Knowing the ground, and the habits of the waterfowl, Bones quickly
placed his two friends. Then they anxiously awaited the coming of
the first game.

A sort of routine had been arranged. This was to prevent any waste
of ammunition, through two of them shooting at the same quarry.

"Frank, you try the first chap, Ralph the second, and I'll
experiment with my new gun when the next pilgrim spins along.
Don't forget that they are swift customers right here, and the
chances are you'll shoot back of them," said Bones, as they stood
at their posts.

"There, Frank!" exclaimed Ralph, as a couple of dark objects
suddenly burst into view, and sped past them.

But Frank was not taken unawares. He had shot ducks more than once
before, and knew how to properly gauge their flight. Beginning a
little behind the pair he swept his gun forward so as to pass
them; and at just the instant it covered the game in its swinging
movement he pressed the trigger.

One of the ducks fell, stone dead, and the other went on with
diminished speed as though crippled. Almost instantly the second
barrel spoke, and this time down came the second bird.

"Fine!" exclaimed Bones, who had never seen Frank shoot before;
"why, really, I'm ashamed to show my clumsiness before such a
crack shot."