XI
THE MARSHES
"Real fall weather," that season of 1879, seemed to delay long beyondthe appointed time. During each night, to be sure, it grew cold. Theleaves, after their blaze and riot of colour, turned crisp and cracklyand brown. Some of the little still puddles were filmed with what wasalmost, but not quite, ice. A sheen of frost whitened the house-roofsand silvered each separate blade of grass on the lawns. But by noon thesun, rising red in the veil of smoke that hung low in the snappy air,had mellowed the atmosphere until it lay on the cheek like a caress. Nobreath of air stirred. Sounds came clearly from a distance. LongV-shaped flights of geese swept athwart the sky very high up, but theirhonking carried faintly to the ear. Time seemed to have run down. Andyet when the sun, swollen to the great dimensions of the rising moon,dipped blood-red through the haze, the first faint premonitory tingleof cold warned one that the tepid, grateful warmth of the day had beenbut an illusion of a season that had gone. This was not summer; but, inthe quaint old phrase, Indian summer. And its end would be as though thenecromancer had waved his wand.
In the meantime the barges and schooners continued to take chances inorder to market the last of the year's lumber crop; the small boys andsquirrels made the most of the nut crop; the grouse remained scatteredin noisy cover; and the ducks frequented the open stretches where theywere quite out of reach.
But at last Bobby Orde, awakening early, heard the rising and fallingmoan of wind past the eaves' corner outside his windows. He hopped outof bed, thrust his feet into a pair of knit socks and ran to the window.The sun was not yet up; but the wild barbaric gold of it was flungabroad over flat, hard-looking clouds.
_"'Bright sunrise at morning, The sailor takes warning,'"_
murmured Bobby.
In the yard below, the brown leaves were chasing themselves madly aroundand about, back and forth, like restless spirits. Others slanted downfrom the trees in continuous flocks. The maples tossed restlessly. Inthe air was a deep bitter chill which sent Bobby scurrying back to hiswarm nest in a hurry.
After breakfast he was glad of his heavier suit. The sun rose and shone,it is true; but its rays possessed no warmth. The light of it appearedto be a cold silver, like the sheen on stubble. All the landscape seemedto have paled. Gone were the rich glowing reds, the warm browns. A graycast hung over the land.
From school Bobby hurried home to be in time for an early lunch as Mr.Orde wanted to go up river. He found Bucephalus in front; and Mr.Kincaid about to sit down to the lunch table. The latter had on his oldgray suit and cardigan jacket.
"Hullo, youngster!" he greeted Bobby, "Looks like pretty good weatherfor ducks. Want to go for a shoot?"
That settled lunch for Bobby. He could hardly stay at table until theothers had finished; and heard with enraptured joy his mother's voice,as she rose from the table, asking Mr. Kincaid about provisions.
"I have all that," replied Mr. Kincaid, "and there's lots of bedding andsuch things."
Nevertheless Mrs. Orde slipped away after a moment to wrap up a loaf of"salt-rising bread," and one of "dutch bread." The two-wheeled cartBobby found, when finally he and Mr. Kincaid emerged from the housecarrying his valise, to be well packed with the shell-box, gun, bag anda lunch basket. Mr. Kincaid's duck-dog, named Curly, lay crouched in thebottom like a soft warm mat. Bobby had met Curly before. He was acomical seal-brown dog, covered with compact tight curls all over hisbody. When Bobby petted him, they felt springy. His face, head and ears,however, were smooth and silky. He had yellow eyes, and an engagingdisposition. To the touch his body, even through the tight curls, feltunusually warm. Though Curly's tail was a mere stump he wagged itenergetically when his master appeared, but without raising his nosefrom between his forepaws.
Duke pranced out, eager to go, but was called back by Mrs. Orde andignominiously held. Bucephalus got under way. Bobby hugged the coldbarrel of his little rifle between his knees. He had on his "pull-down"cap, and his shortest and heaviest cloth over-jacket, and knit woollenmittens. The actual temperature was not as yet very low, but the windfrom the Lake was abroad, and growing in strength every minute. From theflag-pole of the Ottawa they could see the square red storm-flag withthe black centre standing out like a piece of tin.
Bucephalus made surprising time. His gait on the open road was a longawkward shamble, but it seemed to cover the ground. Mr. Kincaid humpedhis shoulders and drove in a sociable silence, his short pipe emptybetween his teeth. Curly retained his flattened attitude on the bottomof the cart; only occasionally rolling up his yellow eyes, but withoutmoving his head. The wind tore by them madly.
About half a mile beyond the last mill Mr. Kincaid left the main road toturn sharp to the right directly across the broad marshes. Here amakeshift road had been constructed of poles laid in the corduroyfashion. The cart pitched and bounced along at a foot pace. Bobby had nochance to look about him, and could see only that on both sidesstretched the wide cat-tails and rush flats; that near them was water.The sun was setting cold and black in hard greasy-looking clouds.
By and by the cart gave one last bump and rose to a little dry knolllike an island in the marshes. Bobby saw that on it grew two elm trees,beneath which stood a rough shed. Beyond a fringe of bushes he couldmake out the roof of another small structure. Mr. Kincaid stopped at theshed, and began to unharness Bucephalus. Bobby descended very stiffly.Curly hopped out and expressed delight over his arrival by wagginghimself from the fifth rib back. You see he had not tail enough for thejob, so he had to wag part of his body too. In a moment or so Bucephaluswas tied in the shed and supplied with oats from a bag.
