Breakfast was eaten with the rising sun. Shortly after, the exhaust of the "Nimrod" sounded and almost immediately she came in view. The work of mooring1 her alongside the "Rambler" occupied but a short time, whereupon the Trailers, in high spirits, trooped ashore2. Bob Somers had kept an eagle eye on their boat during the entire proceeding3, in order to make sure that no trick was attempted.
The poet laureate looked at the thick tract5 of woods ahead, then toward a nice, grassy6 knoll7 close by.
"I'll mind the boats," he said, briefly8.
"We'll bring our game bags back full to overflowing," volunteered Nat. "Be sure to have a fire big enough to roast an ox."
With long strides, tall and slim John Hackett led the way, causing little Tom Clifton to run occasionally in order to keep pace.
"The best plan is to go as far as possible into the interior," urged Nat; "then we may get a shot at something worth while."
"Yes, what's the use of popping at little two ounce squirrels, when there are bears and wolves around?" said John Hackett, slyly glancing at Tom.
"To say nothing of deer, and fierce wildcats," chimed in Bob, smilingly.
"A little army like we are would scare off anything that toddles9 on four legs," declared Sam; "we had better not make such a racket."
"It doesn't make any difference yet," said Kirk Talbot, picking himself up, a creeping vine having sent him headlong.
After making their way through a dense10 thicket11, they reached the banks of a small but rapid stream. This was crossed by means of a few stones which rested in the swirling12 and bubbling water.
Just a few paces further along, John Hackett gave an illustration of how not to carry a gun. Swinging it carelessly over his shoulder, his hand grasping the barrel, he pushed ahead. A low-hanging branch in some manner caught the hammer, pulling it back and then releasing it. The unexpected explosion that followed made the boys fairly jump in alarm, while "Hatchet13" turned white.
"Great Cæsar!" cried Bob. "Shoot at a grasshopper14, Hackett?"
"Hacky knows he can't hit anything more than three feet away," grinned Nat.
"I thought a gun's trigger was meant to be pulled by hand," said Dick, with a wink15 at Tom Clifton.
"Cut it out," growled16 John; "you fellows needn't think you're smart."
"Guns and hunting knives! Don't get in front of him," laughed Kirk.
"You're too fresh, Tadpole," warned Hackett. "Mind, now!"
His long arm swept around in a circle, but Dick, with a grin, jumped nimbly aside.
In the hope of striking big game, they pushed on, sometimes being compelled to fairly force their way through dense masses of underbrush or interlacing branches. The chattering17 red squirrels and rabbits which occasionally darted18 for cover were unmolested.
Wild flowers grew on grassy banks, bright bits of moss19 gleamed in the sunlight, while cool and grateful shadows afforded relief from Old Sol's rays.
"I only wish we could see a wildcat or a wolf," said John Hackett, boastfully. "My little friend, would you run?" he asked, turning to Tom Clifton.
"Not with a mighty21 hunter like you around," responded the lad, and even "Hatchet" joined in the laugh that followed.
On the crest22 of a hill, they saw a stretch of water in the valley below them, its mirror-like surface reflecting the mottled sky. It was a lake, apparently23 about a half mile long.
"We ought to be stirring up some game pretty soon now," observed Bob Somers; "but I suppose we shall have to satisfy ourselves with the next size smaller than a bear."
They partly plunged24 into the woods again, descending25 by slow degrees until they were near the water. To their chagrin26, they found it surrounded by cliffs and huge boulders27 making progress so difficult that a long detour28 was necessary. After an hour's hard tramping, the party succeeded in rounding the nearest end of the sheet of water, where they were obliged to halt for rest and refreshment29.
The way now became less difficult. There were numerous open spaces and many bits of marsh-land which promised game of some kind, but their explorations were not rewarded.
Disappointed, but not discouraged, the journey was continued, until the base of a high elevation30 was directly before them. The slope was beautifully wooded, and they lost no time in beginning what proved to be a very hard climb. Small game was plentiful31, none, however, drawing forth32 a shot.
The boys were all thoroughly33 tired when they stood upon the summit of the ridge34 and gazed down upon another lake.
"Ducks!" cried John Hackett. "Just look at those spots on the water."
The eight young sportsmen feasted their eyes upon the alluring35 sight.
"Let us circle around and get on the leeward36 side," said Bob. "Don't make a sound."
"We ought to get a dozen," whispered Dick Travers, excitedly.
"A dozen," said John Hackett, "a dozen? Just wait until I draw a bead37 upon them; it's going to be a bad day in the duck family. Come on! What are we standing38 here for?"
It required fully20 half an hour before the young hunters reached the coveted39 position. Then, screened by a perfect bower40 of small trees which reached clear to the water's edge, they began manœuvering to get in range.
