22 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM 



slugs. One of my old friends has frequently shot 

 them before his pointers, as well as the thick-knee, or 

 stone curlew. A large flock of dunlins have settled 

 on the edge of a pool left by the tide, and look pretty 

 little creatures as they run nimbly about, picking up 

 the small things it has left behind it ; a few more 

 yards and they will be near enough to hit, but just 

 as the gun is raised to my shoulder, and my finger 

 touches the trigger, I feel myself very gently sinking. 

 The water has undermined the frozen snow and let 

 me through. The hole forms a hiding-place, leaving 

 my head and shoulders free. Pulling myself together, 

 I look first to see that my gun is right, and fire. Five 

 dunlins and three sanderlings to the shot, while one 

 bird flies out to the water's edge and drops. He is 

 not allowed to stop there long, for a grey gull drops 

 down by the side of the bird and swallows him whole. 

 These gulls are continually beating up and down on 

 the ebb and flow ; their bills can dig and tear like a 

 raven's. When wounded they will throw up all they 

 have eaten, and fight for their life on a light stomach. 

 They require careful handling ; folks not used to them 

 will put them down quicker than they picked them up, 

 and give them the butt-end of the gun on the head 

 for nipping their fingers. These large gulls, the 

 great black-backed, the lesser black-backed, and the 



