landed and wad- 
dled up on a mudbank and sat there hunched up as if 
asleep. 
“‘Casey’’ spied him and high in air circled around 
him, carefully taking in his condition and apparent 
strength and that he was out of gunshot from the sink 
box. Being satisfied the duck was unable to escape, 
‘‘Casey”’ alighted beside him. Two smaller gray gulls 
followed suit but they were of the spectator class, only 
lookers on. ‘‘Casey’’ walked up closely and looked at 
the duck first with one eye, then with the other. The 
duck was not dead. It was still able to hold up its head, 
4 
