130 Unexplored Spain 
concentrated caution—“ Gagga, gagga, gagea, gagga”—-sets pulses 
and nerves on fuller stretch. This pack proves to be but an 
advance-guard ; for this is one of those thrice-blessed mornings 
for which we pray! The geese come in thick and fast in successive 
bands of six or eight to a score, and all beautifully timed, with 
exactly the correct interval between. The fowler is a craftsman, 
a master of his art, and, moreover, he is all alone. Hence he can 
to-day await the psychological moment with patience and absolute 
confidence. Rarely in such circumstances is trigger touched in 
vain; not seldom has the second gun been brought into action 
with good, thrice with double effect. No simple achievement 
is this, when fowl vanish swift and ghost-like into space; for, 
remember, guns must be exchanged with due deliberateness else 
shifting sand in an instant fills the breech and clogs the actions. 
Thrice has the double carambola been brought off, and now comes 
the prettiest shot of all—five geese swing past, head up for the 
decoys, and pass full broadside at deadliest range; they are barely 
twenty yards away. In all but simultaneous pairs fall four of 
their company on the sand—all four stone dead ; and but a single 
survivor wings away to bear news of the catastrophe to his fellows 
in the marisma! 
It is 8 aM., and the tin decoys are now entirely replaced 
by geese of flesh and feather, with the fatal result that each 
successive pack now enters with fullest confidence, so that by 
doubles and trebles the score mounts fast during the fleeting 
minutes that yet remain. 
Before nine o'clock the flight has ceased. It only remains 
to gather those birds which have fallen afar—and which have 
been marked by the keepers from their points of vantage—and to 
follow by their spoor on the sand such winged geese as may have 
departed on foot. Some of these will be overtaken, those that 
have concealed themselves in the nearest rush-beds; but should 
any have passed on and gained the stronghold of the marisma, 
they are lost. 
Such is an ideal morning’s work, one of those rare rewards 
of patience and skill that occur from time to time. Far 
differently may the event fall out. There are mornings when 
scarce once will that weird forewarning note, “Gagga, gagga,” 
rejoice the expectant ear with harsh music, when no chain-like 
skeins dot and serry the eastern skies, or ever a greylag appears 
