Allan nodded, clutching his gun desperately and still squinting along the barrels. There was a loud report, then another, and a third. Two ducks floated quietly on the water. The others, with wild quacks of dismay, paddled to shore and disappeared into the bushes. “Well, of all crazy ducks!” ejaculated Pete, staring after them. “They--they didn’t fly!” said Allan, breathlessly. “Fly! Why, the things are clean locoed! They’re not ducks, they’re--they’re--_I_ don’t know what they are!” Pete stared about him in bewilderment. “They didn’t fly, and so I shot,” Allan explained. “And we only got two!” said Pete, disgustedly. “But they went up there,” said Allan. “Why can’t we go after them?” “And shoot ’em on land?” Pete shook his head slowly. “Allan, I’ve done fool things in my time, but I never shot ducks on land.” “I don’t see what difference it makes,” objected Allan. “Maybe not; maybe you’re used to crazy ducks. I’m not. I refuse to have further dealings with such--such freaks of nature. How we going to get those?” he asked, nodding at the dead birds. “We ought to have brought a dog.” “Or a rowboat. Well, here goes!” He sat down and took off his shoes and stockings. Then, with his trousers rolled up as far as they would go, he waded out into the water. Allan sat down on the bank and promised to rescue him if he went over his depth. Pete reached the first bird--it was the drake he had shot, and it lacked a head--and held it up. He studied it a moment, shaking his head slowly. “What’s the matter?” called Allan. “Oh, nothing; nothing at all. Only I never saw a duck like this before in my life!” “Why, what’s the matter with--” began Allan. Then the words stopped and he jumped to his feet. “Sorry you don’t approve of them,” said a voice behind him, “but they’re the best I’ve got!” [Illustration: “Sorry you don’t approve of them.”] CHAPTER X DINNER FOR TWO The regret, politely expressed though it was, had the effect of a thunderbolt on both Allan and Pete, neither of whom had heard or seen anything to suggest the presence of a third person on the scene. Allan’s surprise was ludicrous enough, but the picture presented by Pete--mouth and eyes wide open and the headless duck held stiffly at arm’s length, his whole attitude suggesting that the icy water in which he stood had suddenly frozen him stiff--caused even the newcomer to smile a little under his mustache. The latter was a rather stout gentleman, of middle age, with ruddy cheeks, piercing dark eyes, and an expression of extreme self-possession. He wore a suit of rough gray tweed and leather leggings and carried a shot-gun. At his side, exhibiting two rows of very white teeth, stood a red and white setter. Allan liked neither the gun nor the dog, and envied Pete his chilly, but more distant, position. The newcomer glanced silently from Allan to Pete. It was the latter who found his voice first. “Those your ducks?” he asked.