44 Waterfowl* 



they were I crept along with as much caution as if 

 the game had been a deer. At last, peering through 

 a thick clump of bullberry bushes I saw them. They 

 were clustered on a high sandbar in the middle of the 

 river, which here ran in a very wide bed between low 

 banks. The only way to get at them was to crawl along 

 the river-bed, which was partly dry, using the patches 

 of rushes and the sand hillocks and drift-wood to shield 

 myself from their view. As it was already late and 

 the sun was just sinking, I hastily retreated a few paces, 

 dropped over the bank, and began to creep along on 

 my hands and knees through the sand and gravel. Such 

 work is always tiresome, and it is especially so when done 

 against time. I kept in line with a great log washed up on 

 the shore, which was some seventy-five yards from the 

 geese. On reaching it and looking over I was annoyed 

 to find that in the fading light I could not distin- 

 guish the birds clearly enough to shoot, as the dark 

 river bank was behind them. I crawled quickly back 

 a few yards, and went off a good bit to the left into 

 a hollow. Peeping over the edge I could now see the 

 geese, gathered into a clump with their necks held 

 straight out, sharply outlined against the horizon ; the 

 sand flats stretching out on either side, while the sky 

 above was barred with gray and faint crimson. I fired into 

 the thickest of the bunch, and as the rest flew off, with 

 discordant clamor, ran forward and picked up my victim, 

 a fat young wild goose (or Canada goose), the body badly 

 torn by the bullet 



On two other occasions I have killed geese with the 



