Duck-sbooting 27 



in a huddle, and a well-placed shot stops two, — 

 all, for the last one takes the second barrel as he 

 sheers off wounded. They are sprigtail, the 

 wildest of the aggregation. There is no time to 

 waste ; flock after flock move by, and for a time 

 you hardly dare push out for fallen birds. Over- 

 head, in front, and whistling wings behind cause 

 you to turn and try a hopeless shot as a flock 

 swings out of range. Mallard, black duck, 

 widgeon, all are there ; occasionally a few red- 

 head, and some ducks of minor importance, but 

 the bag is chiefly mallard. With sunrise the 

 birds are on the wing and well scattered. As 

 they pass by neighboring points of marsh, boom- 

 ing guns tell the same story ; there is no safe 

 place. The shots are few, and you make the most 

 of them. A single mallard, high up, but straight 

 overhead, is the last. The gun leads him a good 

 four feet, and you hear the shot strike, a second 

 before he doubles up and crashes through the 

 dry grass behind, a fall that makes up for many 

 a miss. Shooting under these circumstances is 

 always difficult, for the birds are at top speed and 

 all sorts of angles; yet the satisfaction of a clean 

 shot is doubly great. 



SHOOTING FROM A BUSH BLIND 



In some of the hunting resorts of the South 

 ducks are decoyed from bush blinds staked out 



