“I dunno, son. I dunno. I reckon dey ain’ had to look hard as mine,” and he chuckled with pleasure at the compliment Sherry paid him.
Uncle’s calm black face filled with a warm friendly smile. Uncle’s bright eyes, keen and cold, flitted swiftly from Sherry’s face to Breeze’s, then beyond them to the ducks he saw in the distance. Breeze began to see more in Uncle Bill’s black features than he did at first. They were more than wrinkled flesh that time had creased and withered, for not only shrewdness, but wisdom and pity shone in the clear-seeing eyes; and the old mouth, where so many teeth were missing, tightened its lips in a way that meant more than caution and prudence.
Breeze gazed at every bit of the surface ahead, starting with the water where sunshine dazzled close beside the boat and ending where the hazy sky dropped down to join the earth, but he couldn’t see any ducks.
“Looka right yonder!” Uncle Bill pointed to direct his eyes and he made out two tiny black specks side by side on the water.
“You must shoot dose two,” Sherry said. “It ain’t against de law to kill bull-necks, and maybe dey’ll stay on de water until we get in gunshot.”
“You better shoot ’em, Cun Sherry. I can’t hit ’em.” Breeze hesitated although his heart was beating fit to burst with excitement at the thought of shooting a gun.
“No, dem’s you’ ducks. You must kill ’em,” Sherry insisted. “If you do like I tell you, you can’ miss em. I don’ mind breakin’ de law, so I’ll hit de summer ducks and you kill de lawful ones.”
“I’m scared I’ll miss ’em.” Breeze’s voice quivered so shakily Sherry laughed.
“No you won’t. I’ll tell you how to do,” he said gently.
Uncle Bill headed the boat straight for the two small dots which were swimming toward it, and soon Breeze could see the gray of their feathers and the bright orange color of their bills. They seemed not to know their danger even when Uncle Bill stopped paddling and Sherry whispered to Breeze.