THE COMMODORE AND CREW. 228 
water as we reach for the rifle, proving discretion to be the 
better part of valor. Nothing in the game line that is so eata- 
ble should long remain in sight, just now, for after being so 
shamefully treated by the buck, we are not ‘‘ too soft upon the 
bit,” rather a bit revengeful. 
eriark |” 
‘6 Quack, quack!” 
‘*Opposite, Commodore, just a trifle in the rear. Time 
enough, they don’t mistrust anything; that’s a lover’s quack, 
too; mild, low, endearing, soothing, kind, caressing, loving, 
gentle.” 
‘¢Great guns! can’t you ever hush? what a tirade! you 
never ’] have the lockjaw.” 
Meantime we push ashore under the bushes, side on, hard 
up; the stern paddle is pushed down i the mud, holding that 
end, forward ditto. The Commodore peeping through the 
bushes, waits a bit, gets two just in range, and fires, waking 
the echoes far over the ridges, changing for a half moment the 
still quietness of the stream, and five black ducks are flying 
through the air for other waters, but two of them come with 
us. One has a deep furrow plowed across its back, showing 
its fat condition; the other, the big drake, has a piece taken 
out from the back of his head, as if ’twere done with a half 
inch gouge. Laying them side by side in the centre of the 
birch, we find ourselves often looking over our shoulder upon 
the fine game. . 
The wind has freshened out upon the lake, blowing side 
on, but not sea enough to give us a deep trough. The Com- 
modore again is pulling his strong stroke, with more and then 
less twist of the paddle, according to the force of the wind 
upon the windward bow, and the canoe’s falling off her 
