CORN-FIELD MALLARD SHOOTING, 69 



CHAPTER VI. 



COEN-FIELD MALLARD SHOOTING. 



When wintry _ winds have commenced their dreary 

 and disconsolate shrieking, and prairie ponds are 

 frozen over, mallards take to rivers and running water, 

 gathering together in immense flocks at these open 

 places. At such times as these, pin-oak ridges extend 

 far above the open water ; streams are low ; seeds have 

 drifted from their accustomed places, driven by fall 

 winds ; wild rice seeds are buried beneath the water's 

 surface, now a thick coating of ice ; and then tall brown 

 and yellow stalks bend and nod as they bow before the 

 piercing wind. At such' times, mallards congregate to- 

 gether in open water and hold vast conventions, dis- 

 cussing, apparently, the question whether or not they 

 had better depart south on their semi-annual migrations ; 

 but unanimous in one thing, that is, that they must 

 live. Early at break of day, when the dim gray light 

 first appears in the east, just when the crimson light 

 is seen, the reflection of old Sol, who soon peeps 

 his round red face above the surface of the earth,, the 

 hunter stands shiyering in a western corn-field, with 

 his back turned to the cold northwest wind, waiting 

 impatiently for the morning flight. How bitterly cold 

 it is on this vast prairie of upturned sod, faded grass 

 and great corn-fields. He pulls his collar higher' up, 

 tries to draw his head farther down into its protecting 



