hhold."

IX

"This is all on my ranch," said Isabel; "so there is no danger of being
peppered. The rest of the marsh is owned by clubs, and as there was no
shooting here last year the ducks should be thicker than anywhere else.
We should get our fifty apiece in no time."

They were entering a narrow slough, hardly wider than the boat. It cut
its zigzag way through the marsh for many miles, and they could follow
its course with the eye but a few feet at a time. Gwynne shipped the
oars and began to scull, his gun across his knee. Isabel, in front and
with her back to him, sat with her own gun ready for a shot. On one side
of them was a large piece of marsh-land, on the left, smaller patches,
and little islands caught in the long grasping fingers of the tide.
Gwynne had attired himself with an ill grace in a pair of his cousin
Hiram's rubber boots that completely covered his body below the waist,
and an old shooting-coat with capacious pockets. Isabel wore a similar
costume, and but for her hair might have been mistaken for a lad. She
possessed no interest for Gwynne whatever at the moment. Nor did
anything else but the prospect of a new and exciting sport. The October
evening was mellow and full of color, the entire reach of the marsh
steeped in a golden haze shed from the glory in the west. Even the
forests and the lower ridges rising to Tamalpais had something aqueous
in their vague outlines, swayed gently in the golden tide. Only the tide
lands were green; the very water was yellow. Here and there, but far
away, a mast or sail rose above the level surface of the marsh. From the
distance came the sound of constant shooting.

Gwynne sculled silently, but with some impatience. They had left the
open creek far behind and had not seen a duck. Suddenly Isabel's gun
leaped to her shoulder. They rounded a sharp point and the whole surface
of the narrow slough between them and the next bend was black with
sleeping ducks. Gwynne's knee moved automatically to the seat in front
of him, and as the startled birds rose he and Isabel fired to right and
left. The scattering shot played havoc, and the second charge brought
down at least half as many on the higher wing. Isabel reloaded the guns
while Gwynne went for the ducks that had fallen on the land. He fell
into several holes himself, and returned covered with mud, but waving
his birds in triumph; and once more they stole softly along their
winding way. The shot had rous