We allowed Mr. Death-Face to close in 
until he was about to poise for a deadly 
plunge, then we riddled him with 
sixes. 
The flight had dropped almost to 
nothing. Now and then a “scattering” 
duck would pass over us far out of 
range, while the shots from distant 
ponds came with less frequency. The 
wind died away and the murmuring 
trees quieted as though lulled to sleep. 
“May as well pick up,’ Harold sug- 
gested with a yawn. His waders being 
higher than mine, he started out to 
collect the dead. The first three or four 
birds came easily, but the others lay 
farther out. Suddenly Harold began 
to ‘struggle. A  deprecatory — smile 
played around his mouth, then his lips 
straightened grimly. “What is it, 
Harold?” I asked in alarm. | “This 
darn mud,” he panted, trying to with- 
draw his legs from the clinging sub- 
stance. I was thoroughly frightened 
now and began wading toward him. 
“Keep back!” he ordered sharply, 
“shove a pole out so I can get hold of 
it. I hurried ashore and found several, 
but all were painfully short while in the 
meantime the water had reached his 
arm pits. 
“Can’t you get out of your boots?” I 
asked despairingly. 
“No use,” he answered, “they’re 
strapped to my belt, I can’t seem to 
manage them.” 
“Good God!” I cried wildly, “I can’t 
stand here and see you drown. Try 
once more!” 
H® did so, but the water only rose 
higher. I felt faint and sick; the 
cold sweat poured from me, I could 
scarcely stand upright. Suddenly a 
thought flashed through my numbing 
brain and I turned to run. “Don’t leave 
me, Frank!” he called. 
hand and tried to smile. “Back in a 
moment!” I shouted encouragingly. 
Panting and stumbling, I hastened to 
the team, I had noticed a coil of rope 
lying in the bottom of the wagon the 
day before, I prayed that it might be 
there now. Staggering to the wagon I 
clawed everything out including Roxy, 
she had gnawed her rope, and thank 
God, the rope was there. Seizing this 
and followed by the dog, I hastened 
back. Nearing the water I peered 
through the trees. My blood froze in 
my veins—Harold was gone. But, no, 
a tree had hidden his head from view 
for a moment, the water was up to his 
chin. Rushing to the shore with shouts 
of encouragement, I re-coiled the rope 
and threw it toward him, only to have 
it fall short. Three times I threw and 
failed. “I can’t make it!” I cried in 
despair. “Well, so long,” he said with 
a faint smile, he was becoming numb 
with the cold and beginning not to care, 
then he tried to wave his hand. Merci- 
In writing 
I waved my | 
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