THE MORNING FLIGHT 195 



The double-report of his 12-bore awakens the slumber- 

 ing echoes of the morning. But there is no answering 

 thud on the contiguous salt-marsh — the thud which 

 betokens a successful shot — and the bunch of mallard 

 continue on their flight to the tide, unscathed, while the 

 disappointed young gunner wonders how, in the name of 

 misfortune, he managed to " muff " with both barrels, 

 and, incidentally, whether Bumble Toogood will chaff 

 him overmuch. 



Now comes a small "team" of duck flying over the 

 salt-marshes from their nocturnal feeding-grounds on the 

 upland stubbles, and the old gunning-pit being directly 

 under the line of flight, and the light having greatly im- 

 proved, the young chap manages to score one of them 

 with the right barrel, while another, hard hit, after 

 " carrying on " a short distance across the saltings, drops 

 with a sounding " plunk " into a muddy little gully. 

 The first bird down is as dead as the proverbial door 

 nail, but not so the second, which, although sorely 

 wounded, leads Jack a merry dance amongst the net- 

 work of sHmy runnels and gullies that drain the salt- 

 ings ere he " runs it to ground " in a bed of sea- 

 lavender. 



A good deal of precious time has been lost during the 

 capture of the cripple. The morning flight is of but 

 very short duration, and already a couple of fairly good 

 lots of duck and a small spring of teal, which in the or- 

 dinary course would probably have passed within range 

 of the pit, have sheered out of danger upon sighting 

 a man with a gun in chase of one of their kind. 



Scarcely has Jack returned to the " hide " than a far 

 reaching "Cur-lee ! " puts him on the qui vive. Keep- 



