310 DUCK SHOOTING. 



"Will they swim up with the tide?" asks M. 



"Fine chance for them — it is flowing rapidly," 

 Washy answered, as the brant were playing, chasing 

 each other and picking up floating eel grass. 



Now they turn and head for the bar, now sag away 

 again. Again the birds set toward the box. "Down, 

 down !" cries Washy, and he alone is the "observed of 

 all observers." On again they come, swimming hither 

 and thither within a hundred yards of the three throb- 

 bing hearts. Now again they halt, then retreat, as 

 though they were suspicious all was not right. At last 

 one old "honker" starts for the live decoys, which have 

 to be occasionally jerked by the check-cord to make 

 them "show wing." 



"Yes," says Washy, "he is coming right on to the 

 point of the bar, and the whole flock are following." 



At this juncture of affairs another flock of forty 

 sprang up from the westward, shimmered along, swung 

 round and lighted with the main body. "R-ronk, 

 r-ronk," ring a hundred voices; "Ruk-ruk," as many 

 more — and such tumult and confusion ! The guide 

 quickly conveys the cheering intelligence that many of 

 the brant are so far on the bar as to get "toe-hold," and 

 the others are in moderate proximity. These birds are 

 quite vigilant, and any sudden movement would in- 

 stantly send them beyond the possibility of a hope of 

 recovery. 



"Raise your heads slowly," says Washy, and the two 

 heads are gradually elevated to the level of the third, 

 when lo! the bar is dark as Erebus with the waving 



