as soon as Hubbard, grabbed my rifle from the canoe. "Drop!" cried
Hubbard, and down we all fell behind the little bank over which the
birds had been sighted. There was fresh meat swimming towards us,
and while we lay waiting for it to come in sight around the little
head of land the excitement was intense.

Soon the leader appeared, and Hubbard and George fired almost
simultaneously. If ever there was a goose that had his goose
cooked, it was that poor, unfortunate leader. One of the bullets
from the .45-70 rifles that were aimed at him went through his
neck, cutting the bone clean and leaving his head hanging by two
little bits of skin. The other bullet bored a hole through his
body, breaking both wings. I did not blame him when he keeled over.
The leader disposed of, Hubbard and George again fired in quick
succession, and two of the other geese dropped just as they were
turning back upstream and vainly trying to rise on their wings,
which were useless so soon after the moulting season. The second
shot emptied George's rifle. He threw it down, grabbed a paddle
and went after one of the birds, which, only slightly wounded, was
flopping about in the water.

Meanwhile Hubbard had fired twice at the fourth goose and missed
both times. His rifle also being empty now, he cast it aside,
seized his pistol, ran around the bank and jumped into the water in
time to head off the remaining goose as it was flopping upstream.
That brought the goose between him and George, and the bird was so
bewildered that Hubbard had time to fire at him twice with his
pistol and kill him, while George effectually disposed of the
wounded goose by swatting him over the head with the paddle. Thus
all four birds were ours, and our exultation knew no bounds. We