GOOSE SHOOTING. 265 



spread across its face — the apex in its heart and the 



ends reaching far out. ''They are coming this way. 

 How swiftly they fly ! Are they high or low ?" But the 

 old gunner says not a word, as if miles away they could 

 hear the hoarse whisper, and lets his hand weigh heavily 

 on my shoulder for utter silence. On they come, nearer 

 and nearer ; but, oh ! how high. No use, they are too 

 high even for the lo-gauge ; but hear that old renegade 

 decoy gander honk-honk as he tries to lure his wild 

 brethren to their death — the only thing, I suppose, the 

 white man taught him. From above the leader echoes 

 honk-honk, and we are afraid to move ; but they go on, 

 and I stare at Hayman, who mutters, "Too high," and 

 peers between the brush of the blind as time goes on. 



"See there!" But my eyes detect nothing across 

 the stretch of waters. "Low down on the water, com,- 

 ing from the lighthouse." "Too much for my eyes," 

 I am about to say, when I see the whirling forms just 

 over the water, coming directly toward us. "Aye, they 

 will light," as the whole twenty decoys begin to flutter 

 and honk-honk, and then the heart stops beating and 

 the breath bates as the geese alight and begin swim- 

 ming toward the decoys. 



"Mark" — "fire" — three wild geese float on the water. 

 Up and at them — the second barrels bark and another 

 goose falls as the others wing away. 



Out on the sand, Hayman takes some twigs and 

 fixes the dead geese as if they were sitting on the sand 

 — to me they look just as if they were alive, sitting 

 upon the nest. 



