Duck-shooting 49 



marshes and ponds, and keeps looking. There 

 is nothing now until dinner. At seven the bell 

 rings, and he finds himself face to face with a 

 venison steak and a roasted black duck. A white 

 pintail and a white muskrat are among the inter- 

 esting adornments on the wall of the dining room. 

 Two pair of deer antlers, locked as they fell, hang 

 in the hall. Records of duck-shooting in muzzle- 

 loader times are on file, and, strange to say, many 

 of the recent ones are better. 



With the morning comes a clear, cold day and 

 a northwest wind. Club rules prohibit the dis- 

 turbing of the marsh before 9 a.m., so there is 

 plenty of time. Occasional flocks of black duck 

 and teal rise up from the ponds in sight of the 

 house, and settle down again just beyond. The 

 punter is getting ready. He picks out some thirty 

 or more decoys, mostly black duck and mallard, 

 throws an armful of dry grass in the boat, brings 

 the guns and ammunition, and lastly the lunch 

 pail. The craft is a light round-bottomed boat; 

 and after the gunner has made himself comfortable 

 in the bow, with a push it glides off. Down the 

 creek a half mile, and the punt is turned through 

 a little cut into the marsh. A number of mud- 

 hens have been disturbed, and occasionally black 

 duck have jumped from the sedge in range, but 

 no shot is allowed en route. The narrow ditch 

 broadens into a pond, and hundreds of ducks rise 



