3^4 DUCK SHOOTING. 



to see how the Chief was getting along. I then had 

 about a dozen ducks piled up in my pit, most of them 

 belonging to Bowers, I presume, but when I approached 

 the Chief he was sitting with his head in his hand, 

 gloomily looking down at a hen spoonbill which he had 

 chased into the grass and killed with a stick. 



"What's the matter, Chief?" I asked him, kindly and 

 like a perfect gentleman. 



"The truth is," said he sadly, as he looked up from 

 the hen spoonbill, "I can't land on 'em. Now, I've 

 been holding for the solar plexus of about 4,000 indi- 

 vidual ducks that have sashayed across here, but I can't 

 seem to land on 'em. When I lead they — don't misun- 

 derstand me — they duck, as it were. They ain't there. 

 How about that ? Are these things too good for every- 

 body? How did you fellows happen to get any ? Did 

 you shoot into the flock and hit another flock?" 



I explained to the Chief that I got ducks by watching 

 closely where Mr. Bowers was shooting and then shoot- 

 ing into the same flock with him. He regretted that he 

 was so far out of the way of this sort of assistance that 

 he could not avail himself of anybody's skill but his 

 own, and he hadn't any. 



The Chief and I then concluded to visit a while, and 

 we shot together out of his pit for a few rounds. By 

 this time the birds had begun to come back from the 

 east, and now the fun grew yet more fast and furious. 

 The flocks would start from the eastern lake high up in 

 the air. "Mark east !" would come the warning down 

 the line, and each man would get below the level of the 



