It was a ride of more than ten miles. The horse, while not a fast animal, could keep up a steady pace, and in good time they arrived at the farm which Doctor Shadduck owned.
As the afternoon was passing, and night comes early after the middle of November, the three young sportsmen hastened to head for the swamp where they anticipated having an hour or so of pleasure before dark actually shut in.
Bones had often come up here on a similar errand, though this was his first visit this year. Still, he kept things in such shape that there was little time wasted making the necessary arrangements.
He had a few painted decoys that had seen much service and these they carried along with them from the house.
Seeing Frank curiously examining one of the stools he carried, Bones broke out into a hearty laugh.
"Wondering what peppered that wooden decoy so, eh, Frank? I'll tell you, though you'll never enjoy the story as much as I did the actual thing. I had a cousin up here last winter. He was from New York City, and had never shot at real game, though he was a deadly marksman when it came to the trap, and could break bats and clay pigeons right along."
"I've seen the breed," commented Frank, with a grin.
"Well, when we came crawling out here I forgot that I had asked Benson to put my little flock of decoys out for me. The first thing I knew I heard a bang close to my ear, and then a second shot, after which Cousin Hal jumped up shouting that he had knocked over the entire bunch. He had, but you ought to have seen his look when I sent him wading out to retrieve the game. Still, he laughed himself at the joke, and begged me not to tell it till after he left."
"I guess they'll float about as well as ever, even if weighted down with shot. Have you got a boat up here, Bones?" asked Ralph.
"Sure I have, and a dandy one to shoot out of, being flat-bottomed and steady as a church floor. But I only use it to retrieve the game generally; because you see, we can shoot from the land as the ducks fly over to enter the swamp."