"Well, we've got two—four—hold on, there!"
Sam fell to reloading his gun with all possible haste, while Oscar quickly resumed his seat, picked up the oars, and turned the boat's head down the stream. Three of the ducks had come down with broken wings and were now swimming rapidly away into the fog.
It did not take Sam much longer to charge his old-fashioned muzzle-loader than it would take you to charge your new-fashioned breech-loader. He never used loose shot during a hunt. On rainy days, when he had nothing else to do, he put up a lot of cartridges.
He first made a number of paper bags, a little smaller than the bore of his gun, and glued a wad fast to one end of them. When they became dry, he filled them with different kinds of shot, putting bird-shot in one and duck-shot in another, closed the bag and fastened another wad at that end. Then all he had to do, when he wanted to load his gun, was to pour in the powder from his flask, drive home a couple of these cartridges, which he carried loose in his coat-pocket, put on the caps, which he carried loose in his vest-pocket, and the weapon was ready to be discharged.
All this he did in the same space of time that Oscar occupied in turning the boat around. He made sure work of two of the wounded ducks, and the other, which seemed too badly hurt to dive, was knocked on the head with an oar.
They secured seven ducks that time, and twelve more out of three other flocks which passed over their heads within the next twenty minutes.
"Now, let me row awhile," said Sam, when the last bird had been picked up. "You are doing all the work, and I am having all the fun."
"Yes, you have had all the best of it," answered Oscar, as he exchanged places with his companion. "It is going to blow now, and this fog will all be gone in ten minutes. I think we had better go down to the head of the island and put out our decoys."
It turned out just as Oscar said it would. The breeze, which had sprung up since they left the shore, grew stronger every minute, the fog rapidly faded away, and in a quarter of an hour the young hunters had a clear river before them.
The village was out of sight behind the point, and Squaw Island—their favorite camping and shooting ground—was in plain view and about two miles away.