“I don’t bet,” said Allan, aggravatingly. “Besides, if I were you, I’d go slow on betting until I’d paid for that dinner.” “What dinner?” “The one you wagered with Tommy.” “Ginger! I’d clean forgotten that. But _that’ll_ be all right.” “You’ll lose.” “Lose nothing! Just you hold your horses and keep your eye on your Uncle Pete. Let’s think what we’ll make Tommy order for us at that feed.” “Let’s go home and get something to eat,” said Allan, irritably. “Home? Not a bit of it! We’ll find a house and beg a Thanksgiving dinner, that’s what we’ll do. Saddle up and let’s mosey along.” He dropped his pipe into his pocket and got to his feet. “There’s bound to be a house somewhere’s about; look at how the woods have been cleared out here. Shouldn’t wonder if we found eight courses and a Hinglish butler.” “One course’ll do me,” groaned Allan, as he got up, “and I don’t care how coarse it is.” “We shot a man out in our county for making a joke like that, and he was a heap homelier than you-- _Listen!_” Allan listened. From beyond the little promontory came the unmistakable quack of a duck. Pete pumped a cartridge into the barrel of his carbine and tiptoed toward the shore. Allan seized his shot-gun, fell over a stone, and followed. Pete waved him back, and then returned. “They’re around that point. We’ve got to go mighty quiet; if we don’t, they’ll fly. Keep low until you get to the pebbles there, and then get down and crawl. Come on!” Allan followed, watching each footstep and trying not to breathe. A clump of trees came down almost to the water at the point, and hid what was beyond. But when Allan had, by painfully wriggling his body, stomach to earth, reached the little expanse of pebbled shore and Pete’s side, his heart leaped for joy. Before them was a little cove, and in it, peacefully moving about its surface, was a flock of ducks. How many there were, he couldn’t tell; there seemed dozens at first. He threw his gun to his shoulder and squinted along the barrel. “Hold on!” whispered Pete. “We’ll have to scare ’em up somehow.” “What for?” Allan whispered, anxiously. “You don’t shoot ducks in the water, you idiot!” answered Pete. “Here, I’ll raise ’em with this stone. Be ready and take ’em as they rise. Wait till you get two together, but shoot quick, and let ’em have both barrels.” He dug a small stone out of the sand and aiming at the middle of the flock, let drive. There was a sensation among the ducks, but not the panic Pete had looked for. They swam away from the spot where the stone sank, and made a good deal of fuss, but not a duck took wing. Pete grunted and threw another rock. The result was the same. The ducks discussed the matter volubly among themselves and swam around in circles, but they didn’t show any intention of flying away. Pete was disgusted. “I’m going to knock that old drake’s head off,” he whispered. “I guess that’ll bring ’em up. All ready?”