"Well, we're here," said Mr. Kincaid, picking up one of the valises andthe lunch basket. "Bobby, you carry the guns."
He led the way through the bushes to the other structure.
It was a cabin of boards, long and narrow, about the size and shape of afreight car. The upper end of it rested on dry land, but the lower endgave out on a floating platform. A single window in the side and a stovepipe through the roof completed the external features.
"Door's around in front," explained Mr. Kincaid.
They descended to the float. The door was fastened by a padlock. Whenit was opened Bobby saw at first nothing but blackness and the flatboard prow of a duck-boat that seemed to occupy all available space. Mr.Kincaid, however, lifted this bodily to the float, and, entering, drewaside the curtain to the little window.
Bobby stood in the middle of the floor and gazed about him withunbounded delight. The place contained two bunks, one over the other, asmall round iron stove, a shelf table against one wall, and two foldingstools. From nails hung a frying pan, a coffee pot, and two kettles.Shelves supported a number of cans, while two or three small bagsdepended from the ceiling. Those were its main furnishings. But beneaththe bunks and piled in one corner were many painted wooden ducks. Aroundthe neck of each was wound a long white cord to the end of which wasattached a leaden iron weight; in the bunks themselves lay powdercanisters, shotbags, wad-boxes. At one end of the table was fastened acrimper and a loading block. Several old pipes lay about. Burned matchesstrewed the floor.
"Well, here we are, Bobby," repeated Mr. Kincaid, dropping the valisesin the corner, "and it's pretty near sunset; so I guess we'll organizeour boat first, while it's daylight."
He descended to the float.
"Now, you hand me down the decoys," said he.
Bobby passed out the wooden ducks two by two, and Mr. Kincaid stowedthem carefully amidships. They were of many sorts and sizes, and Mr.Kincaid named them to Bobby as he received them.
"These are the boys!" said he. "Good old green-heads, Worth all theother ducks put together. Their celery-fed canvasbacks may bebetter--never had a chance to try them--but the canvasback in thiscountry can't touch the mallards. And here, these are blue-bill. Theycome to a decoy almost too easy. This is a teal--fly like thunder andare about as big as a grasshopper. We'll make our flock mostly of these.Those widgeon, there, wouldn't do us much good. Might
put in a fewsprig. They're a handsome duck, Bobby; but the most beautiful thing infeathers is the wood-duck. Probably won't get any of them to-morrow,though."
Bobby worked eagerly. Soon he was in a warm glow, the cold windforgotten, his cheeks like snow-apples, his eyes like stars.
"That's just a hundred," counted Mr. Kincaid, "and its a humming goodboat load. It'll do. Now you take this demijohn and fill it from thespring-hole you'll find back of the house, and I'll get the shell-box."
The equipment was finally completed by two wooden shell-boxes to sit on,a short broad paddle and a long punting pole.
By now the sun had dipped below the horizon leaving nothing of its gloryin the low-hung, hard clouds. All the world seemed clad in velvet-gray,with dark soft shadows. A gleam of light reflected from water as itshowed in patches here and there. It matched and continued the palegreen light of the heavens, as though the sky had flowed down andthrough the blackness of the marshes. The wind came now in heavy gusts,succeeded by intervals of comparative calm. During these intervals couldbe heard the cries of innumerable wildfowl.
Bobby stood at the end of the float, absolutely motionless, taking itin. His intellectual faculties were as though non-existent. All thesensitiveness of his nature, like the sensitiveness of a photographicplate, was exposed to that which took place before him. No littledetail of the scene would he ever forget; and nothing of what itsvastness and mystery and turmoil signified in the world of furthermeanings would be lost to him, though for many years he would notunderstand them.
But now, as the darkness of the shadows deepened, and the light of waterand sky took on a deeper lucence before being extinguished, for thefirst time the sense of pain and the incompleteness of beautiful thingsentered his heart. The thing was wonderful; but it hurt. The sight of itfilled him to the lips with a passion of uplift; and yet somethinglacked. And the lack of that something was a pain.
Bobby had forgotten that he was cold, that he was alone, that he hadcome on an exciting and novel expedition. Mr. Kincaid had disappearedwithin the cabin.
A whistle of wings rushed in on the boy's consciousness with startlingsuddenness. Across the face of the evening indeterminate, dark bodiesdarted low. A prolonged swish of water sounded, and the placid faintlight on the lagoon fifty yards away was broken and troubled. For amoment it shimmered, and was still. Absolute darkness seemed abruptlyto descend on all the world. From the blackness Bobby heard the lowconversational sounds of ducks newly alit.
"_Ca-chuck!_" said they "_ca-tu-kuk!_" and then an old drake lifted uphis voice.
"_Mark!_" said he. "_Mark-quok, quok, quok!_"
"Oh, Mr. Kincaid!" whispered Bobby sneaking quietly through the door."There's a great big flock of ducks lit just outside."
"That so?" queried Mr. Kincaid cheerfully in his natural voice, "Well,we'll get after 'em in the morning. Don't you want any supper?"
