64 WILD FOWL SHOOTING 



It is like going from darkness into day-light, when 

 we suddenlj', and to you unexpectedly, come out of the 

 deep woods into the broad water of Rice Lake. There 

 are hunters before us. We see their decoys, and 

 cheerily greeting them, leave the most noted resort of 

 the whole trip in the possession of strangers. Why 

 care we ? just below us is Turkey Slough, where from 

 time immemorial, year in and year out, ducks have 

 been killed by the hundreds. The day is fast disap- 

 pearing. We place out our decoys in a likely place, 

 and kill the ducks in that manner. At times, a pair or 

 a single one alights just out of reach. Silently and 

 stealthily we emerge from our hiding place and the 

 floating brush pile is transformed into a fiery mass ; 

 and we gather the dead, and once more seek the pro- 

 tecting willows. 



Thus the day slips along. Ducks come in at night 

 by thousands, the constant booming of guns does not 

 drive them away. On the contrary, it seems to act' as 

 a signal, pointing out to the stragglers where the major- 

 ity are. Satiated with decoy shooting, we scull along 

 the banks, the willows, in the shallow water, the sub- 

 merged ground, the grassy knolls where seeds are found, 

 the little patches of smart-weed ridges, where the 

 acorns are dropping into the water with a sullen 

 " plunk," and then, into the broad deep water, — secur- 

 ing game everywhere. 



You feel tired ? Indeed ! Lay your gun listlessly 

 down, and declare you won't fire another shot! no 

 matter what comes along ! You bring your hand to 

 your eyes, wishing for a moment to shut out the sight 

 of constant flying ducks, that will come before you. 

 " Ah — ^unk ! Ah — unk ! " At this well-known sound, 



