BRANT SHOOTING, 311 



mass. A few moments of nervous consultation as to 

 the best group for each to fire at, and the guide whis- 

 pers, "Get ready!" Just at this moment the birds 

 spread suddenly about and frustrate the plans, pro- 

 ducing dreadful uncertainty for a few seconds, but they 

 soon "bunch up" again, and the word was given : "Put 

 over ! Ready ! Fire !" The smoke of six guns wreathes 

 its way heavenward ; out jump the two — splash ! splash ! 

 — away they go. Washy takes a breech-loader along 

 with him to knock over any wing-tipped birds that can- 

 not otherwise be gathered. One "old honker," with 

 just a little bit of a muscle of the carpus pricked by a 

 stray pellet, is pulling foot for the dark, deep water off 

 Harding's Beach. No non-resident would undertake 

 to chase a strong bird half a mile, and, if he did, he 

 would certainly fail. The motion of the waves over 

 the white sand brings a dizziness to one not accustomed 

 to this work, and makes him feel every moment as 

 though he was about to "topple over headlong." Far 

 different is it with the guide or leader, who has spent 

 his whole life upon the water. Away goes our little 

 winged hero, following closely is our stalwart guide. 

 Further on and further still they go, almost out of 

 sight. On the way out Washy had gathered two or 

 three dead birds, which he still held in his hand, and 

 when within about a rod of the live bird he throws one 

 of the dead, to frighten the living, so that he will dive 

 and turn two or three somersaults in a bewildered con- 

 dition, so that his pursuer rushes forward and captures 

 him. In the meantime the dead and wounded had been 



