A DUCK-SHOOTING REMINISCENCE. 



CAPT. E. L. MUNSON, U. S. A. 



One bright October afternoon I loped 

 the hunting pony over the 4 miles of prai- 

 ries to Big Sandy creek, where a sufficient 

 number of ducks could usually be found 

 to ensure fair sport. At that season the 

 creek contained little water and consisted 

 of a series of still pools, lying under ab- 

 rupt banks several feet in height. There 

 was no cover, save for sparse sage brush 

 and an occasional clump of rose bushes, 

 but the steep character of the banks was 

 such that in most instances it was only 

 necessary for the gunner to locate a flock 

 of ducks in order to arrive within reason- 

 able shooting distance by making a careful 

 detour. The ducks seemed to appreciate 

 the danger of their position and would 

 promptly take wing if a hunter came in 

 sight, no matter at how great a distance 

 he might be. The first part of the problem 

 was therefore for the hunter to see the 

 game before the latter saw him. That 

 was accomplished by following the course 

 of the creek and carefully scrutinizing its 

 surface and margins before rounding its 

 bends or in any way exposing the per- 

 son. 



Reaching the creek, I picketed the pony 

 to a convenient sage bush, put half a dozen 

 smokeless shells into my shot gun, and 

 started for a pool, much favored by mal- 

 lards, about half a dozen gun shots away. 

 Carefully peering around the bends, I fin- 

 ally located a bunch of large ducks 200 

 yards distant. Opposite them, the banks 

 of the creek sloped away gracefully on 

 both sides and did not afford the usual op- 

 portunity for an approach unseen. About 

 30 yards back from the ducks, however, 

 there was a small patch of rose bushes 

 of sufficient height to screen a man when 

 lying prone. As the ducks had not been 

 alarmed and were busily feeding, I dropped 

 back out of sight, made a detour far to 

 the rear of the bushes mentioned and ad- 

 vanced behind them to within about 100 

 yards. At that distance it became neces- 

 sary to get down on hands and knees, and 

 soon after, to avoid exposure, to lie flat 

 on the ground. As the latter was per- 

 fectly level and rising even a few inches 

 would have brought me into full view of 

 the ducks, I could advance but slowly, 



dragging myself along on toes and elbows 

 and pushing the gun ahead of me. As 

 everyone who has tried it knows, this 

 method of progression is most exhausting, 

 and frequent rests were necessary before, 

 at the end of 10 or 15 minutes, the clump 

 of bushes was finally reached. I rose care- 

 fully and looked through the tops of the 

 bushes. Six fine mallards, unsuspicious of 

 danger, came into view directly in front 

 of me and about 25 yards distant. As I 

 rose to my knees, the flock jumped into 

 the air and started down the creek, strung 

 out in single file. Pulling the gun well 

 ahead of the leader of the flock, I had the 

 satisfaction of seeing him fall in response 

 to the spiteful crack of the smokeless pow- 

 der. At the next shot, the second duck 

 in the line collapsed, and at the third shot 

 the leading duck of the remaining 4 fell 

 dead at a distance of nearly 60 yards. 

 Confused at the loss of the 3 leaders, the 

 remaining ducks, just passing out of range, 

 swung short about and turned back up 

 the creek toward me. Pumping forth a 

 shell from the magazine into the chamber, 

 I fired at the leading duck, but missed him, 

 only to kill the one next behind. My fifth 

 shot dropped the rear bird of the 2 sur- 

 vivors, and as the single remaining duck 

 came abreast of me he fell to the last car- 

 tridge in the gun. Within a few seconds, 

 the entire flock had thus fallen to 6 con- 

 secutive shots, the 6 birds all killed out- 

 right and lying within a few yards of one 

 another. They were as fine, fat mallards as 

 one would wish to see; and as I smoothed 

 their gorgeous feathers and thought of 

 the difficult stalking so well done, and tli<* 

 shooting which for rapidity and accuracy 

 I could scarcely hope to duplicate in the 

 future, I presented to myself my most sin- 

 cere congratulations. 



As the pony look his way up the creek 

 bottom toward home, several large flocks 

 or ducks got up only to pitch into pools 

 ahead where their destruction would have 

 been easy ; but they did not get a second 

 glance. Game enough had been secured. 

 Nothing would have tempted me that af- 

 ternoon to fire another shot and perhap? 

 mar the memory of a bit of sport, brief, 

 yet one of the best I had ever enjoyed. 



Are you a good cook and laundress? 

 Do Oi look loike twins ? — Life, 

 ?53 



