December, 1920 
FOREST AND STREAM 
633 
watched one survivor circling away in 
wild flight while three booming rever- 
berations sounded in our ears. The sin- 
gle was headed towards us. Swiftly his 
black shape grew large as quick wing- 
strokes sped him onward. “Shoot him 
Bob,” Ted whispered. I flung up my 
gun and missed clean. The duck veered, 
climbing with wild wings. Ted shot 
and the bird tumbled fluttering. It 
struck and bounced flapping away over 
the water. I swung on its fleeing shape 
which collapsed when Ted and I fired 
together. I splashed out in the shallow 
waves. “Better hurry or it’ll sink,” 
chuckled Jackson, “it must be right full 
of lead by now.” 
As I stood, for a moment, holding 
that dusky-brown feathered body, the 
Captain’s low voiced call sent me splat- 
tering back to my blind. In I fell black 
duck and all. “Keep down! Geese 
coming up the bay!” Through the 
thatch, I saw three distant shapes which 
moved low over the water. Feverishly, 
I thrust fresh shells into my gun while 
I prayed they had not seen me. Stead- 
ily the geese came on until they showed 
clear against the sky as they rose over 
the background of hills. Jackson called 
and his decoys answered. Faint on the 
cold air, we heard an echo — “Honk- 
ahonk — a-honk.” They were coming. 
Then my heart beat madly as whirring 
wings passed close overhead. Out of 
the corner of my eye I saw two black 
ducks swing over our decoys. “Let ’em 
be!” breathed Jackson. They hovered 
on arched wings an instant and settled 
into the water. The pair swam together 
and craned their necks while they eyed 
our strange decoys. My tense muscles 
twitched excitedly like quivering fiddle- 
strings, as I tore my attention away. 
The geese loomed large now and were 
winging slowly towards us. Four hun- 
dred yards — three hundred, each second 
stretched interminably. I saw the lead- 
ers’ feet stretch down as they set 
their wings. Suddenly our call-ducks 
quacked in fright. Into the midst of 
the geese two wild birds bounced from 
the water, quacking fear. The geese 
flapped, banking up a long gun shot 
away. “Shoot!” yelled Jackson. I held 
my gun on one and fired. The bird 
wavered. My teeth clenched and I shot 
him down with my second barrel. As I 
looked, another fell kicking when Ted’s 
gun cracked. The furthest goose reared 
swiftly off before the wind. Jackson hit 
it twice with long, ineffectual shots. 
Several gray feathers floated softly 
down. While I gathered the two dead 
birds, I heard the Captain damning 
those ducks whole-souledly. They must 
have been hatched under some particu- 
larly lucky star. 
As the breeze freshened, we huddled 
lower in our boxes watching moving 
specks over the distant bay. Frost 
crystals blown off the thatch-grass 
burned upon my cheek, and cold sting 
began to creep in my veins. Toward the 
north, flocks of broadbill were tending 
across deep water. In swift swarms 
they winnowed over the leaden waves, 
vanishing instantly when they pitched 
down to alight. Beyond the beach, an 
occasional flock drifted like a smudge 
. . 
V " 
■ 
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k 
Live geese decoys. Just as cold as it looks 
against the sky. Once we tightened 
when six pintails flew over, high up, 
but they swept on. 
A BOUT ten o’clock, the Captain’s 
outstretched arm pointed into the 
northern sky. “Big flock of geese 
over Ponquogue Light House, flying 
high.” Finally, I made out the thin line 
drawn against gray cloud streaks. Like 
a thread hung across the heavens they 
showed, slowly growing more distinct. 
The line dissolved into tiny bird-shapes, 
sweeping on indomitable wings. Our 
decoys called in vain and that flock 
faded into a trace on the clouds. 
As I watched them vanish over the 
ocean behind us, I saw a cluster of 
atom's melt out of the sky, growing into 
dark dots sweeping inland. Quickly the 
dots grew in bo tiny silhouettes driven 
by quick-cutting wings. “More black- 
duck,” whispered Jackson, “give it to 
’em, if they cut over; they won’t stool.” 
Staring through the thatch, I saw the 
leaders bent to cross our island. As we 
rose, they veered, passing the decoys 
like bullets. Swinging well ahead, I 
tumbled the leader into a ricochetting 
splash. A second bird flashed over my 
sights. My hasty snap shot missed. 
Ted fared no better and we gathered 
only two. 
For perhaps an hour, the sky was 
empty. Against the further shore, 
streaks of white fluff rippled as the 
gale whipped rollers across the bay. 
The wind hummed through the sedge in 
a steady drone. Then geese began to 
move again. Two flocks passed beyond 
the beach to vanish into the horizon. 
With each flock, a wave of hope surged 
against the ache of my stinging feet. 
As we lay numbed into silence, three 
shelldrake crossed from behind and 
flashed out of gunshot before we could 
stir. Our frozen interest thawed in- 
stantly. The choppy water was setting 
other birds into flight. Two flocks and 
one pair of shelldrake ran the gauntlet 
of our fire with annoying success. Aid- 
ed by the wind, their speed was terrific. 
In apparent defiance of the laws of 
equilibrium, their long heads and necks 
stretched ahead of their motive power 
as though the flickering wings were los- 
ing a race with their rocketing bodies. 
Jackson’s advice was hard to follow. 
“Hold on his bill, get going with him 
and touch her off.” However, we each 
stopped one. 
A BOUT noon, we had finished lunch 
and I lay watching the wind rend 
my pipe smoke to shreds as it left 
my lips. Then, suddenly, from behind 
us, came the ringing honk of geese. 
The Captain writhed around and cried: 
“Two swinging right for us. Keep 
down!” Our decoys began to call. Quick 
heartbeats banished cold as I slid low 
in my box. Scarcely breathing, I stared 
up at a sliding vista of dappled clouds. 
(continued on page 661 ) 
In the blind waiting for geese to swing into the decoys 
