AT THE OUTSET. 



creek joins the river. . . . Father allowed me to accom- 

 pany Oconio, my Indian friend, to Watson's Creek, that 

 we might gather wild fowl, after the Indian manner. 

 With great eagerness I accompanied Oconio, and thus 

 happened it. We did reach the widest part of that 

 creek early in the morning. I think the sun was scarce- 

 ly an half-hour high. Oconio straightway hid himself 

 in the tall grass by the water, while I was bidden to 

 lie in the tall grass at a little distance. With his bow 

 and arrows, Oconio quickly shot a duck that came near 

 by, swimming within a short space from him. I mar- 

 velled much with what skill he shot, for his arrow 

 pierced the head of the duck, which gave no alarming 

 cry. Then, with a second arrow, he struck down an- 

 other, but not so quickly, at which the great company 

 of fowl flew away, with great clamor. Very many re- 

 turned quickly, much to our pleasure. Oconio did now 

 fashion a circlet of green boughs, and so placed them 

 about his head and shoulders that I saw not his face, 

 and, thus arrayed, he otherwise disrobed and walked 

 into the stream. He held in one hand a shotten duck, 

 so that it swam lustily, and, so equipped, was in the 

 midst of a cluster of fowl, of which he deftly seized 

 several so quickly that its fellows took no alarm. 

 These he strangled beneath the water, and, when he 

 had three of them, came back, with caution, to where 

 the thick bushes concealed him. He desired that I 

 should do the same, and with much hesitation I dis- 

 robed and assumed the disguise Oconio had fashioned ; 

 then I put forth boldly towards the gathered fowl, at 

 which they did rise with a great clamor, and were gone. 



