FOREST AND STREAM 
747 
“But I know how blame 
hard it is to shoot over¬ 
head. You are usually all 
cramped up and the birds 
are traveling about twice as 
fast as you think they are. 
If they wore tail feathers a rod or two long, 
a fellow might bring down a few of those 
once in a while to cheer him up. I would 
rather let the other fellow waste his shells on 
overhead shooting,” I chuckled, well realizing 
my own failings. “The boys have the old 
duck skiff, and one of them is out retrieving 
their bird,” remarked Fritz. “Isn’t it a shame 
that Nick has never been trained to retrieve 
ducks; lie retrieves everything else from an 
oyster-shell to a nail-keg, yet no one has 
found time to initiate him into the rudiments 
of ducking; and he won a prize as the best 
example of Chesapeake Bay retriever at the 
fair, last fall.” “Look out!” I cried. “Get 
down low. Here comes a bunch of four up 
the shore from the south. I think they’re coming 
in—yes, now they’re turning—Get low!” We 
both ducked lower, as the high whistling sound 
of rapidly moving wings approached. Now they 
were overhead—now out in front. Quickly but 
cautiously we raised ourselves, bringing our guns 
into position and throwing off the safeties. 
Swish!— They came broadside, preparing to 
light—and inen we woke the quiet morning air 
with our cannonading. “Good shot!” I cried, 
enthusiastically, as Fritz dropped one of the flee¬ 
ing pair. Now three lifeless bodies 
floated out beyond the decoys; and 
for yards around we saw the water 
strewn with wads and tiny feathers. 
“That’s a pretty fair start,” laughed 
7 ritz, as he jumped from the blind, 
and volunteered to do the retrieving 
—but I was not at all satisfied. “Yes, 
pretty good for you; but how many 
did I get?” “What are you kicking 
about? You got the second one,” 
Fritz answered, as he ran along the 
sandy beach toward the canoe. This 
knowledge, doubtful as it was, at 
least cheered me considerably, be¬ 
cause I had given him credit for the 
whole killing. Maybe I did drop the 
second one, after all. If a baseball 
umpire had been on the scene he 
would have been at some loss to make a decision, 
for our guns had sounded simultaneously, before 
the duck dropped,—very dead—out in front. He 
would probably have decided in favor of Fritz, 
as Fritz is acknowledged to be a very fair wing 
shot, while I am—well, I get one once in a while. 
twelve, with a roar that made my ears sing. 
Bang! Bang! Bang! as he pumped away at 
the thoroughly frightened bird, speeding away to 
the south along the shore. 
“Pretty poor, eh?” laughed Fritz, as he blew 
the smoke fiom the barrel and refilled the clip. 
“You ought to have had that one,” I remarked. 
Of course, while Fritz was manoeuvring 
around in the canoe, a flock of twelve or 
more big fellows sailed over, just out of 
range, and, seeing the canoe headed up 
the cove; later they circled and flew high 
overhead back to the broad water. “Isn’t 
that always the rotten luck?” I said, when Fritz 
returned proudly exhibiting, for my approval, 
the three husky birds. “The biggest bunch al¬ 
ways comes in when you are fooling around in 
the decoys, or when you go down the shore to 
round up a cripple.” 
The sharp bark of Dick’s sixteen focussed our 
attention to the boys across the way, and we 
craned our necks to see what was happening. 
Dick, we could see, out at the water’s edge, wait¬ 
ing, evidently, to put the finishing touches to a 
cripple. Bang! There, he got it. 
The ducks were now coming in fairly fre¬ 
quent intervals—for the most part, in little flocks. 
Fortunately for us, they decoyed on our side un¬ 
usually well. The moderating of the wind made 
it much easier for them to come down to us; and 
they seemed to prefer our side of the cove. Only 
at long intervals the guns of Searls and Dick 
proclaimed that they were still on the alert. But 
we had plenty of excitement on our side, during 
the course of the morning. On one occasion, a 
flock of six “whifflers” came in, and after our 
guns had pronounced their fate, none left. 
I always hate to kill these gay little birds; 
they are so beautifully clothed and so full of 
sport. I much prefer to sit behind a blind and 
watch them at play—watch with amused interest 
the queer games they play, and listen to 
them talk to each other in a language 
which they actually seem to understand. 
When well cooked they are the most 
delicious game bird we have; and 
consequently much sought by the 
(Continued on page 783.> 
and we could clearly see the shore way up the 
cove. We strained our eyes eagerly for any 
signs of Searls and Dick, and were gratified in 
the sight of the little dark objects that bobbed 
up and down in front of their blind; they too 
were ready. The gale was gradually dying. Only 
occasionally now a vicious gust sent a shower 
of sand in our faces. 
The sun was now beginning to show itself in 
the east, and we could already feel the pleasant 
warmth of its light. What a wonderful morn¬ 
ing it was, we thought, both lost in the glories 
)f the sunrise. 
“Mark!” whispered Fritz, in a tense tone, as 
he ducked his head low under the wall of the 
blind. I followed his example, at the same time 
searching the sky for the cause. A sudden sound 
of rapid wings in front followed by a long 
splash told us that we had been taken unawares 
in the midst of our reveries. 
“What are they?” I whispered to Fritz, as he 
peeked cautiously through the twigs in front. 
“Two blackheads—big ones too—out of range 
beyond the decoys. They must have seen us as 
they came in high over our heads, and circled 
back. They look frightened, all right. There 
they go! straight up the cove to the other blind.” 
My ears were keyed for the sounds I hoped to 
hear. Bang! Bang! 
—silence — Ba n g ! 
“I’ll bet Searls’ dou¬ 
ble brought them 
down,” 1 said, as I 
looked 
1 eager- 
ly 
towards 
the 
other 
blind. 
“Mark! 
he’s 
coming 
right 
at us— 
they got one, 
all right. Try 
a shot 
: as he 
goes 
over— 
he’s 
having 
