A Golden Opportunity 



having the fear of this day in his heart, had be- 

 stowed upon this bird a name from the same tap 

 which friend Jupiter Pluvius still occasionally 

 turns on. The opportunity was, indeed, a golden 

 one, and to be candid, it fairly rained plover. 



To slip in another shell and clip a few birds 

 from the rearward stragglers was easy enough, 

 then I watched the retreating flock till it 

 showed dimly gray like the smoke of a distant 

 steamer. 



A faint " Hi ! " and the downward sweeping of 

 Joe's hat warned me to flatten without bothering 

 about the cripples. Glancing again in the direc- 

 tion taken by the flock, I saw that it had turned. 

 I had not thought of its possible return, but 

 there it was, growing more distinct every mo- 

 ment. Two or three winged birds were moving 

 on the grass, and I instantly realized their value 

 as decoys, and also something else. A rapid 

 crawl of about fifty yards might put me in a 

 much better position, and no time was lost in 

 moving. 



As the flock approached, it was too high for 

 effective work, but at precisely the right moment 

 a wounded bird sprang from the ground and fell 

 back. With a humming rush the winged army 

 swooped down to its wounded. The first shot 

 sent the head of the column upward again, then 

 the second barrel raked it for a third of its length. 



