266 DUCK SHOOTING. 



"Great Jupiter ! look at that, Hayman." For across 

 the heavens, Hne after Hne, reaching from the easterly 

 horizon to its westerly rim, came successive flocks as 

 we crouched low down in the blind. Countless myriads 

 moving onward, and then Hayman's hand fell heavily 

 on my shoulder, backing, forcing me lower to the sandy 

 floor. Far over our heads a flock was circling — sailing 

 around and around, answering with noisy greetings 

 the honk-honk of the captive renegades luring them to 

 their doom — noisy converse between the clouds and 

 the sand. Lower and lower they come, and just as they 

 are about to light something frightens them, and then 

 up rises Hayman ; and I, needing no prompting, let the 

 iron dogs bark for two that came tumbling almost in the 

 box. A third one tumbled on the water and began flut- 

 tering away. Hayman sprang into the water and put 

 two shots into it before he got the goose, nearly a quar- 

 ter of a mile away. Away went the others, and then, 

 "See, that one is badly hurt," said Hayman, as one bird 

 seemed to be sinking slowly from the flock, flying away 

 off in the distance. Lower, at first, three or four geese 

 seemed to stick to the wounded one; but as he sank 

 lower, the others went back to the flock, and the doomed 

 one sank lower and lower, falling slowly to the sound, 

 the life-blood ebbing away — badly, maybe fatally hurt, 

 too far for us to get it. Deserted, abandoned and left 

 to die. 



So we went on until we had twelve before noon, 

 and then the largest flock of the day settles about 600 

 yards away on the shoals, the water barely high enough 



