“We’re sorry about the ducks,” called Allan.
“That’s so,” Pete shouted.
The man nodded good-naturedly. Then the trees hid him.
Allan and Pete walked on in silence for a ways. Then—
“Say, he wasn’t such a bad sort, was he?” asked Allan.
“No, he’s all right. I don’t believe he was going to do any more than scare us, anyway. Guess he was just having some fun with us.”
“Wasn’t it funny about the ducks being tame ones?” asked Allan, presently, as they left the woods, climbed over a stone wall, and struck off up a lane.
“That’s a joke on me,” said Pete, laughing. “Ginger! How was I to know that folks left their old ducks floating around loose all over the country here? Out our way, when you see a duck in a lake or on the river, it’s a wild duck, and you just naturally go ahead and shoot it. That’s what bothered me—those fool ducks sitting there and letting me throw rocks at ’em. Next time— Say, I guess that’s our ranch over there.”
Allan’s gaze followed the other’s.