Mr. Kincaid had a fire going in the little round stove. The light thatleaked from it wavered and flickered over the bunks and the tableshelves, and the diminished pile of decoys. Curly was asleep in thecorner. Every few moments Mr. Kincaid removed the frying pan from thetop of the stove, and turned over its contents with a fork. At suchtimes the light flared up brilliantly, illuminating the whole upper partof the cabin. A lively sizzling arose from the frying pan; and adelicious smell filled the air. Bobby made out a tea-kettle at the back,and the phantom of light steam issuing from its spout.
In a little while Mr. Kincaid straightened up and with a clatter slidan iron stove cover over the opening. He lit a candle, stuck it in themouth of a bottle, and moved down on the table shelf carrying the fryingpan. Bobby then saw that the table shelf had been set with two-heavyplates, cutlery, and two granite-ware cups. The salt-rising bread anddutch bread were laid out with a knife beside them. A saucer contained apat of butter; a bottle, milk; and a plate was heaped with doughnuts.
"Supper's ready," announced Mr. Kincaid cheerfully. "Sit up, Bobby."
The frying pan proved to contain two generous slices of ham; and foureggs fried crisp.
"What's the matter with this for a feast?" cried Mr. Kincaid; "sail in!"
The man and the boy ate, the flickering light between them. Outsidehowled the wind. Curly slumbered peacefully in the corner.
"This," proffered Mr. Kincaid after an interval, as he reached towardthe basket, "is what my grandfather used to call a 'good competent pie.'Like pie, Bobby?"
"Yes, sir," replied Bobby, "but I mustn't eat the under crust."
"Right you are. Well, there's somebody here who'll eat it for you."
"Do you want it?" asked Bobby, wondering.
Mr. Kincaid laughed. "No, I mean Curly," he explained.
"Will Curly eat pie?" marvelled Bobby.
"Curly," said Mr. Kincaid impressively, "will eat anything you can throwdown a hole."
It was a good pie, with lots of room between the crusts, and cinnamon onthe apples, and sugar and nutmeg on top. When finally Mr. Kincaid pushedback his stool, Curly gravely arose and came forward to get his share ofwhatever had not been eaten.
"Now, dishes!" said Mr. Kincaid. "Will you wash or wipe, Bobby?"
"My, I'm full!" said Bobby in the way of indirect expostulation againstimmediate activity.
"The time to wash dishes is right away," said Mr. Kincaid briskly. "Theywash easier; and when they're done you have a comfortable feeling thatthere's nothing more to be done--and a clear conscience. Did you everwash dishes?"
"No, sir."
"Well, it's time you learned. Come on."
Bobby learned how to manipulate hot water, soap, and a dish-rag. Alsohow difficult it is to remove some sorts of grease.
"Condemned!" pronounced Mr. Kincaid severely, returning him the fryingpan.
But when the simple task was done, Bobby felt an unusual glow ofcompetence and experience. He was really "camping out." A new ambitionto learn came to him, an ambition to do his share and to understandother people's share. Naturally his mind turned first to accustomedthings.
"Where's the wood pile?" he asked Mr. Kincaid. "Can't I fill thewood-box?"
"It's just behind the house," approved Mr. Kincaid.
Bobby turned the wooden "button" that fastened the door from the inside.At once it was snatched from his hand and flung open. A burst of windrioted in, extinguished the candle, flared up the fire in the stove, andhurled a loose paper against the roof.
"Whew!" cried Mr. Kincaid, coming to Bobby's assistance; "she's blowing_some_! When you come back, just kick on the door, and I'll open it foryou."
"CONDEMNED!" PRONOUNCED MR. KINCAID SEVERELY, RETURNINGHIM THE FRYING-PAN]
Bobby stood still a moment until his eyes should expand to the darkness.He heard the repeated and rapid _swish, swish, swish_, of waveletsdriven against the float, which rose and fell gently beneath hisfeet. A roar of wind filled the night. Occasionally it lulled. Thenquite distinctly he could make out a faint grumbling diapason which heknew to be the surges beating against the distant coast.
The armful of wood he brought in was not very large, but Mr. Kincaidpronounced it enough.
"And now, youngster," said he, "you'd better turn in. We're going to getup very early in the morning."
For as long as five minutes Bobby lay awake between the soft woollenblankets. This was his first experience without sheets. Mr. Kincaid hadblown out the candle and was sitting back smoking a last pipe. Lightfrom the dying fire in the stove threw his shadow gigantic behind him.As the flames rose or died this shadow advanced or receded, leaped orfell, swelled or diminished; and all the other shadows did likewise. Inthe entire room Mr. Kincaid's figure was the only motionless object.Soon Bobby's vision blurred. The dancing shadows became unreal, changedto dream creatures. Twice a realization, a delicious, poignantrealization of the morrow brought him back to consciousness; and thedream creatures to the shadows. Then finally he drifted away with onlythe feeling of something pleasant about to happen, lying as a backgroundto sleep.
He awoke in
what seemed to him the middle of the night after anabsolutely _black_ sleep. His first thought was that the broad of hisback was shivering; his next that the tip of his nose was marvellouscold; his last that he was curled all up in a ball like a furry raccoon.Then he heard the scratch of a match. A light immediately flickered. Intwo minutes the little stove was roaring and Mr. Kincaid was exhortinghim to arise.
