RIVER SHOOTING. 337 



So it was with us as the gentle Bigby bore us down its 

 current to as glorious a day's shooting as ever fell to 

 mortal lot. More mallards swam out from under wil- 

 lows and so many were killed that the bottom of our 

 boat was covered, and I was covered, too, with Kirk's 

 compliments. I made quick double shots right and left 

 and capped the climax of Kirk's good opinion by call- 

 ing his attention to two ducks thirty feet apart, promis- 

 ing to kill both at one shot on the wing, which I did in 

 spite of his assertion that "it can't be did." 



Below Camber's, where the river was eddy, the sharp 

 brown nose of a beaver was thrust up above the water's 

 surface, and his curiosity was rewarded by a load of 

 BB shot. The beaver sank out of sight, leaving the 

 water red with blood. My guide told me he would 

 soon rise, but not to fire until he told me. In a few sec- 

 onds the animal slowly rose to the surface and swam to 

 the shore. As he crawled up on the bank I obeyed my 

 companion's order "to fire," and killed the beaver. Be- 

 fore the smoke of my gun had cleared away, a quick 

 stroke of the paddle carried the skiff to land, when, 

 leaping out. Kirk seized the beaver, preventing his roll- 

 ing into the water, and threw him into our boat. 



Of all modes of locomotion that of gliding down the 

 smooth current of a river in an open boat is the most 

 delightful ; it soothes the senses and quiets the nerves 

 in a way indescribable. Softly floating down the cur- 

 rent of that river so rich in Indian lore, with a sky over- 

 head like Italy's, I thought of the dusky old chiefs, 

 Tombecbee and Tishabee, whose names "are on our 



