“I wouldn’t herd cranes,” said Tim, “if they didn’t give me a gun.”
The boys returned to camp in good time and about four o’clock the hunting actually began, for the big Canada geese began to fly over the timber to their resting place on a long sandspit below Inspiration Point.
“One rule,” Mr. Barker called, “about this hunt. Don’t fire at any bird that is too far off. We don’t want to leave any wounded birds in the woods. Tim, you come with me. I’ll tell you when to fire.”
The hunters walked back half a dozen rods, so they would not drop any birds below the cliff, and placed themselves about fifty yards apart on a line parallel to the crest of the bluff.
Half a dozen geese soon came flying just above the tops of the old oaks.
“Aim at the last one,” Barker told Tim. “Take it from behind!”
Tim brought down a large fat goose.
“Good work!” exclaimed the trapper. “Your shot went right in between the feathers. If you had fired at the bird from in front, the shot might have glanced off the heavy coat of feathers. ‘Always aim at a single bird,’ is also a good rule in wing-shooting. If you just fire wildly at the whole flock, you are likely to miss them all.”
Barker at once took up Tim’s goose, saying, “That will just furnish us a good supper with some bacon and corn bread.”
After the goose had been picked and drawn, he put a slender green pole through it, which he laid on two forked sticks close to a hot fire. When one side was partly cooked, he turned the other side to the fire. In this way he prepared a savory meal of wild goose roasted on the spit.