"Come on, now!" he called. "Duck time!"
Bobby dressed in his thickest winter clothes, which he had brought forthe occasion. When, after breakfast, he put on his reefer and over thatthe canvas coat, he looked and felt like a cocoon.
"That's all right," Mr. Kincaid reassured him. "It's going to be cold,and you'll be mighty glad of them."
They stepped out on the float, and Mr. Kincaid thrust the duck-boat intothe water.
Bobby had never seen so many stars. The heavens were full of them, andthe still water had its share. Not a breath of wind was stirring.Through the silence could be heard more plainly the roar of the surf faraway. The quacking of ducks came from near and far. Nothing of the marshwas visible.
Bobby took his place on the shell-box in the bow, his rifle between hisknees. Curly, without awaiting command, jumped in and lay at his feet.Mr. Kincaid stepped in aft. Bobby could feel the quiver of the boat asit took the weight, but having been instructed to sit quiet, he did notlook around. The craft received an impetus and moved forward.Immediately the breaking of thin scum ice set up a crackling.
"Pretty cold!" said Bobby.
"Don't talk," replied Mr. Kincaid in a guarded voice.
They moved forward in silence. Only the slight crackling at the prow,the soft dip of the paddle, and an occasional breath of effort from thepaddler broke the stillness. The motion forward was slow; for the backsuction in the shallow, narrow channel, which they almost immediatelyentered, stopped the boat at the end of each paddle stroke. Bobby wasvaguely aware of high reeds or low banks on either side; but he couldnot see ten feet ahead, and he wondered how Mr. Kincaid could tellwhere to go. Shortly the latter put aside his paddle in favour of thepunting pole. Bobby, stealing a glance over his shoulder, saw himstanding against the sky.
From right and left, in mysterious side lagoons and pockets, came thelow quacking and chattering of wildfowl, now close at hand. They were,of course, quite invisible; but their proximity was exciting. Twice theduck-boat approached so close as to alarm them into flight. They arose,then, with a mighty quacking. Bobby could see the silver of broken waterwhere they took wing; but although there seemed to be enough lightagainst the sky, he could not make out the birds themselves. He claspedhis rifle close, and shivered with delight, and patted Curly to relievehis feelings.
For a long time, and for a tremendous distance as it seemed to Bobbythey crept along through the lagoons and channels of the marshes. Thedawn had not come yet, but the air was getting grayer in anticipation ofit, and the wind began to blow faintly from the direction of the Lake.Bobby could see the shapes of the grasses and cat-tails, and make outthe bodies of water through which they passed. Almost he could catch theflight of ducks as they leaped; and quite distinctly he saw a flash ofteal that passed with a startling rush of wings within a dozen feet ofthe boat.
And then deliberately the whole universe turned faintly gray, and thesmaller stars faded in the lucence of dawn, and the brief, weird worldof half-light came into being. At the same moment, Mr. Kincaid turnedthe boat to the left, forced it by main strength through a thick fringeof reeds, and debouched on a little round pond silvering in the dawn.
The crackling of the duck-boat through the reeds was answered by a roarlike the breaking of a great wave. Bobby saw very dimly the rise ofhundreds of ducks straight up into the air. The roar of the first leapwas immediately succeeded by the whistling of flight.
"My!" breathed Bobby to Curly, "My! My! My!"
But a second roar thundered, as a second and larger flight took wing;and then after an interval a third. The air all around seemed full ofducks circling in and out the limited range of vision before finallytaking their departure.
Mr. Kincaid, however, pushed forward without paying the slightestattention to this abundance. Fifteen or twenty yards out in the pond hebrought the boat to a stand-still by thrusting his punting-pole far downinto the mud.
"We're here, Bobby," he said in a guarded tone. "Turn around verycarefully, take off your mittens and help me put out the decoys."
"My, there's a lot of 'em," ventured Bobby in a whisper.
"Yes, this is called the Mud Hen Hole. It's the best place in themarshes. Quick! Get to work! It's getting near daylight!"
Bobby helped unwind the cords from around the necks of the decoys anddrop them overboard. Mr. Kincaid moved the boat here and there,scattering the flock in a life-like manner. The gray daylight was comingstronger every instant. Even while they worked in plain sight, bigflocks of teal and blue-bill stooped toward them and whirled around themwith a rush of wings.
"They're awful close!" whispered Bobby excitedly, "why don't you shoot?"
"Hurry!" commanded Mr. Kincaid.
When the last decoy was out, he thrust the boat hastily into the thickreeds where already a blind had been constructed quite simply bythickening the natural growth. "Crouch down!" whispered Mr. Kincaid;"and don't move a muscle!"
Bobby crouched, drawing his head between his shoulders like amud-turtle. Curly crouched too. Above and around was the continuedwhistle of wings as the wildfowl, with their strange, early-morningpersistence, insisted on returning to the spot whence they had been solately disturbed. A movement shook the boat as Mr. Kincaid arose to hisfeet.
_Bang! Bang!_ spoke both barrels of the ten-gauge.
"Two," said Mr. Kincaid in his natural voice.
