78 The Life Worth Living 



They all went to the sand-dunes on Myrtle 

 Island, fifteen miles below. I watched them 

 for an hour. The heavens were streaked 

 with them as far as the eye could reach — 

 north, south, east and west. I ground my 

 teeth and vowed vengeance. I have but one 

 more day of this run of tides. If they don't 

 come to the marsh the next night, they will 

 not come till the tide gets around again in 

 two weeks. 



Again I've baled out my hole and rebuilt 

 my grass blind, and, snugly resting on the 

 rubber blanket, I gaze up at the southern 

 sky, or away over the endless marsh and 

 bay, and wait. My guide has gone a mile 

 with the launch and hidden in the tall grass 

 of the creek. 



How still the world! 



To the east, I see the dim white line of the 

 ocean beaches, but the wind is from the 

 south and I cannot hear the surf. North, 

 south and west of me sweeps the dark green 



