256 Sporting Sketches 



for the fallen. " How many you make it ? " I 

 ventured. " Fifty-fo'," he growled, and something in 

 the way he said it hinted that about five hundred 

 and four would have better suited his taste. Then 

 followed the finest exhibition of gathering that I 

 have seen. " Fifty-fo'," he had said, and "fifty-fo' " it 

 had to be, or there would be a raking of that marsh 

 by the fine-tooth-comb process. About half the 

 ducks had fallen into the reeds, and I had but a 

 vague idea of where any of them lay. Strung along 

 for one hundred yards of the open channel were 

 white and dark forms slowly drifting with the breeze, 

 but to these he paid no immediate attention. In- 

 stead, he paddled up-wind to a certain point, drove 

 the canoe into the cover, and said, " Bluebill dur," 

 and touching the side was the duck. Out went 

 the canoe, then in again some dozen yards below, 

 straight to another fowl. Then I grasped the fact 

 that he had gone to the most distant victim, and 

 proposed to drift back and gather the others in turn. 

 It was a puzzle how he could remember the exact 

 location of each one, especially on the back trip, 

 which meant an entirely different point of view. 

 Yet not once was he astray, although one duck was 

 not secured. "Tink woun dud," he muttered 

 as he drove the canoe far in and parted the reeds 

 just ahead. " Gray dook los' dive dur," 

 and he pointed at a slight movement in the water, 

 and then the canoe was hauled out. The boating 

 of the floaters was easy, and lo ! the last made the 

 count fifty-three. 



" Batteese, you're a wonder ! \ I exclaimed ; " I 

 haven't the slightest idea how you do it, but I've 



