256 WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 



" It was born a year ago last May." 



" And its name ? " gasped he. 



" Anas boschas — or, mallard duck. They have no 

 christian name. You seem to doubt my knowledge of 

 ducks," said I, " now I am going to demonstrate to you, 

 what a gifted duck^shooter can do. When I say ' gifted ' 

 I mean just what I say. I mean when a human being 

 is blessed with the power of scenting or smelling live 

 ducks—" 



" Do you mean to say that you can do this ? " said 

 he, as he looked at me with disgust depicted on his 

 bright face. 



" Most certainly ! " said I. 



He gave me a look of pity and sorrow, exclaiming, 

 " Did you ever hear the fate of Sapphira ? " 



" Yes," said I, " but don't pass judgment on me with- 

 out trial. It is indescribable just how I can catch and 

 retain scent ; possibly, it's owing to the peculiar con- 

 struction and formation of my nasal appendage ; you 

 will notice the conformation of it, — ^the enlarged nos- 

 trils ; the hook at the end ; — ^perhaps these aid me to 

 accept and retain the scent, after once it is discovered. 

 What it smells like is equally impossible to relate. It 

 seems like a combination of odors ; of aromatic herbs, 

 of dew-covered plants, of night-blooming cereus, musk 

 and a fresh water smell, all mixed together. But only 

 be patient, and when we get near game you can test 

 this power yourself ; mai/ be you can experience it." 



He was too much overcome to reply, but his looks 

 were indicative of his thoughts. We were now near a 

 tow-head; a small island in the centre of the river. 

 Not a bird was to be seen ; neither did I expect it on 

 the side we were on. The isl&.nd was narrow anij could 



