"It is so dark," Jean said at length. "How can we see to shoot, even if they do come?"
Jean seemed to doubt the efficiency of any method of hunting that consisted in sitting down beside a horse blanket and waiting for the game to come up and be shot. She could understand crawling for a hundred yards, head down and heels down, except as a waving foot might serve to semaphore her signals. But to sit and wait. . . . . She was counting stars.
"There they come!" I suddenly breathed, scarce daring to whisper, as a new note came up from the water. "Quietly—quietly."
We rose to our feet and stalked silently to the water's edge. There was nothing to be seen. We were surrounded entirely by reeds higher than our heads. We were sinking slowly in the moist mud; water was trickling through the lace holes in my boots.
"We'll have to go in," I whispered. "Are you game?"
I felt the pressure of her free hand upon my arm.
"Anywhere—with you."
So we stepped quietly but boldly into the water. It came to the ankles, the calves, the knees. Then we were through the reeds and the lake lay before us, dim and misty, like a sheet of frosted glass.
"We'll wait here. If we're lucky they'll come our way."
Out of the air came a rushing. Great wings beat almost upon our heads. But they came and were gone before we knew it.