Bill approached still closer. One or two stealthy paddle-strokes, and then he allowed the canoe to drift. So slowly and cautiously was his advance made that the ducks seemed to have lost all fear. No doubt they had mistaken the canoe for part of a floating tree-top. At any rate, Bill soon came within perfect focusing distance. Then, when Ed saw the entire flock plainly outlined in the center of the finder, he pressed the lever of his camera, and the exposure was made.
The click of the shutter was slight, but it had been sufficient to alarm the ducks. With loud, frightened calls they rose from the water, and Ed snapped an exposure of them in flight. Then, on whistling wings, they wheeled over the canoe and, towering higher and higher as they circled the lake, flew rapidly from sight over the distant tree-tops.
“Well, you got them without harming a feather,” laughed Bill, well pleased with his work.
“Yes, and I must thank you,” said Ed, gratefully. “It was wonderful—the way you worked up to them. I shall have some enlargements made from that negative and will send you one, if they’re good, Bill.”
“All right, my son, I’ll be glad to have it,” declared Bill. “Guess we won’t need all this browse around us any longer.” And he and the boys began throwing the branches overboard.
“What kind of ducks were they?” inquired George.
“Wood-ducks, the prettiest little ducks that swim,” replied Bill. “Funny, too; they usually build their nest in a hollow tree, and when the ducklings are hatched, carry them to the water in their bills.”
When the canoe was at last clear of branches the trapper paddled slowly up the lake, his keen eyes constantly alert for something interesting.
Suddenly he brought the canoe to a stop and nodded toward the forest.
“Look half-way up that hemlock, over in that open space,” he said, softly.