IN THE WILD RICE FIELDS. 357 



slough, up the slough, from over the timber on the west, 

 and the timber along the river on the east, came small 

 bunches and single birds by the dozen. Shall I ever 

 forget that big mallard that bore down upon me be- 

 fore I was fairly hidden in the reeds ? He came along 

 with sublime indifference, winnowing the air with lazy 

 stroke, bobbing his long, green head and neck up and 

 down, and suspecting no danger. As he passed me at 

 about twenty-five yards, I saw, along the iron rib of the 

 gun, the sunlight glisten on his burnished head. I was 

 delightfully calm, and rather regretted that letting him 

 down was such a merely formal proceeding. If he 

 were further off, or going faster, it would be so much 

 more satisfactory. Nevertheless, he had to be bagged, 

 whether skill was required or not, so I resigned myself 

 to the necessity and pulled the trigger. The duck rose 

 skyward with thumping wings, leaving me so be- 

 numbed with wonder that I never thought of the other 

 barrel. 



But little time was left me for reflection, for a wood 

 duck, resplendent with all his gorgeous colors, came 

 swiftly down from the other direction. Every line of 

 his brilliant plumage I could also plainly see along the 

 gun, for I was as cool as before. Yet this gay rover of 

 the air never condescended to fall, sheer, rise, or even 

 quicken his pace, but sailed along at the report of each 

 barrel as unconcerned as a gossamer web on the even- 

 ing breeze. 



I concluded to retire from the business of single 

 shots and go into the wholesale trade. This conclusion 



