532 
Forest axd Stream 
tion, and make for the gun-room door. 
One Sam, small and singularly dark 
of complexion, was assigned to guide 
me, keep my incautious legs from find- 
ing a permanent abiding place in the 
marsh, and generally “ ’tend to me,” as 
Sam himself might have put it. I think 
Sam saved my life in the first hour of 
our acquaintance. It was a case of too 
much confidence on the one hand and 
too soft mud on the other. I shall not 
tarry over the details any longer than 
I tarried in that mud once Sam’s good 
arm had effected a rescue. 
Ducks were continually rising in front 
of us as we, by turns, poled and pulled 
the gunning -skiff toward our blind. 
Bunch after bunch swung up from be- 
hind, setting their wings as they neared 
us, then flaring off at sight of the boat. 
I don’t know what Sam’s sensations 
were at the time, but I’m sure I was 
experiencing an accession of blood pres- 
sure that would have made an M.D. 
gasp. 
How high they seemed as they reared 
and sped away ! I glanced at my little 
16 and a sudden doubt assailed me. Two 
great green-heads, intent only on finish- 
Those who have sat in a blind in the 
darkness before 'the dawn and have 
watched a new day creep up from 
the east — those who have felt the 
clean wind in their faces and have 
caught the sweet scent of marsh and 
dune will be glad to recall these 
things by reading this story. 
ing an interrupted breakfast, circled 
temptingly close. Should I try them? 
Sam’s “Shoot ’em, boss” decided it. 
With an all-you’ve-got-to-do-is-pull-the- 
trigger sort of confidence I swung on 
that pair of mallards. At the double 
crack of the 6’s they came plunging 
.down within thirty yards of the boat. 
Then here, there — everywhere, the roar 
of rising ducks; the whistle of wings; 
and line on line of wild-fowl sweeping 
over the marsh. 
We were nearing the end of the boat 
pull now, the blind but 50 yards in front 
of us over a No Man’s Land of mud. 
Mud! I had ceased to think of it. 
“Sam,” I said, “give me those shells, 
and for the love of Mike gel out the 
decoys.” Then I went over the side, 
and, step by step, made my way across 
to the blind. 
Sam later confided to me that the 
initial barage I laid down that morning 
came near to making him gun-shy for 
life. Poor Sam ! All the while he was 
busy dropping decoys, ducks kept com- 
ing over me ; some too high to tempt 
me, others within reach of my little 16. 
And .as they came I plugged away at 
them with rather fair success. 
Once a darting .green-wing coming 
from God knows where, whizzed past 
between Sam and the blind. I flatter 
myself that I was “on” that teal within 
something less than one-tenth of a 
second. Unfortunately, Sam’s head 
chanced also to be in perfect alignment 
with my leveled gun. Well, I didn’t 
shoot — not ’til after the duck had passed 
— but I missed my teal when I did shoot 
and I scared Sam half to death. 
As soon as all the decoys had been 
anchored out and my guide had taken 
himself off — gladly, I know — to a near- 
by check bank, my shooting 
began in earnest. Mallards, 
fat from much good living, 
and accustomed for weeks 
to the sight of the blind, fell 
an easy prey to the guile of 
the “callers.” My 16, I 
found, was quite up to the 
work and the No. 6 shot a 
murderous dose at thirty or 
forty yards. 
I noticed on this day, as 
in fact I have noticed many 
times before, that black- 
ducks flying with mallards 
are almost invariably on the 
outer edge of the bunch. I 
can only put this down to 
superior intelligence, or 
greater caution — whichever 
you will ; at all events, it is 
my belief that the black- 
duck possesses more all- 
around sense than any duck 
in the world. I know I tried 
for some time, unsuccess- 
fully, to pick out a right and 
left on black-ducks from the 
various bunches of mallard 
that came to my decoys. 
Always I had that extra few 
yards to overcome ; always 
to shoot through the mal- 
lards to reach those foxy 
blacks. In the end I had to 
let the front ducks light to 
the decoys — when I was able 
to get an unobstructed shot 
at a few of my coveted 
black-ducks. 
HE sun climbed above 
* its bank of haze, scat- 
tering the mist that hung 
like a pall above the teeming 
marsh. Had I had time I 
should have found keenest 
pleasure in watching the 
ever - changing lights that 
spread over the billo\^n,g 
Salt Pond for that day at least was distinctly a Mallard rendezvous 
