SHOOTING MALLARDS IN A SNOW STORM. 83 



your duck ? Have you lost a duck ? Ain't there any 

 other ducks here that you can get, without kicking 

 because that one got away? What in thunder is the 

 use of making a fuss about one poor lonesome old maid 

 of a duck, any way? " 



" It wasn't the duck, Harry," said I, " but it was your 

 shooting at it, instead of ahead, as I told you to do. 

 Now, frankly ; didn't you shoot right at it ? 



" Well," said he, and he assumed the most confiden- 

 tial manner, " I cannot tell a lie. I did shoot at the 

 duck, with my little gun." 



The reader will probably imagine at this time that I 

 embraced and forgave him, and told him I would rather 

 he would miss a hundred ducks than tell a lie. Nothing 

 of the kind ; I simply told him to stand still, and not 

 be splashing water over me. 



" Will !" said he, "I am not much of a wing shot, but 

 the probabilities are that I will hit a crow before long." 



How he expected to hit a crow was a mystery to me, 

 as I hadn't seen one all day, and told him so. He mere- 

 ly smiled. The flight had decreased, and we were only 

 getting an occasional shot. My sight was directed 

 toward the north, watching a lone duck as it flew 

 around undecided where to light. A slight sound at- 

 tracted my attention, a gentle gurgling noise, like riv- 

 ulets of water running over unbroken pebbles. It 

 seemed to stop, then could be heard again with increas- 

 ed volume. The sound was not an unfamiliar one to 

 me. I turned my head, and there stood Harry, with face 

 upturned to the falling snow, pointing the base of a bot- 

 tle almost perpendicularly, the neck partially in his 

 mouth, while a peculiar suction caused the amber fluid 

 to spurt down his willing throat. His left eye closed. 



