Sbore-bird Shooting 307 



just as soon as it whistled. Bunn replies once or 

 twice, with the result the bird is fixed ; it circles 

 before the blind and swoops among the stool to 

 drop at the first shot. A flock of three, two big 

 yellowlegs and a little one, now head for the 

 stand, low down close to the water; they don't 

 need any encouragement. My companion, with- 

 out a conscience, pots two, the third gets off ; but 

 Bunn seduces him, and this time he stays. Sun- 

 rise is at its height, and as we face the glow a 

 flock comes out of the east, looking black and big ; 

 we flatten down, and soon six plover cut over the 

 stool ; my pot-hunter pal waits for them to light 

 and line up, with the result he doesn't even get a 

 shot. A few more yellowlegs straggle along. 

 Bunn calls in a good-sized bunch of kriekers, 

 which are nearly all murdered ; a single dowitcher, 

 and we count up about eighteen birds — a mon- 

 strous big bag for Shinnecock. 



The bays of Virginia and North Carolina, 

 spring and fall, are the tarrying-place for thou- 

 sands of shore-birds ; here many make a last stop- 

 ping before the tedious flight to Labrador and 

 beyond, in calm weather probably keeping straight 

 out to sea from the time of their leaving. These 

 waters are lined with shallow flats, dotted every- 

 where with marshes, a shore-bird's paradise. In 

 these spots I have spent many a delightful hour, 

 out of reach of the world in a Chesapeake Bay 



