PIERRE S STRATAGEM. 



459 



'bout de duck. Tink you git good job; 

 make quite lot money for row dat boat." 



" Where's Marie?" asked the young man, 

 more interested in the girl than in the pros- 

 pect of rowing for the duck hunter. 



" She's up de stair fix de room for dat 

 man. Oh, he's gran' gen'l'man, from de 

 cety; nace lookin' young mans! " she ran 

 on. 



" I don't lack dat young man be here," 

 muttered Pierre, shaking his head as he re- 

 luctantly pulled off the gloves he had hoped 

 would make such a favorable impression on 

 the girl. Soon Blake, the young sports- 

 man who had so excited the little house- 

 hold, entered the room and arranged with 

 Pierre to row him up the bay, the follow- 

 ing morning. 



" I dunno 'bout git many duck," said 

 Pierre. " No big black Canadaw duck 

 come Sout' yet; but t'ink we git sum dem 

 l'il brown duck, in ricks, by de m'ash." 



Next morning the decoys were packed 

 into the boat and Pierre rowed to the 

 mouth of a small creek, which flows into 

 the bay. The young Frenchman placed 

 Blake behind a screen of willows, on a point 

 of land near the mouth of the creek, and 

 anchored the decoys in the stream, a short 

 distance away. " Now, I go up in t'udder 

 creek, by de ma'sh, and drave de duck out; 

 den day cum in line and you shoot him," 

 he said, as he rowed away. 



In -about an hour, Blake heard the boom 

 of Pierre's muzzle-loader; and soon a pair 

 of blue-winged teal came in, swooping 

 down as they saw the decoys. Firing both 

 barrels of his little 12 gauge hammerless, 

 he brought down one duck, but made a 

 clean miss with -the second barrel. At in- 

 tervals, during the afternoon, the birds 

 came in, sometimes singly and again in 

 pairs, until nearly a dozen lay on the water, 

 among the decoys. 



" I t'ink you got some duck," said 

 Pierre, as he rowed around the point. 

 " Guess we go home now. To-morrow I 

 put you in nudder place, and drave de 

 duck in dere." 



Day after day they hunted ducks in the 

 creeks and marshes, always getting enough 

 birds to satisfy Blake, who enjoyed every 

 day of his outing as he had never enjoyed 

 life before. They varied the sport by shoot- 

 ing ruffed grouse, on the hills. Pierre had 

 a spaniel which, he proudly assured Blake, 

 " was de bess dog in Canadaw. He bark 

 de bird up in de tree, den we shoot him." 



" Shoot the dog? " innocently inquired 

 Blake. 



" Naw! naw! de bird," said Pierre. He 

 was much surprised when Blake insisted on 

 letting the birds fly out of the trees before 

 shooting them. " I doan' see no sense in 

 dat way — jus well shoot him when he set 

 still," he grumbled. 



Possibly part of Blake's enjoyment was 

 due to plump, bright-eyed Marie, who 



cooked the game in a way that seemed per- 

 fect to him. She was young, pretty and 

 vivacious, and Blake was so different from 

 the young men of her acquaintance, that, 

 when. he made love to her, as of course he 

 did, Pierre, her old lover, was forgotten, 

 much to his discontent. Each day she grew 

 colder to Pierre, and cast more languish- 

 ing glances at Blake, until the young 

 Frenchman was half mad with jealousy. 



One day, near the end of Blake's vaca- 

 tion, the hunters had returned after dark, 

 from a trip up the lake. As Blake was go- 

 ing back to the boat for his shell case, he 

 heard a voice, and stopped a moment, to 

 listen. 



" 'Tain't no use," said Pierre, who was 

 sitting on the boat, soliloquizing, after his 

 peculiar manner. ' 'Tain't no use. She 

 lack dat man. Prob'ly she marry up along 

 wid him and go to de city. Dam' dat man! 

 I wish he doan come here." There was a 

 trace of tears in his voice, then he contin- 

 ued: " Dat win' she blow from de Sout' to- 

 night. T'ink she blow hard to-mow. 

 S'pose I tell dat man I can't go hunt to- 

 mow. Tell him he teck my l'il boat and go 

 to dat crick udder side dat p'int. He's dam 

 fool 'bout boat — like all city mans. S'pose 

 he get drown. Pierre don't be blame. He 

 be gone St. Armaud. By Sacre! " he said 

 after a long pause, " I t'ink I do dat t'ing! " 



Almost bursting with laughter, Blake 

 hurried back to the house. " Pierre," he 

 called, loudly, " are you down there! " 



" Oui, M'sier, w'at you want? " 



" Bring up my shell-case; it's in the 

 boat." 



" Say, M'sier Blake," said Pierre, as he 

 handed him the case, " I got go St. Ar- 

 maud to-morrow. You can teck my l'il 

 boat and go to dat crick t'udder side dat 

 p'int, and I t'ink you got some duck." 



" All right," returned Blake, " I'll show 

 you, when you return, I've learned some- 

 thing about duck shooting; so look for a 

 big bag to-morrow night." Unable to con- 

 ceal his smiles, Blake entered the house. 



In the morning Blake took his lunch, as 

 usual, and although a strong wind was roll- 

 ing the angry, white-crested waves into the 

 bay, he started out in the little boat; for 

 he had managed the cranky Saranac boats, 

 used by the guides in the Adirondacks, 

 and had no fear for his safety. Holding 

 the boat bow on to the waves, he rowed out 

 of the bay; but as he doubled the point, it 

 looked for a moment as if Pierre's hopes 

 would be realized. A huge wave, striking 

 the boat nearly broadside, half filled it with 

 water, and the wind caught his cap and 

 carried it away. He managed to make a 

 landing on the point, out of sight of the 

 house. Then he hid the oars in the bushes, 

 turned the boat bottom up, and pushed it 

 out on the water, beyond the point, where 

 the waves would carry it into the little bay 

 near the house. He watched it drift slowly 



