stood up to arouse the ducks, hoping to send them to my companions. They
filled the air with a great clatter of wings, and circled off to various
portions of the valley. I heard a great bombardment as they crossed the
other lakes, and I knew that someone had taken toll from them.

It was a beautiful day, with cloudless sky. The sun's warm summer like
rays were in marked contrast to the icy breath of winter, encountered at
sunrise. What a grand sunrise it was! From behind the mountains of the
East, up out of the depths of the Salton Sea, Old Sol first illuminated
the sky, the mountain tops and wooded ridges to the southwest and north,
and then with a rich show of crimson coloring, he suddenly vaulted into
the sky, touching with his golden wand each frosted leaf and frozen bush
and tree, and hill and vale and mountain top.

Fine Luck.

We shot with varying success during the morning hours.

Many of the ducks, especially the larger ones, circled high in the air
like miniature aeroplanes, almost beyond human vision. How they sped on
frightened wings, gradually going higher and higher, and finally darting
off over the eastern rim of the valley in the direction of Salton Sea.
Just before noon time my companion at one of the lakes, and myself,
gathered up our ducks and hung them high in a tree at the water's edge.
We then went to another lake by which the autos stood, where we had
agreed to muster for lunch. The entire party were in high spirits, and
pronounced the sport the best they had ever had.

After lunch two of the party in the runabout drove out of the valley to
some place familiar to them. They returned later with the limit of