THREE GOLDEN EAGLES 311 



I had been alternately dozing and watching for 

 three hours. The first ranks of the geese were 

 about one hundred yards from me and many more 

 were gradually coming in. I had two guns with 

 me, one a double barrelled ten bore, by Dougall, 

 a first class shooter, a handsome present to me 

 from the late Colonel Allan Gilmour of Ottawa. 

 My other was a single barrel 8 bore, made to or- 

 der, by Greener, of Birmingham, and specially 

 bored for large shot for seal and geese shooting. 

 This gun was christened by my friend, Mr. 

 Robert McLimont, as "sure kill." On such oc- 

 casions I would use old "sure kill" first, reserv- 

 ing the ten bore to finish any cripples. I saw that 

 both were properly loaded and then lay back, de- 

 cided to wait half an hour more. By that time 

 the leaders would be about forty yards off. 



I was still wrapped up in the blanket, making 

 myself as comfortable as the cramped position 

 would allow, and thinking about how many geese 

 I was likely to get, when, all at once, there was a 

 roar of wings and "honks." I jumped up, throw- 

 ing down the blanket and grasping "sure kill," 

 but it was too late. The geese were nearly out of 

 range, and I refrained from shooting. I quickly 

 discovered the cause of my troubles. It was a 

 golden eagle, sailing around on the watch for a 

 crippled or sickly bird. I do not habitually use 

 profane language, but perhaps I said something 

 just then. In any case there was vengeance in 



