36 The Water-fowl Family 



in a fog bank. A number of little strings follow. 

 This keeps up a few minutes, when a splash in 

 front causes me to turn — a single old squaw sits 

 among the stool, embarrassed and confused; I 

 have no use for old squaws, and finally it paddles 

 out, leaving with a grunt of disgust. Broadbill 

 are leading now just outside, and soon a flock 

 of four swerve off and head for the decoys. In 

 the light of sunrise they look black and big, — 

 right at the edge of the stool, on wings set, they 

 slope in, an easy mark ; and as the smoke clears 

 only two depart. The reports resounding over 

 the bay start a multitude of ducks ; rising high, 

 they break up into countless numbers of little 

 bunches, always a promising sign. Presently 

 eight come in and leave three — two as the flock 

 swings in line, the third before they recover. A 

 pair and then four more ; broadbill seem every- 

 where, and come in thick and fast, so far all from 

 the right direction, straight in front. A booming 

 far to the east, four guns often at once, marks the 

 position of the double battery, and a cloud of 

 ducks in sight over the horizon in the same direc- 

 tion indicates the others are busy. The pleasant 

 feature of my position is that the water is so 

 shallow that I can pick up my own birds, and 

 soon the limited quarters of the box are filled. 

 With the exception of a single red-head, they are 

 all broadbill. A large flock in front and I hurry 



