OH, SHOOT! 



we knew to be wheeling clouds of redheads. 

 Before we had been at rest a half hour, the 

 wind hauled and came whooping out of the 

 north, bearing a cold, driving rain; so we 

 shook hands all around. All that is necessary 

 for good shooting on Pamlico is bad weather. 

 It looked as if we had buried our jinx once 

 for all. 



Our party had grown, for we had picked 

 up the hunting rigs at Ocracoke they were 

 moored astern of us, launches, battery boats, 

 and decoy skiffs streaming out like the tail of 

 a comet. All that day and the next we 

 watched low-flying strings of geese and ragged 

 flocks of ducks beating past us, while we told 

 stories or conducted simple experiments in 

 probability and chance. In the latter I was 

 unsuccessful, as usual, or I simply cannot 

 become accustomed to the high cost of two 

 small pair. 



The second morning brought a slight better- 

 ment of conditions; so we set out early, Max 

 in search of shelter behind a marshy islet, 

 while I hit for the outer reefs. After several 

 attempts, Ri finally found a spot where a 

 mile of shoals had flattened the sea sufficiently 

 to promise some hope of "getting down." 



22 



