THE WHISTLER 347 



gives a chance for a duck to get his breakfast. 

 Be sure you are completely hidden and keep 

 quiet, the golden rule of all duck shooting. 



Just before sun-up the first of ocean's toilers 

 begin to appear, the gulls going lazily across 

 the water to some inshore feeding ground for 

 their morning meal. Seaward the sombre 

 cloudbank reddens with the coming light and the 

 islands become more than the shadowy masses 

 which they have been ever since our arrival. A 

 faint noise like a high-pitched whistle sounded 

 rapidly and continuously, calls your attention 

 skyward where a single duck is speeding his 

 way past, bound up the bay. Suddenly he 

 sights the decoys, black specks upon a mirror of 

 polished steel, swings in a wide circle to lee- 

 ward and with set wings drops out of the air 

 with swift, slanting flight. Eight in among the 

 "tolers" he comes with a splash, then, discov- 

 ering the cheat leaps into the air to escape. 

 Even as he spreads his wings a gun roars forth 

 its summons to surrender, and in the obedience 

 he may not deny the poor bird topples into the 

 sea. The float is launched and the prize 

 brought ashore. The gunner crouches again in 

 his ice- and sea-weed-covered blind just as a 