"Kneel around to face the decoys, Bobby, and you can see. But when I say'mark,' don't move by a hair's breadth."
Bobby shifted position and found that he could see quite easily throughthe interstices of the reeds. On the pond, silvered bright by theincreasing day, the decoys floated snugly. Even at close range Bobby wassurprised at their life-like appearance. Among them floated two ducks,white bellies to the sky. This was all Bobby had time to observe for themoment.
"Mark!" warned Mr. Kincaid behind him.
A tremendous tenseness fell on the world. Bobby's muscles stiffened tothe point of aching. The limited vista bounded on right and left by thesidewise movement of his eyeballs, and above by the brim of his capcontained nothing. He did not dare extend this vista by so much as oneinch. But in the air sounded that magic soul-stirring whistle of wings,now gaining in volume until it seemed overhead; now fading until Bobbythought surely the ducks must have become suspicious and left.
And then, low to the reeds across the pond, a long deliberate flight ofblack bodies against the sky came into sight at the left, slanted acrossthe field of his vision and disappeared to the right. Their wings wereset, and every instant Bobby expected to hear the splash of water thatshould indicate their alighting. But Mr. Kincaid's figure held itsimmobility. He knew that the wily old mallards were not yet satisfied.Indeed at the last moment, instead of swinging in, they arose with asudden swift effort, and resumed the slow scrutinizing circle about thepond.
Bobby lived an eternity in the next few moments. His neck muscles grewstiff; his eyeballs strained from a constant attempt to see farther toone side than nature had intended him to see. Each circle he followedvisually as far as he could, and then aurally, his hopes arising andfalling as the whistling of the wings sounded near or far. And eachcircle was lower than its predecessor, until at last the flight swungscarcely twenty feet above the tops of the reeds.
Then, quite unexpectedly to Bobby, and when at its farthest from theblind, the flock turned in and headed directly for him, its wings set.
Bobby caught his breath, and his heart commenced to thump violently. Nota bird of them all seemed to move, and yet with the rush of a railroadtrain each individual grew in size like magic. It was just likecoasting--the same breathless head
long feeling--that quivering avalancheof ducks projected at his head so abruptly and so swiftly that he hardlyhad time to wink. Nearer and nearer they came, larger and larger theygrew. Something inside him seemed to expand like a bubble with theirapproach; like a bubble too rapidly blown, so that at once, withoutwarning, the bursting point seemed to be reached. Instinctively Bobbyshrank back. The moment of collision was imminent. Nothing could stopthis headlong flight of living arrows launched against his very face.And then, in a flash, the appearance of the flock changed. As though ata preconcerted signal each duck dropped his legs, threw back his head,opposed to momentum the breadth of his wings and tail. An indescribableand sudden rushing sound smote the air. The flock, its course arrested,hung motionless above the decoys in the attitude of alighting.
At this precise instant Mr. Kincaid, without haste, smoothly got to hisfeet. Involuntarily Bobby arose also. Curly, who up to this instant hadeven kept his yellow eyes closed, put his forepaws on the gunwale, andcraned his neck upward the better to see.
Immediately with a mighty beating of wings the ducks "towered." It wasalmost incredible, the rapidity with which, from a dead stand, theybroke into the swiftest flight--and straight up. Bobby could see themplainly, in every detail, the beautiful iridescent green heads of thedrakes, stretched eagerly upward, the dove and the cinnamon of thebreasts, the white bellies snowy against the sky. The gun spoke twice.Instantly three of the outstretched necks seemed to wilt. For a briefmoment the bodies hung in the air; then plunged downward with increasingspeed until they hit with an inspiring _splash, splash, splash!_ thatthrew the water high. There they floated belly up. The orange-colouredleg of one kicked slowly twice.
"Mallard!" said Mr. Kincaid with satisfaction.
Curly looked inquiringly at his master, then dropped back to his formerposition in the bottom of the boat. Bobby settled himself on hisshell-box----
Swish!----he peered out startled and there among the decoys swam a dozenlittle ducks, their heads up, their brights eyes glancing suspiciouslyfrom one to another of their stolid wooden relations. Before Bobby couldrealize that they were there, they had made up their minds; and, withthe same abruptness that had characterized their arrival, sprang intothe air and departed. Not, however, before Mr. Kincaid had shot.
"Only one," said he. "They're a lively proposition."
"What are they?" asked Bobby.
"Teal. They often fly low just over the marsh, and drop in unexpectedlylike that."
Daylight was full and broad now; and the sun was rising. With it camethe first signs of wind. Ducks filled the air in all directions, somecircling about other ponds; others winging their way in long flightstoward distant feeding grounds. Every few moments Mr. Kincaid had a shotas some of these dropped to the decoys. Sometimes they came down boldlyin an attempt to alight; at others they merely stooped, and flew by.These offered difficult side shots at long range. Always the mallardsmade their wide circles of inspection; but always Mr. Kincaid waitedpatiently for them, ignoring absolutely other ducks that in the meantimelit among the decoys. Big flocks of teal manoeuvred back and fortherratically like blackbirds, wheeling, turning, rising and dartingwithout apparent reason but as though at the word of command. The highbuzz of their wings was quite different from the whistling flight of thelarger ducks. One of these bands came within range, but withoutattempting to alight. Into the compact formation Mr. Kincaid emptiedboth barrels. Instantly the air seemed to Bobby full of ducks falling.They hit the water like huge rain drops. Bobby could not begin to keepcount; but Mr. Kincaid said nine. Among them was a broken-wingedcripple, which at once began to swim toward the rushes on the other sidethe pond.
