PASS SHOOTING. 325 



ridge. As the birds approached the high ground they 

 would drop rapidly and come over the pass parallel with 

 the ground and very low. They would roll over the 

 top of the little ridge beyond us, dip down into the cou- 

 lee across our front, disappear for a moment, and then 

 come surging and boiling and whistling up in a long, 

 swift, feathery wave over the crest of our breastworks, 

 hissing almost into our faces as they swept on out to- 

 ward the water. Never was such an exciting situation 

 in the world ! 



Never in all my life did I see such shooting. It was 

 a glimpse, a glance and then a swift wheel to get a fair 

 shot at a disappearing bunch almost over the edge of 

 the reeds which lined the water's edge behind us. 

 Sometimes the ducks flew almost into our faces. Often 

 we dodged down to escape what seemed an imminent 

 danger of losing a hat or a head. Twice I shot ducks 

 ahead of me which fell thirty feet behind me. Once I 

 had a fat duck come crushing into the pit beside me, 

 and once I dropped a teal against the bank of my pit. A 

 more perfect embodiment of a hot corner on ducks 

 never existed. It was almost bewildering in its ten- 

 sion. It was a delirium of ducks. 



The Chief and I shot from his pit together, and after 

 a time we both began to improve, coaching each other 

 on the lead as the different flocks came by. I could see 

 that he was stopping his gun when he fired and holding 

 about six feet ahead on birds where he should have led 

 twenty. I could see the line of his smoke cut in appar- 

 ently a dozen feet behind the bird which he thought he 



