Picked from the Prairie Province 259 



didn't know enough to wreck a raft of ducks when 

 it floated within easy range. 



At the shanty he sulked till evening brought 

 the others home. Then again his wonderful eyes 

 sparkled and his white teeth flashed, for, after all, 

 his foolish if not actually crazy white man was not 

 "low boat." And to brother Alfred did Batteese 

 confide: "Heem one funny man, dat beeg 



fel-low. He shoot all right, but heem 



too scare to kill dem much." 



" They seem a great lot," said Thompson, as the 

 last pair was tied and added to the rows upon the 

 wall, "but you see it's this way. We have many 

 friends who seldom taste game unless we give it to 

 them, so when we come here, we shoot for the crowd 

 at home as well. If we killed a thousand fowl, not 

 one would be wasted. Now that we've made so good 

 a start, we'll hold our hands a bit." And this was 

 done, and day by day the bag decreased, until finally 

 only canvasbacks, redheads, and gray ducks were 

 shot. At last came a peculiar, gray morning, which 

 meant " Break Camp." All through the previous 

 afternoon long strings of fowl had risen high and 

 streamed away due south ; so word was sent in for 

 the wagons. The southbound ducks proved true 

 prophets; for as the last of the outfit was taken 

 aboard the train, a sudden squall and a horizontal 

 rush of blinding sleet told that the white wolf of the 

 north was afoot for a southerly raid and would be 

 howling at top speed ere the dawning. 



