Duck-shooting 43 



There is little sleeping ; every man waits for the 

 morning call. With the first light the disturbers 

 of the night are seen, a long black line of bedded 

 birds, quietly drifting bayward with the falling 

 tide. Now the top of a blind, barely showing 

 over the water, seems in their midst. It will be 

 two hours yet before the blinds will be sufficiently 

 exposed to hide the dinks, and there is plenty of 

 time for breakfast. The brush tops grow bigger 

 slowly, but finally the two small boats leave the 

 sloop. They are broad and low, with bows decked 

 over. Each carries about forty stool. A short 

 pull over the flats, and every now and then a flock 

 of small ducks leave the water, and an occasional 

 belated black duck quacks a protest as he wings 

 his way from the marsh. A far-off mass of broad- 

 bill rises high in the air, marks the horizon with 

 a wavy line, then settles down with a roar of wings 

 that is heard two miles away. No brant are in 

 sight. The blind in front is reached first, and the 

 stool are set. The task is a cold one. There is 

 little mercy in the weather. But finally they are 

 all strung out in a line to the left, so that birds 

 stooling will come in against the wind in the best 

 position. The dink is shoved into the blind. It 

 fits exactly. The tops barely cover the deck. A 

 crosspiece of brush hides the stern. The tide is 

 still high, and it will be two hours yet before the 

 bar is near the surface. The wind comes fresher, 



