[ CHAPTER XIII]
AN UNEXPECTED BAG
Spring came early, but none too early for the majority of Beaufort people. In particular, none too early for Ned, whose ankle was proving a check on his farther winter sports; and none too early for Tom, to whom Christmas had brought a gun which he had hardly been able to use even on rabbits; and none too early for Bob, who, as has been said, was not a cold-weather dog.
With the advent of the south winds and the steady dripping thaw, Ned’s ankle and Tom’s cough—keepsakes from that memorable Newton trip—rapidly disappeared; and the nearer ventured the ducks, the stronger felt the two boys. Together—Tom no longer Ned’s squire, but now, by virtue of that Christmas present, become his brother-at-arms—they haunted the levee, watching for the flight to set in and the ice to go out.
Bob accompanied them. But he was not especially interested in ducks. Dread of gun forbade him to hunt them, alive; and instinct forbade him to gnaw the bones of them, dead. Summer really was Bob’s only unclouded season, for then he could share in all Ned’s excursions. Still, even a dog cannot go through life without trials.
All through the spring vacation that ice which had made such good skating on the Mississippi hung and hung, regardless of the fact that its mission had been fulfilled, and that it ought to leave the field to the hunters. Meanwhile the wild fowl had been making use of the Missouri waterway; and when, at last, the blockade in the Mississippi was lifted, and in the shape of enormous floes of slush swept down the channel, mashing against the piers of the Beaufort bridge and piling up on the shores, the relief was too late.
Most of the ducks had passed by, on another route, and Ned and Tom had killed never a one.
Tom was disappointed beyond measure. His new gun yearned for its first duck, and but illy submitted to the superior blood-record of Ned’s gun. Probably this is why, in its mistaken zeal, it brought to bag what it did.