“Can’t we do a little shooting?” asked Chet, of Mr. Dawson. “They are heading this way.”
Permission was granted, and both boys rushed below for shotguns. When they came up, the geese were flying almost directly over the Ice King, uttering their strange cries as they did so.
It did not take Andy and Chet long to get into action, and both shotguns spoke up at almost the same time. Each youth fired twice in rapid succession. The geese were so thick they could not help but strike some of them, and three came fluttering down on the deck of the vessel.
“Not a bad haul,” was Barwell Dawson’s comment. “Now you can have roast goose stuffed with onions for tomorrow’s dinner.”
“And we’ll invite all hands to join us,” answered Chet, gaily. “I guess there will be enough to go around.”
“I don’t know about this shooting birds from the ship,” said Captain Williamson, in a low voice. “Some of the sailors don’t believe in that sort of thing. They think it brings bad luck.”
“What do you think?” asked Chet.
“Oh, I am not superstitious,” responded the commander.
The master of the vessel was right—some of his hands were very superstitious—and these deplored the killing of the geese, and refused to touch any of the meat when it was cooked.
“We’ll have trouble, see if we don’t,” said one sailor.