"Brighten up, old man—the worst is always ahead of us," laughed Dave.
"Don't even whisper, fellows," said Bob, a moment later. "Our supper is over there."
"Where—where?" came a low chorus.
"Don't you see a flock of birds in the open space beyond that old oak?"
"Sure," said Dick, in a stage whisper. "We mustn't miss anything like that."
"And won't, either," asserted Havens. "Be careful now."
Cautiously, the hunters spread out, and began to creep along, avoiding obstructions almost as well as Hank Merwin could have done. Not a word was spoken.
Through every opening they eagerly peered, and saw the flock still feeding, unconscious of danger. A little further, and four guns were raised toward the glade. Then four reports echoed, almost in unison, and almost instantly afterward the guns spoke in a more scattered fashion, while a flock of ducks, with loud quacking, took wing and disappeared amid the thick foliage.
"Hurrah!" yelled Bob Somers. "I told you so. We'll have a dandy supper."
Quickly they covered the ground which separated them from the glade, to find three plump birds.