"Fetch, Curly!" commanded Mr. Kincaid.
Curly, with a whimper of delight, plunged into the icy water, and withastonishing speed overtook and seized the wounded duck. He returnedproudly carrying his prize; was handed in over the gunwale; shookhimself like a lawn sprinkler; and resettled himself in the bottom ofthe boat. Curly was a quiet and reserved character. His specialty waslying still, and swimming after ducks. The rest of life did not interesthim.
Now little by little the flight slackened. Longer intervals ensuedbetween the visits to the decoys. The sky was occasionally quite clearof ducks, so that for a few moments Mr. Kincaid and Bobby would rise tostretch their legs. Always they kept a sharp lookout in all directions,and at the first sight of game, even so far away in the sky it lookedlike a flock of specks, they would drop down into concealment. This wassomething Bobby could do; and he was always overjoyed when he caughtsight of the ducks first; and could say "mark east"--or west or whateverit was--as Mr. Kincaid taught him.
Sometimes the ducks passed far away; but again the direction of theirflight brought them within hearing distance of the blind. Then Mr.Kincaid produced his duck-call, and uttered through it the most naturalduck sounds.
"Quack!" it said sharply, and then after the briefest possible pause."Quok-quok-quok-quok-quok!" in increasing rapidity. It was quiteremarkable to observe how the flock, apparently with a fixed destinationof its own, would hesitate, waver, finally swing down to investigate. Atthis, Mr. Kincaid's call became confidential and intimate. It utteredall sorts of clucks and half-notes, telling, probably, of the manifoldadvantages of feed and shelter offered by this particular pond. Thencame the slow circles ending with the final breathless, level-wingedrush.
But presently, as the sun mounted higher and higher, even these flightsceased. Mr. Kincaid lit his pipe. Curly made trip after trip, carryingin the game.
"Fun?" enquired Mr. Kincaid succinctly.
"I should think so!" breathed Bobby with rapture.
They sat opposite each other in the sociable silence that seemed to comeso easily to them. The wind had risen again, until now it had once moreattained the proportions of a respectable gale. Bobby liked to watch thebrisk puffs as they hit, spread in a fan-shaped ruffle of dark water andskittered away. In the miniature wavelets possible under the lea, thedecoys bobbed gravely, swinging to their anchor strings. The sun flashedfrom their backs, and from the little waves. All about were the tallstalks of reeds; and ahead, where the open water was, grew tufts ofgrasses that looked silvery-brown and somehow intimate when, as now,Bobby looked at them from their own plane of elevation. They waved andbent before the wind, and the reeds across the pond bowed and recovered;and over the low, flat landscape seemed to hover a brown, untamed spiritof wildness.
But, though the wind blew a gale, the duck-boat was so snugly hiddenthat hardly a breath reached its occupants. The warm rays of the sunshone full down upon them, first driving the early chill from Bobby'sbones, then making him sleepy. He fell into a delicious lethargy,running over drowsily the small details of his immediate surroundings.In the course of a few hours this cosy nest which he had never seenbefore had become strangely familiar. He experienced a sense of personalacquaintanceship with many of the individual reeds; he recognized, asone recognizes an accustomed landscape, the angle at which certainclumps crossed one another; or the vistas allowed by the differentinterstices. A marsh wren had business among the galleries. Bobbywatched it hop in and out of sight, sometimes right side up, sometimesupside down. A dozen times he thought it had gone; but always it cameback, flirting its absurd short tail, one bright eye fixed on theoccupants of the blind. When Bobby slipped still further into the warmbright land of laziness, he abandoned even the effort of observation,and amused himself by sifting rainbows through his eye-lashes.
"Bobby!" whispered Mr. Kincaid sharply.
He came to with a start, rapping his knee against the gunwale of theboat. Mr. Kincaid held his hand up warningly, then pointed toward thedecoys. Bobby looked, and saw, preening its feathers calmly, a live duckrising to the wavelets. Mr. Kincaid handed over two 22-short cartridges.
Bobby's breath caught with a gasp. His fingers trembling, he opened thebreach of the Flobert and loaded; then cautiously thrusting the muzzlethrough an opening in the reeds, tried to aim. But his heart wasthumping like a hammer, and do his b
est he could not hold the waveringsights in alignment. In vain he recalled all the many principles ofaccurate shooting he had so laboriously acquired in his target practice.Finally in desperation he pulled the trigger. The duck, with a startledquack, sprang into the air.
"Got one!" chuckled Mr. Kincaid. "That furtherest decoy," he replied toBobby's unspoken question. "Saw the splinters fly. Must have over-shotthree feet."
