attle of the Invigorator, and the
Captain's voice shouting. Reluctantly I disentangled myself from my
blind and went over to see what all the row was about.

"Had enough?" he demanded, cheerily.

I saw that I was supposed to say yes; so I said it. The ducks were still
coming in fast. You see, I was not yet free from the traditions to which
I had been brought up. Back in Michigan, when a man went for a day's
shoot, he stayed with it all day. It was serious business. I was not
yet accustomed to being so close to the game that the casual expedition
was after all the most fun.

So I pulled up my rubber boots, and waded out, gathering in the game. To
my immense surprise I found that I had thirty-seven ducks down. It had
not occurred to me that I had shot half that number, which is perhaps
commentary on how fast ducks had been coming in. It was then only about
eight o'clock. After gathering them in, next we performed the slow and
very moist task of lifting the wooden decoys and winding their anchor
cords around their placid necks. Lastly we gathered in the live ducks.
They came, towed at the end of their tethers, with manifest reluctance;
hanging back at their strings, flapping their wings, and hissing at us
indignantly. I do not think they were frightened, for once we had our
hands on them, they resumed their dignified calm. Only they enjoyed the
fun outside; and they did not fancy the bags inside; a choice eminently
creditable to their sense.

So back we drove to the ranch. The Captain, too, had had good shooting.
Redmond appeared with an immense open hamper into which he dumped the
birds two by two, keeping tally in a loud voice. Redmond thoroughly
enjoyed all the small details.

CHAPTER IX

UNCLE JIM

Each morning, while we still sat at breakfast, Uncle Jim drove up from
the General's in his two-wheeled cart to see if there might be anything
doing. Uncle Jim was a solidly built elderly man, with the brown
complexion and the quizzical, good-humoured eye of the habitual
sportsman. He wore invariably an old shooting coat and a cap that had
seen younger, but perhaps not better, days. His vehicle was a battered
but serviceable two-wheeled cart drawn by a placid though adequate
horse. His weapon for all purposes was a rather ponderous twelve-gauge.

If we projected some sporting expedition Uncle Jim was our man; but if
there proved to be nothing in the wind, he disappeared promptly. He
conducted various trappi