“Yes, very easily,” the trapper told him, “but they don’t breed till they are at least two years old, and they will fly away in the fall unless their wings are clipped.
“Mallard ducks are easily tamed, too, but they will also fly away in fall if their wings are not clipped. I think most of our tame ducks came from wild mallards, a long time ago.”
“Is it true,” the boy wanted to know, “that ducks and geese cannot fly in August?”
“Yes, that’s no foolish tale. Ducks and geese lose all their big wing-feathers at the same time, so that for about two weeks in August they cannot fly. I have come upon a flock of a thousand ducks that spattered about like mud-hens. But their big feathers grow very fast, and they have remarkably strong muscles. I think at this time of the year, in October, they can fly a thousand miles without resting.”
For some time, the hunters continued to pick their way slowly and silently, now through the tall dripping sawgrass, then in the dark shadow of dense river-bottom maples.
Again the trapper crept out into the open, while Bill held his breath waiting for the return of his friend.
“I can’t see them yet,” the old man reported, “but I can hear them cackle. We had better wait here till it is light enough to shoot.”
Daylight seemed a very long time coming, but at last the stars began to fade behind the Wisconsin bluffs, while the woods on the Minnesota hills began to stand out like long black streaks.
“Now,” whispered Barker, “look at your gun. It is time to begin our stalk. Don’t shoot blindly into the flock, but aim at your bird and take it from below or behind. We must not drop any bird crippled, and let it get away. That is poor sportsmanship.”
Without another word, the two hunters crept along for a hundred yards. Barker stepped slowly behind a willow-bush and motioned the boy to follow him.