BRANT SHOOTING. 309 



"How many did you get, Washy, at that first shot?" 

 "Seventeen and two decoys," was the cool reply. "I 

 hardly thought you got as many," rejoins Reno. 

 "Ought to have had thirty," growls Washy; "and we 

 should if I could have kept the doctor down." And 

 they all gathered around the breakfast table, as full of 

 chatter and merriment as a pack of monkeys. "What 

 does the morning's work foot up?" asks H., as the 

 record must be entered in the journal. "Well, here it 

 is : Mud Hole, 27 ; North Bar, 32 ; Gravel, 7 ; a grand 

 total of 66 brant." The evening tide is worthless, and 

 there will be no more shooting till Tuesday morning. 

 That night a fresh breeze sprang up from the south- 

 west, bringing along a great many brant, and, more- 

 over, doing some damage to the bars; but there is no 

 time in the morning for "sand rolling," and they must 

 be hastily patched up for the nonce. 



Tuesday morning, all hands up at 4 o'clock, lunch, 

 and start for the boxes in the following order : First. 

 Reno, with W. and the doctor, for the North Bar ; next, 

 Washy, at his old haunt, the Mud Hole, with M. and H. 

 as companions, and, last, George and S. occupy the 

 Gravel. 



As the birds enter the bay mostly from the westward, 

 the boxes all face that point of the compass. Scarcely 

 had the last party put out the decoys, deposited the bas- 

 ket in the box, and comfortably seated themselves, 

 when a flock of about seventy-five brant came pushing 

 their way along up from the southward and lighted in 

 the dark water near Mud Hole. 



