Duck-sbooting 45 



look black and big. Startled they rise together, 

 their white breasts showing as they turn. Four 

 quick shots ; six fall. It is necessary to retrieve 

 them at once if at all, and the boat pushes out. 

 It takes fifteen minutes to round up the last, and 

 half a dozen chances have been lost ; but the air 

 is still full of birds, and a flock comes in as soon 

 as the cover is reached. A little to the right, and 

 a hard shot, but one splashes and a second leaves 

 the others. Four separate from a bunch and 

 hover. All are killed. The boat is pushed out 

 and back again, and only the birds dead close to 

 the blind are picked up. Brant seem everywhere: 

 leading in over the decoys, and at the shots turn- 

 ing back toward the bay, heading up in the direc- 

 tion of the bar, showing first black, then white, as 

 the backs or breasts come into view ; keeping up 

 all the time an incessant noise. Shooting has 

 been fast, and the dink has pushed out a dozen 

 times or more for dead birds. A huge mass 

 heave in sight — hundreds; there is just time to 

 ambush the boat. On they come, straight for 

 the stool ; the air is black with them, overhead 

 and on all sides. Both guns are emptied, and it 

 rains brant. Nine dead, and several wounded 

 mark the wake. The flight for a time is con- 

 tinual. The minutes out of the blind seem ages, 

 but a falling tide saves further destruction, and 

 the strings of birds no longer hail. They have 



