JIMMY’S TRIP TO CALIFORNIA 73 
it’s getting late and there won’t be much shooting from 
now on. Let’s push for the shack and a hot dinner.” 
As I spoke—Whish! Whish! Four ducks came in from 
behind, high up, over our heads. 
‘‘Mallards,’’ whispered Jimmy, giving them the low 
feed call. The four heard it and turned two hundred 
yards out and circled in toward the decoys. They 
were very suspicious. Probably they saw us when they 
flew over. We were not as well hidden behind as in 
front. At fifty yards they turned back again. Jimmy’s 
gun rattled and roared twice. A beautiful double. 
My duck was hit hard and hating to lose a wounded bird 
I gave him the other barrel; he flew gradually sagging 
downward and finally fell, three gunshots away, making 
a big splash in the water. 
“Well,” said Jimmy, ‘‘that skirmish ends the battle 
for to-day. Three down, two we get and one we pick up 
going home. That’s twelve ducks for the day, count 
’em, just one dozen. Huh; ain’t that a gorgeous shoot. 
But what do you expect with only two shells in my gun? 
Let me put in six shells instead of two next time and 
I'll get you some ducks.”’ 
