Duck-sbooting 47 



to be augmented by the relays from the north, and 

 by the last of the month the shooting is in its 

 prime. A few hours from Buffalo lands the fortu- 

 nate member of this club on a dock in a small 

 Canadian town, where a steamer is in readiness to 

 transport him to the club on the other side. It is 

 perhaps eight miles across, and almost from the 

 moment of leaving the sights on all sides make 

 him yearn for what is to come. Flocks of red- 

 head and canvas-back rise from the water; a raft 

 of broadbill leave their resting-place in the bay, to 

 pass out of sight in undulating line. Every now 

 and then widgeon are in evidence, soaring high as 

 they take flight. Ducks on all sides make way 

 for the craft, and the distant booming of guns 

 away off on the marsh tells what is going on be- 

 yond. The little mark on the low line of land, 

 which at first appeared a mere dot in the distance, 

 has taken on proportions, and after a sail of an 

 hour and a half a collection of low buildings ap- 

 pears in front of the steamer. In a few minutes 

 more she ties to the dock, and bags, baggage, and 

 sportsmen are unloaded. It is too late in the after- 

 noon to shoot, but there is much in the way of 

 preparation. A warden shows the individual his 

 cottage, and ushers him into a room warmed by a 

 blazing fire. Everything is in readiness. Before 

 the trunk comes a " punter " is on hand to help in 

 straightening things out. He unpacks the guns 



