202 A MEDLEY OF SPORT 



a bend of the sea-wall, and the next instant the teal 

 were speeding seawards. Alas ! such disappointments 

 as this occur only too often in a season's wildfowling. 



It was useless bewailing, however ; and, sliding down 

 the face of the sea-wall, I once more set out along the 

 salts. 



For some little time not a " feather " did I see, 

 with the exception of a small " trip " of dunlins, which 

 I did not deem worthy powder and shot. At length, 

 after a somewhat tiring trudge along three miles of 

 saltings, slob, and sand-dunes, I came to an old duck- 

 hole, or gunning - pit, which some luxurious " shore - 

 popper " had evidently occupied since the high spring 

 tides of the preceding week, for the pit was free of water, 

 and both the floor and seat were well strewn with hay. 

 Here I decided to call a halt and to hide up for any 

 birds which might be driven in by the tide. 



I had just settled down comfortably in the pit 

 when a shrill, far-reaching " cur-lee w " came to my 

 ears. The call appeared to come from behind me, and 

 although my head was well below the level of the salt- 

 ings among which the duck-hole had been sunk, I sat 

 close, not daring to turn, until, out of the corner of one 

 eye, I saw a number of rapidly moving forms passing 

 left-handed. Now was the time for action, and, spring- 

 ing to my feet, I sent a couple of doses of No. 5 

 " chilled " into a herd of between fifty and sixty curlew. 

 A couple crumpled up to my first shot, and a single bird 

 to the second, the latter — a runner — leading me a merry 



