80 “COME DUCK SHOOTING WITH ME” 
“‘T’ll take the head one,’’ said Jimmy. 
We both fired as one report. The head duck came 
down. My bird towered and as he went up I fired the 
other barrel. That ended his towering. 
‘“That’s a good start,’’ said Jimmy, “‘two redheads. 
You know the duck pickers at the shack ask fifteen 
cents to pick redheads and canvasbacks.”’ 
‘Why is that?” I asked. 
‘“They have such a heavy coat of down under their 
feathers,” replied Jimmy, “‘that it takes a long time to 
pick them. They pick all other kinds of ducks for three 
cents apiece. ”’ 
‘“That strikes me,’”’ I said, ‘‘as being very curious; I 
never noticed the ‘down’ you speak about.”’ 
“‘T’ll show you,’’ said Jimmy, and he picked up the 
redhead he brought in, tore out a couple of handfuls of 
feathers, and showed me the warm cushion of soft down 
that clung to the body. It was thick and sticky and so 
short that it was difficult to pull out. 
‘‘Well! that’s a new one on me,”’ I said, ‘‘but they 
certainly look difficult to pick clean. How many pick- 
ers are there at the shack?”’ 
‘“Two,’’ said Jimmy. ‘‘When the guide brings in the 
boat, he lands the shooter at the wharf and then it’s the 
guide’s business to clean the ducks. It’s mighty un- 
pleasant work. There are plenty of big carp in the 
river around the shack, attracted by this cleaning busi- 
ness when the shooting season is on. When cleaned I 
take the ducks to the pickers’ house. They pick them 
as clean as the palm of your hand.”’ 
‘“‘What becomes of all the ducks after they are 
picked?”’ I asked. 
‘“Well, what do you think of that!’ ejaculated Jimmy. 
Jimmy faced east and I was facing west. We were 