On the alert to acquit41 himself with glory, John Hackett could no longer resist the temptation to fire, especially as to his excited imagination the birds were about to rise in a body. Suddenly bringing the gun to his shoulder, he pulled the trigger. A loud report sounded, instantly followed by a most deafening42 succession of shots that awakened43 echoes from far and wide. The members of the two clubs had observed Hackett's action just in time, and not intending to be deprived of their share in the sport, had instantly leveled their guns and fired.
A tremendous amount of white smoke began to slowly clear away, when it became apparent that the result of their shooting was both unexpected and extraordinary.
Two ducks were paddling leisurely44 toward the shore, as if they did not quite like what had happened, several others had turned upside down and were seen to be minus legs, while still another, with its head blown entirely45 off, bobbed serenely46 on the ripples47.
"Hulloa, what's this?" cried Kirk. "Did we bag the whole lot?"
A furious barking sounded from a short distance to the right, heavy footsteps were heard crashing through the underbrush, then a pack of nondescript dogs, making the very air ring with their discordant48 snarls49 and howls, burst into view, quickly surrounding the astonished hunters.
An instant later, a surprisingly big man, followed by a tall lank50 youth, dashed at full speed toward them. Both were armed with guns, and their demeanor51 indicated extreme displeasure.
"There he is, pop," shouted the younger. "I saw that one shoot."
Before John Hackett could comprehend what was happening, an enormous hand gripped him by the collar.
"I'll learn you to be shooting my tame ducks and decoys," roared a deep voice, and the amazed "Hatchet" found himself in a position unfortunately like that of a rat caught by a terrier. The big hand moved rapidly back and forth, John going with it.
His furious struggles were of no avail.
"Don't stand around like a lot of noodles, fellows," screamed the unfortunate youth, at the top of his voice, during a lull52 in the proceeding; "wait till I get loose!"
A vigorous shove sent him sliding beside his gun, which lay in the tall grass.
The whole affair had taken place in a few brief moments. With a savage53 exclamation54, accompanied by a threatening wave of his hand, the tall youth silenced the snarling55 and excited dogs.
"I'm a-going to have the whole gang of you took up," declared the big man, hoarsely56. "I can stand being stole from, which more than one has tried to do, but I don't keer to have my property blowed into little bits fer nothin'."
"Ha, ha," laughed Nat Wingate; "I wish—"
"Now don't begin any sass, fer I'm that mad I could—"
He was, in turn, interrupted. "Have you got 'em, Stevy?" screamed a shrill58 voice, and a stout59 woman of not unprepossessing mien60, panting and breathless, came hurrying up.
"Them's the scallywags," roared her husband.
"What, this crowd? Why they are nothing but boys, the poor dears."
"Maybe—but sich boys."
"He nearly dislocated that boy's shoulder," spoke61 up Nat Wingate, pointing to John as he edged slowly away.
"The idea—Steven Burr a-laying of violent hands on a boy—the idea, I say."
"Eh—what?" stammered62 the big man.
John Hackett, who was still lying on the grass for the purpose of effect, seized the opportunity to slowly and painfully arise.
"I may be a boy," he shouted, almost beside himself with anger, "but anybody who dares to touch me has got to fight. Come on, you great big overgrown farmer!"
Perfectly63 regardless of consequences in his passion, "Hatchet" danced around and around, swinging his fists with extraordinary rapidity.
"If it wasn't for your wife, you big coward, I'd fix you, and that in short order."
"We are sorry for what occurred," interposed Bob Somers, at this point, addressing Mr. Burr, "but you made a mistake in acting64 so hastily."
"Well, then, what d'ye mean by this piece of business?"
"Well, we took the birds for wild ducks, strange as it may appear," drawled Nat, who had witnessed his friend's discomfiture65 without much apparent evidence of pain. The speaker began to laugh. "Say," he exclaimed, "do you keep a duckery or a quackery66?"
"Ha, ha, ha," roared the big man, slapping his knees, while his wife and son joined in. "Ha, ha, ha, wild ducks! 'Pon my word, wild ducks! Did you ever hear the beat of it?"
"The mistake was a natural one," said Bob, calmly. "We had no idea that anybody lived around here."
"But I never heard of decoy ducks being shot at."
"Probably not," volunteered Nat, glibly67. "I tell you, Mr. Burr, the circumstances were unusual. Those two or three real quackers were so much like the wooden ones that you ought to have a 'don't shoot' sign put up."
"Think those decoys were pretty good, then?" inquired the slim youth.
"Bang up," said Nat, unable to repress a laugh at his own humor. "That's the reason we fired at them."
"I made 'em myself," continued the slim youth. "Pop says he never seen such good ones."
"Just so," added Mr. Burr, whose anger was greatly appeased68. "They will certainly draw the birds."
"It seems, then, that we have paid them an unintentional compliment," said Bob.
"I'm willing to view the incident in that light," said Mr. Burr. "I hope the young gentleman who come so near to fixing me ain't got no ill will."
"Don't 'young gen............