"What was that?" asked Bob.
"A rifle shot," answered Bill.
Their discussion was cut short by another shot, and they heard voices down at the lake. They hurried down to the water and they found Mr. Waterman and Pierre there, the latter with a smoking gun in his hand.
"It's a loon," said Mr. Waterman, as they came up. "Let me have a try," he said, turning to Pierre and reaching for the gun. Pierre handed it over and Mr. Waterman scanned the waterfront closely. In about a minute, a big bird rose to the surface about one hundred yards away and looked around carelessly.
"No use. Too far away," said Pierre.
Mr. Waterman took careful aim and blazed away, but the loon disappeared and the bullet was seen to hit the water right where the bird had been the previous moment. It looked too fast to be true. The stories that the boys had heard of the wonderful quickness of loons were proven to them right then and there.
"I'll get him next time," said Mr. Waterman, as he jumped in another shell. "That blame loon is crazy. He thinks I can't hit him."
"He's right," said Pierre. "I go help fix breakfast," said the Indian, as he walked away.
Sure enough, in a short time up came the loon, and swam around apparently defying fate. Once more Mr. Waterman took steady aim, but the result was just the same.
"That beats the Dutch," said Mr. Waterman. "I thought I had him that time."