86 “COME DUCK SHOOTING WITH ME” 
The shore birds instead of alighting had turned and 
flew back by us again. 
‘‘There,’’ said Jimmy pointing at a big marbled god- 
wit, ‘‘there’s your jacksnipe.”’ 
I had to laugh. Then I said, ‘‘ You wouldn’t call my 
high shot at the mallard drake a good one, now I don’t 
agree that marble godwit you’re pointing at is a jack- 
snipe.” 
Jimmy got quite indignant: ‘‘Why, that’s a jacksnipe, 
I’ve seen jacksnipe all my life. I just know that’s 
one.’ 
‘‘Not at all, Jimmy,” I said, ‘“‘you’re dead wrong. 
That is a shore bird snipe all right enough, but it’s not 
a jacksnipe. There is no difference anyway between a 
jacksnipe and a Wilson snipe, they’re only different 
names for the same bird.” 
‘“‘Why, nothing of the sort,” said Jimmy. ‘‘I see 
jacksnipe flying round and wading in the water every 
day.”’ 
‘‘You’re wrong again,’’ I told him, ‘“‘jacksnipe don’t 
wade in the water. They live in grassy muddy places. 
They have a long bill and when they fly up, they cry 
‘scape,’ ‘scape.’”’ 
‘‘Oh! are those things jacksnipe? We call them 
wigglewagglers round here, they dodge round so when 
they first start to fly. Well, I declare, are those things 
jacksnipe? I never knew that before.” 
We stayed in the blind longer than usual that evening 
in hopes of getting a few more shots. It was getting 
late. The sun was close to the western rim and the 
shadows were long reflections in the water. Suddenly 
{I heard a new note. Jimmy heard it too and as he 
turned partly around I could see his knuckles whiten 
as he tightly grasped his gun. It was the sound that 
