d to accommodate the shooters. On
reaching the hog field it was proper to disembark, and to line up for an
advance on the corner of the irrigation ditch where I had so
unexpectedly jumped the ducks my first morning on the ranch. In extended
order we approached. If ducks were there, they got a great hammering.
Everybody shot joyously--whether in sure range or not, it must be
confessed. The birds went into a common bag, for it would be impossible
to say who had killed what. After congratulations and reproaches, both
of which might be looked upon as sacrifices to the great god Josh, we
swung to the left and tramped a half mile to the artesian well. The
Invigorator and saddle horses followed at a respectful distance. When we
had investigated the chances at the well, we climbed aboard again and
rattlety-banged across country to the Slough.

The Slough comprised a wide and varied country. In proper application it
was a little winding ravine sunk eight or ten feet below the flat plain,
and filled with water. This water had been grown thick with trees, but
occasionally, for some reason to me unknown, the growth gave space for
tiny open ponds or channels. These were further screened by occasional
willows or greasewood growing on the banks. They were famous loafing
places for mallards.

It was great fun to slip from bend to bend of the Slough, peering
keenly, moving softly, trying to spy through the thick growth to a
glimpse of the clear water. The ducks were very wary. It was necessary
to know the exact location of each piece of open water, its
surroundings, and how best it was to be approached. Only too often, peer
as cautiously as we might, the wily old mallards would catch a glimpse
of some slight motion. At once they would begin to swim back and forth
uneasily. Always then we would withdraw cautiously, hoping against hope
that suspicion would die. It never did. Our stalk would disclose to us
only a troubled surface of water on which floated lightly a half dozen
feathers.

But when things went right we had a beautiful shot. The ducks towered
straight up, trying to get above the level of the brush, affording a
shot at twenty-five or thirty yards' range. We always tried to avoid
shooting at the same bird, but did not always succeed. Old Ben delighted
in this work, for now he had a chance to plunge in after the fallen. As
a matter of fact, it would have been quite useless to shoot ducks in
these circumstances had we not posse