DUCK SHOOTING. 235 



within an inch of his head, all eye and ear, 

 waited patiently for his first dart. 



We had hardly anchored about a half a mile 

 higher up, so as not to interfere with the flight 

 of the game, which, as a rule, work to wind- 

 ward and of course come up to leeward of the 

 shooter, or at his feet, before we heard the faint 

 report of his gun, although it was not sufficiently 

 light to see either the ducks or the decoys from 

 the scow. 



The boy continued to report shot after shot, 

 while we were engaged in eating our breakfast 

 in the cabin, and as we came out, Davis, the 

 helmsman, directed our attention to a large flock 

 of canvass-backs, some of whom he swore in his 

 emphatic way, "were going into the pot." 

 Glancing along the broad expanse of water on 

 which the sun had now risen, we plainly saw 

 the ducks sweeping swiftly up to the tail of the 

 decoys, among which the foremost had hardly 

 alighted, before you saw the dark figure of 

 McCullough rise from the water as if by magic 

 then the successive discharges, and the white 

 water occasioned by the fall of each duck, the 

 helmsman counting five down. The next instant 

 the shooter was standing up, waving his cap, 

 arid jumping into the yawl with Ben Davis, we 



