RIVER SHOOTING. 349 



Stream before a plump-looking duck comes out of the 

 rushes, but drops back as the smoke curls away from 

 my gun. Quiet now, for a loud word would frighten 

 the ducks that are probably feeding under that clump 

 of water bushes ahead, whereas often they will not 

 take wing at the report of a gun unless very near them. 

 We approach with great caution, for this is one of our 

 favorite spots, though the ducks have a trick of going 

 out on the wrong side of the bushes — undoubtedly the 

 right side for them, the bushes being so high that the 

 ducks are out of range before they show above them. 



This time we try a new dodge on the feathered inno- 

 cents. Jim steps out upon the marsh while I proceed 

 with the boat. If they only come this way, well and 

 good. But, no ; the fates are against us. Out they go 

 as the boat jars the bushes, but further up than usual, 

 and only one, most likely a youngster, falls a victim by 

 separating from the flock. 



We have time for one more stream ere the tide low- 

 ers. I give Jim the bow, and tell him to shoot straight 

 and take his time about it, for this is the boss stream 

 of the creek. He stands up in the narrow bow ready 

 for action, the hammers of his gun lying back like 

 the ears of a horse about to bite. That rascal, Dan, is 

 on the seat again ; but this is not the place or time to 

 rebuke him, for the stream is deep and the boat un- 

 steady. I paddle noiselessly around the bend. The 

 expectation becomes almost painful. With fluttering 

 of wings, up rise two beauties. Jim swings his gun and 

 leans to one side. Dan thinks it a good time to get off 



