“There’s a flock of geese coming,” said Archie in a whisper, though the birds were at the moment some miles away. “Take the first shot, Little Bill.”
They had only one gun between them.
“I don’t like to,” said Billie, “that thing gave me such an awful kick last time, and I can’t stand it now.”
“O! there’s no fear, I put in only a small charge of powder-and-shot, on purpose. It won’t kick hard this time. Try.”
“Well, I’ll try,” said Billie, taking the gun.
“Aim well in advance, Bill. They fly fast, and primin’ gets damp sometimes.”
A flock of small geese was approaching. The boys became dumb, but they had remarkably speaking eyes.
Animated by curiosity, the flock descended to observe the decoys. How often that feeling of curiosity has proved fatal—not only to feathered geese!
Little Bill raised his gun. Puff! went the priming. Bang! went the charge. One of the birds, describing a beautiful curve, fell with bursting violence on the ground.
“Well done, Billie,” cried his brother enthusiastically as he leaped over the sheltering brush and ran to secure the prize. “A few like that will give a supper to the whole camp. Now, then,” he added on returning, “you’ll try again.”