“No turkey for supper to-night,” said Younkins, as he picked up his shot-gun and returned with the boys to the cabin. He was “right glad,” he said, to agree to go on a buffalo hunt, if the rest of the party would like to go. He knew there must be buffalo off to the westward. He went with Mr. Fuller and Mr. Battles last year, about this time, and they had great luck. He would come over that evening and set a date with the other men for starting out together.
They were Feasting Themselves on One of the Delicious Watermelons that now so Plentifully Dotted their Own Corn-field.
Elated with this ready consent of Younkins, the lads went across the ford, eager to tell their elders the story of the wild turkeys and poor Major’s exploit. Sandy, carrying his shot-gun on his shoulder, lingered behind while the other two boys hurried up the trail to the log-cabin. He fancied that he heard a noise as of ducks quacking, in the creek that emptied into the Fork just below the ford. So, making his way softly to the densely wooded bank of the creek, he parted the branches with great caution and looked in. What a sight it was! At least fifty fine black ducks were swimming around, feeding and quacking sociably together, entirely unconscious of the wide-open blue eyes that were staring at them from behind the covert of the thicket. Sandy thought them even more wonderful and beautiful than the young fawn and his dam that he had seen on the Fort Riley trail. For a moment, fascinated by the rare spectacle, he gazed wonderingly at the ducks as they swam around, chasing each other, and eagerly hunting for food. It was but for a moment, however. Then he raised his shot-gun, and taking aim into the thickest of the flock, fired both barrels in quick succession. Instantly the gay clamor of the pretty creatures ceased, and the flock rose with a loud whirring of wings, and wheeled away over 162 the tree-tops. The surface of the water, to Sandy’s excited imagination, seemed to be fairly covered with birds, some dead, and some struggling with wounded limbs. The other two boys, startled by the double report from Sandy’s gun, came scampering down the trail, just as the lad, all excitement, was stripping off his clothes to wade into the creek for his game.
“Ducks! Black ducks! I’ve shot a million of ’em!” cried the boy, exultingly; and in another instant he plunged into the water up to his middle, gathering the ducks by the legs and bringing them to the bank, where Charlie and Oscar, discreetly keeping out of the oozy creek, received them, counting the birds as they threw them on the grass.
“Eighteen, all told!” shouted Oscar, when the last bird had been caught, as it floundered about among the weeds, and brought ashore.
“Eighteen ducks in two shots!” cried Sandy, his freckled face fairly beaming with delight. “Did ever anybody see such luck?”
They all thought that nobody ever had.