VICISSITUDES OF SINK-BOX SHOOTING § 55 
and then, as if his fears were finally allayed, came in 
and pitched down, alighting just outside the decoys. 
There he sat waiting patiently for some duck to say 
something. But the silence was unbroken, until I 
poked my head over the edge of the sink box and called, 
‘‘Holloa! How are you?” In all his young life he 
had never heard a duck talk like that before. It was 
not at all what he expected. No duck ever got out of 
the water and flew away quicker than the pintail did. 
It was very quiet for some time after the pintail left. 
I sat idly in the sink box, ate my lunch, and smoked a 
cigar. It was nearly one o’clock. The sun had dis- 
appeared behind a great bank of gray clouds that looked 
as though they were rolled up and tied together. The 
wind came in quick gusts. Everything appeared favor- 
able for duck shooting, except the ducks. 
At last far to the south I saw something white against 
the background of dark clouds. A moment later 
through my field-glasses I could see moving wings. 
Whatever they were they were coming straight down 
the center of the lake. It seemed well to be prepared. 
I crouched low in the stand, drew the number seven 
shot shells out of my automatic and reloaded with 
number three shot. Looking over the edge of the sink 
box I saw they were snow geese. There were eleven of 
them. I could plainly hear them talking among them- 
selves, the silly gabble that makes one of the wisest of 
birds appear a fool. 
As the geese were heading they would pass a hundred 
yards west of me. They were two hundred yards south 
and coming on rapidly, gabbling among themselves. 
It was time to do something or lose all chance of a shot. 
I began to imitate their cry as best I could, then reach- 
ing into my shell box I took out a newspaper that was 