Bobby, carrying with him the bitterest possible cud of failure, retiredwithin himself and gloomed angrily at the situation from all points ofview. He was completely out of conceit with himself. After he hadfinished his performance, he naturally took to reviewing it andrecasting it in terms of success. If he'd only shot at first, before helost his breath! If he'd only remembered to get his hand away around thegrip of the rifle! If he'd only----
As though to test these theories, the Red Gods at this moment vouchsafedhim a wonderful favour. As he frowned steadily between the reeds, hisattention was dragged by a moving object from its abstractions to thatwhich he gazed on so unseeingly. He came to alertness with a snap. Aduck flying not a foot above the water swung in an awkward circle andlit with a long furrowing splash not forty feet away.
Bobby glanced toward Mr. Kincaid. The latter was gazing at the sky, hishands clasped behind his head. Cautiously Bobby reloaded with the othercartridge, and again thrust the rifle muzzle between the reeds. Hisentire mind was now occupied by a vengeful spirit against himselfbecause of his first miss. Therefore he had no room forself-consciousness or nervousness. The sights aligned with precision,and held rigidly on the mark. His teeth set, Bobby pulled the trigger.
Instantly the duck fell on its side, and, beating the water franticallywith its wings, began to kick around in a circle.
"I got him! I got him! Oh, he'll get away!" screeched Bobby in a breath.
At the crack of the rifle Mr. Kincaid had leaped to his feet withsurprising agility.
"Well, good boy!" he exclaimed, "I should say you did get him! He won'tget away; he's hit in the head."
"Is that the way they act when they're hit in the head?" asked Bobby,still doubtful.
"Yes. Fetch him, Curly."
Bobby took the duck from Curly's mouth and held him up by the bill todrain the water, just as he had seen Mr. Kincaid do. Then he laid hisprize across the bow and gloated.
It was a very beautiful duck, with an erect topknot of white edged withblack running over the top of its head like the plume of a Grecianhelmet. The sides of its white breast were covered with feathers of abright cinnamon tipped with gray; its back was black and gray with fineblack edgings; and its wings were dark with a white and iridescent bandon each. But what interested Bobby especially was its bill. Thisdiffered entirely from the bills of all the other ducks. It was verylong and very slender and had teeth!
"What kind is it?" asked Bobby looking up to encounter Mr. Kincaid'samused gaze.
"Well--it's called a merganser in the books," said Mr. Kincaid.
"I'm going to have mama cook it," announced Bobby, and returned to hisblissful contemplation.
Mr. Kincaid grinned quietly to himself. He would not spoil the littleboy's pleasure by telling him that his first trophy was a fish-duck,and, beautiful as it was, utterly useless.
No more ducks came for a long time after that. The wind continued toincrease, blowing from a clear sky, without scuds. By and by Mr. Kincaidproduced a package of lunch, and they ate, drinking in turn from thedemijohn that Bobby had filled the night before. The sun swung upoverhead, and down the westward slope. With the advance of afternooncame more, but scattered, ducks rushing down the wind at railroad speed,to wheel sometimes into the teeth of it like yachts rounding to as theycaught sight of the decoys. When the sun was low and red, thousands ofblackbirds began to fly by in an unbroken succession, low to the reeds,uttering their chattering and liquid calls. So numerous were they thatthe entire outlook seemed filled with the crossing lines of theirflight, until Bobby's eyes were bewildered, and he could not tellwhether he saw blackbirds near at hand or ducks farther away. Whencethey had come or whither they were going he could not guess; but thatthey had some definite objective he could not doubt. Out from the graydistances of the east they appeared; laboured by against the gale; anddisappeared into the red distances of the west.
Now the evening flight of ducks was on in earnest, and the warmexcitement of decoy-shooting again gripped hard all three occupants ofthe boat. Over the wide marshes spread the brief crimson of evening. Thesun set and dusk came on. It was first indicated, even before aperceptible diminution of daylight, by the vivid flashes from the gun.Then the low western horizon turned to a dark band between sky andwater, and the heavens immediately above took on a pale green lucence ofinfinite depth.
"More wind," said Mr. Kincaid, glancing at it.
Finally, although it was still possible plainly to see the incomingducks against the sky, Mr. Kincaid laid aside his gun and picked up thepunt-pole.
"Mustn't shoot much after sun-down," he told Bobby. "If we do, therewon't be any here in the morning. Nothing drives the duck off themarshes quicker than evening shooting."
He pushed the duck-boat out into the open. Instantly the weight of thewind became evident. Although on the lea side of the pond, the lightboat drifted forward rapidly; and Bobby had to snatch suddenly for hiscap. Mr. Kincaid snubbed her at the edge of the flock of decoys.
"Pick 'em up, Bobby," said he. "You'll have to do it, while I hold theboat."
Bobby lifted the nearest decoy out of the water and, under direction,wound the anchor line around its neck and stowed it away. This was easy.Also the next and the next.
But by the time he had lifted the tenth he had discovered a number ofthings. That a wooden decoy is heavy to lift at arm's length over thegunwale; that it brings with it considerable water; that the anchorlines carry with them a surprisingly greater quantity of water; that thewater is very cold; that said cold water causes the flesh to puff up,the hands to turn numb, and the fingers to ache. This was disagreeable;and Bobby had not been in the habit of continuing to do things afterthey had become disagreeable.
"My, but this is awful cold work!" said he.
Mr. Kincaid looked at him.
"You aren't going to quit, are you?" he asked.
Bobby had not thought of it with this definiteness.
