THE MUD QUEEN III 
My protest was interrupted by a noise like a passing 
heavily loaded freight train. Two thirds of the big raft 
of ducks rose in the air, made a wide swinging circle, 
and then started directly for us, rising slowly in the 
air as they came on. 
‘“‘Look at that,”’ said Jimmy in a disgusted tone. 
‘There they go all together and I expected they would 
decoy, when they once started in small bunches. They 
are all big birds, well rested after their last night’s flight 
from the north, and now they are all going together over 
towards Pintail Neck, where they can wade around in 
the shallow water and feed. They won’t be back here 
again. We'llhavetoshootas they fly over or not at all.”’ 
Judging the number of birds in these great flocks of 
ducks is largely guesswork, but there must have been 
two thousand of them. They came on in loosely scat- 
tered flocks, each flock separate and distinct from the 
rest. The first flock were all canvasbacks. They were 
at a good height, sixty yards at least, but we gave them 
four barrels. One fell at once and another who was in 
trouble gave up all holds when close to the Mud Queen, 
and came down like a stone. 
The rest of the ducks never paused in their flight but 
rose higher, and before reaching the sink box their ranks 
opened and divided in two long lines; they flew by on 
either side but far out of shot. It was a pretty sight 
and I enjoyed seeing them flying high overhead. 
“‘Tll just bet,’’ said Jimmy disgustedly, ‘‘that all 
the big flight ducks that were in the raft are in those 
big flocks that just went over us.’”’ 
“What kind of ducks are those that are still out in 
the water?”’ 
‘Oh, those that are left,’’ sneered Jimmy, ‘‘are nine 
tenths spoonbills.”’ 
