iably a small bunch of fat old greenheads were
loafing in the sun.

It now became, not a question of game, for it was always there, but a
question of getting near enough to shoot. To be sure, the tiny pond was
so well covered that a stranger to the country would actually be unaware
of its existence until he broke through the last barrier of tules; but,
by the same token, that cover was the noisiest cover invented for the
protection of ducks. Often and often, when still sixty or seventy yards
distant, we heard the derisive _quack_, _quack_, _quack_, with which a
mallard always takes wing, and, a moment later, would see those wily
birds rising above the horizon. A false step meant a crackle; a stumble
meant a crash. We fairly wormed our way in by inches. Each yard gained
was a triumph. When, finally, after a half hour of Indian work, we had
managed to line up ready for the shot, we felt that we had really a few
congratulations coming. We knew that within fifteen or twenty feet
floated the wariest of feathered game; and _absolutely unconscious of
our presence_.

"Now!" the Captain remarked, aloud, in conversational tones.

We stood up, guns at present. The Captain's command was answered by the
instant beat of wings and the confused quicker calling of alarm. In the
briefest fraction of a second the ducks appeared above the tules. They
had to tower straight up, for the pond was too small and the reeds too
high to permit of any sneaking away. So close were they that we could
see the markings of every feather--the iridescence of the heads, the
delicate, wave-marked cinnamons and grays and browns, even the absurd
little curled plumes over the tails. The guns cracked merrily, the
shooters aiming at the up-stretched necks. Down came the quarry with
mighty splashes that threw the water high. The remnant of the flock
swung away. We stood upright and laughed and joked and exulted after the
long strain of our stalk. Ben plunged in again and again, bringing out
the game.

Of these tule holes there were three. When we had visited them each in
turn we swung back toward the west. There, after much driving, we came
to the land of irrigation ditches again. At each new angle one of us
would descend, sneak cautiously to the bank and, bending low, peer down
the length of the ditch. If ducks were in sight, he located them
carefully and then we made our sneak. If not, we drove on to the next
bend. Once we all lay behind an embankment like a