THE MUD QUEEN 109 
ingatamark. There were no more ducks after that, as 
Jimmy came splashing along back to the sink box walk- 
ing in the mud and water. 
‘That was quite a walk,’’ said Jimmy. ‘‘There’s one 
place out there where the mud was over my knees for 
two hundred yards. Ginger, but I’m warm; where’s the 
water bottle?’’ 
We had scattering shots for the next three hours, but 
about noon the big raft began to show signs of life. The 
ducks were becoming uneasy, ready to seek new feed- 
ing places or perhaps to start for the sunny southland. 
Bunches of them would rise, circle around, and alight 
again close to the place they started from. Some of 
them wanted to go calling and our decoys were the 
nearest neighbors. A bunch of seven redheads were 
the first arrivals, but a hundred yards out they turned 
south. Our chances looked poor until Jimmy gave a 
hoarse series of grunts, the canvasback call. That 
settled it. The redheads appeared anxious to visit 
their friends the canvasbacks. Still fora first call they 
were a little over polite and turned south again at fifty 
yards. We gave them four barrels and two dropped. 
Jimmy had to chase out and reshoot one of them. 
A pair of mallards were the next callers. A mallard 
is such a satisfactory bird to shoot, big in the air and 
large and juicy on the table. The first time, they came 
over us high up, too far to shoot. Jimmy gave them a 
low call. They circled and came in again, this time 
with wings bowed. We both fired; the first one came 
down, the other started off, zigzagging as it flew up- 
wards, and it took two additional shots to get him. 
‘Jimmy,’ I said, ‘‘you called these ducks in good 
style; who taught you to do it?” 
Jimmy was immensely pleased at the compliment. 