When the issue was thus squarely presented to him, his reply of course,was in the negative. But the night got darker and darker; the decoysheavier and heavier; the water colder and colder. Little by little theglory of the day was draining away. Mr. Kincaid, leaning stronglyagainst the punt-pole, watched him for some time in silence.
"Pretty hard work?" he enquired at last.
"Yes, sir," said Bobby miserably.
"Why is it hard?"
Bobby looked up in surprise.
"Because the water is so cold, and the decoys are hard to lift over theedge," he answered presently.
"No; it's not that," said Mr. Kincaid, "It's because you're thinkingabout how many more there are to do."
Bobby stopped work in the interest of this idea.
"If you're going to be a hunter--or anything else"--went on Mr. Kincaidafter a moment, "you're going to have lots of cold work, and hard workand disagreeable work to do--things that you can't finish in a minute,either, but that may last all day--or all the week. And you'll have todo it. If you get to thinking of how long it's going to take, you'llfind that you will have a tough time, and that probably it won't be donevery well, either. Don't think of how much there is still to do; thinkof how much you have done. Then it'll surprise you how soon it will befinished."
"Yes, sir," said Bobby.
"Now pick 'em up," said Mr. Kincaid, "one at a time. Don't begin to pickup the next one before you get this one out of the water."
Bobby went at it grimly, trying to keep in mind Mr. Kincaid's advice.The task was as disagreeable, and apparently as interminable as ever,but Bobby had gained this: he had not now, even in the subconsciousbackground of h
is mind, any desire to quit; and there no longer pressedupon the weight and cold of the decoy he was at the moment handling, theuseless and imaginary, but real, cold and weight of all the decoys yetto be lifted.
Nevertheless he was very glad when the last had found its place on thepile amidship.
"Good boy!" said Mr. Kincaid. "Now it's all over."
It was somewhat after twilight; although objects about were still to bemade out in the unearthly half-illumination that precedes starlight. Mr.Kincaid lifted his punt-pole and allowed the duck-boat to be carrieddown wind to the other side of the pond. Here floated the dead ducks.They were lying all along the edges of the reeds, their white belliesplainly to be seen. After all those in sight had been picked up, Curlywas allowed a short search on his own account. It made Bobby shiver tosee him plunge into the icy water; but Curly did not mind. He found twomore inside the reeds; then was hauled over the gunwale and settledhimself happily, wet fur and all, in the bottom of the boat.
The homeward trip seemed to Bobby interminable. He was very cold; hisfingers ached; the anticipations of the day had all been used. Thesudden rise of waterfowl near at hand aroused in him no excitement;their presence was just now useless from the shooting standpoint.
"We might try the big slough to-morrow," said Mr. Kincaid, more as anaudible thought than as a remark to Bobby.
"I don't want to go to-morrow," said Bobby.
In spite of Mr. Kincaid's advice, he could not prevent himself fromanticipating the arrival at the cabin-float. A dozen little bends hementally designated as the last before the lagoon; and eachdisappointment came to him as a personal affront.
But finally, when he had fallen into the indifference of misery, the twoelms loomed in silhouette against the skyline.
Mr. Kincaid held the boat while Bobby stepped ashore; then made it fast,and, without bothering with the game, opened the hut and lit the candle.Bobby sat down dully. He had no further interest in life. Mr. Kincaidglanced at his disconsolate little figure humped over on the stool, andsmiled grimly beneath his moustache. But he made no comment; and setabout immediate construction of a fire.
Bobby relapsed into a dull lethargy which took absolutely no account ofspace or time. The shadows danced and flickered against the wall. He sawthem, but as something outside the real centre of his consciousness. Thewind howled by in gusts that shook the structure; Bobby did not care ifit blew the whole thing over!
"Come, Bobby! Supper!" Mr. Kincaid broke in on his black mood.
"I don't believe I want any supper," mumbled Bobby.
Mr. Kincaid took two long steps across to him, picked him and the stoolup bodily, and set him against the table.
"Now get at it," said he.
Bobby languidly tasted a piece of bread and butter.
In five minutes he was at his fifth slice, and had had four eggs andthree pieces of bacon. In ten the world had brightened marvellously. Infifteen Bobby was chattering eagerly between mouthfuls, rehearsing withsome excitement the different events of the day.
"To-morrow," said he, "I'm going to shoot a lot."
"Thought you weren't going to-morrow," suggested Mr. Kincaid.
Bobby smiled shamefacedly.
"That's all right, Bobby," said Mr. Kincaid kindly. "Supper makes a bigdifference to any of us, especially after a long day."
Curly received with gratitude the few scraps and three dog biscuits. Theguns were cleaned and oiled. All the ducks were tied in bunches by theirnecks and hung from hooks on the north side of the hut. Bobby held theheads together while Mr. Kincaid slipped the loops over them. Bothcounted. Bobby made it eighty-four; while Mr. Kincaid's tally was onlyeighty-three.
"Enough, anyway," said the latter.
Then Bobby suddenly found himself so extraordinarily drowsy that heactually fell asleep while taking off his shoes. Mr. Kincaid put him tobed. Outside, the wind howled, the water lapped against the float.Inside, the shadows leaped and fell. But Bobby did not even dream ofducks.