Barbour Ralph Henry
On Your Mark! A Story of College Life and Athletics
CHAPTER IX
THE DUCK HUNT
Thanksgiving Day dawned cloudy and still, with a hint of snow in the air. Allan slept late, in enjoyment of holiday privileges, and Pete was banging at his front window before he had finished dressing.
They reached Brown Hall a bare two minutes before the doors closed, and hurried through a light breakfast. Ten o’clock found them walking briskly along the Morrisville road, some four miles from college, having crossed the river by the county bridge and turned to the left through the little town of Kirkplain, which is opposite Centerport. Allan wore a white sweater, over which he had pulled an old coat; the pockets of the latter were bulging with shells. Pete wore a canvas hunting-coat and carried his cartridges in a belt. The Winchester was slung over his shoulder, and altogether he made a formidable appearance. Allan had the shot-gun. Tommy had refused to accompany them, pleading, as ever, a press of business; Hal had taken himself off to the bosom of his family.
So far they had seen nothing to shoot at save a red squirrel. Allan had impulsively sought to bring that down, but had failed for the excellent reason that he had forgotten to load. The squirrel had seemed to appreciate the humor of the incident and had chattered in their faces from the bough of a dead maple-tree. Allan had been glad afterward that the gun hadn’t gone off.
The blunder reminded Pete of a parallel case in his own experience, and he had told it so well that Allan had been forced to sit on a rock in order to recover from his fit of laughter. This story led to others. Pete proved a perfect mine of interesting narratives on hunting adventure, some of them laughable, some of them so exciting that Allan forgot how heavy the shot-gun under his arm had become.
When they struck the cross-roads, some three miles from Kirkplain, they were in the best of spirits. They took the road to the left, which leads down to the river and the ferry to Harwich. At the ferry they left beaten tracks and followed the river-bank.
The travel was slower now, both because they had to break their way through underbrush, make detours around inlets, cross brooks, and climb an occasional fence, and because they were keeping their eyes open for game. Allan had never done much hunting, and he was becoming quite excited at the prospect.
Pete led the way, forcing his big body through the bushes with scarce a sound, while Allan could make no progress without causing enough disturbance to frighten any self-respecting duck a mile distant. Pete seemed to realize this fact, for he frequently looked back at Allan with pursed lips and violent shakes of his head, and then glanced anxiously at the river. After a half mile of this, Pete stopped in a little clearing and leaned his rifle against a bush. Allan joined him, very much out of breath.
“See anything?” he panted, hoarsely. Pete shook his head.
A few yards away lay the river, sluggish and leaden under gray sky. At their backs the ground rose gently, and the reeds and bushes gave place to a thick growth of trees. A few rods further up-stream was a little promontory. Everything was very still save for the chirp of the birds in the woods and the infrequent screech of a locomotive-whistle from toward Centerport. Across the river and further down-stream the little hamlet of Harwich nestled under its leafless elms. Pete sat down and drew forth his corn-cob pipe.
“Might as well take a rest,” he said. “Smoke?”
“No, thanks.” Allan didn’t possess a pipe of his own, and wouldn’t have attempted Pete’s for a ten-dollar bill; the very smell of it frequently made him faint. Pete stuffed the blackened bowl full of dry tobacco and lighted it. Then he leaned back on one elbow and puffed contentedly for a moment. Allan nibbled the end of a grass-blade and stared across the empty stream.
“This is about the place where we saw those birds the other day,” said Pete, finally. “Guess they’ve pulled their freight. Sorry!”
“What’s the diff?” asked Allan. “We’ve had the walk. Besides, maybe we’ll find a gray squirrel if we go back through the woods.”
“Anyhow, I don’t guess there’s any use going farther up the river. What time is it, I wonder? Did you bring your watch?”
“Quarter of twelve,” said Allan. “Getting hungry?”
“I could eat a saddle!” answered Pete. “Supposing we go back and take the ferry over to Harwich? Is there any place there we could get a feed?”
“I don’t know, but I should think there ought to be. Got any money?”
Pete sat up suddenly and searched his pockets.
“Not a red!” he exclaimed. “I forgot to change.”
“Same here,” said Allan, dolefully. Pete picked his pipe up from where it had fallen and relighted it. Then he threw himself onto his back, put one leg over the other knee, and chuckled.
“I don’t think it’s so terribly funny,” said Allan, aggrievedly. “We can’t get home until three or four o’clock. Wish we’d had sense enough to bring lunch with us.”
“Yes; a half dozen sandwiches and a piece of pie wouldn’t go so bad, would they? Nice thick sandwiches, with ham or beef inside, and lots of butter and mustard. And – what kind of pie do you like best, Allan?”
“Oh, shut up, you!”
“I like pumpkin – or, maybe, apple. Yes, apple’s pretty hard to beat. We’ll have apple; about three pieces each.”
Allan groaned and threw a handful of dried grass into Pete’s face. Pete brushed it aside and went on:
“When we get the table going, we’ll get Mother Pearson to give us apple-pie every night.”
“Yes, when you do!” growled Allan.
“Oh, that’s all right, my son. Just because the only fellow I’ve found wouldn’t join, you needn’t think that table isn’t going to be. Hal’s going to introduce me to Maitland and Van Something – ”
“Van Sciver.”
“If you say so. And Cooper; and I’ll bet you a bunch of cows I get that table filled up inside of a week. Want to bet?”
“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?”
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!”
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.
The man nodded. Pete looked again at the drake in his hand.
“Oh!” he said.
The dog growled and Allan observed that the man’s gun was cocked and that it was held in a position that was far from reassuring. Pete regarded the man with a puzzled expression.
“Look here, partner,” he asked, “are those tame ducks?”
“They are, sir.”
Pete’s face cleared; a grin overspread his features, and he chuckled aloud as he waded back to shore.
“You seem amused?” said the man, politely but with a note of interrogation.
“Well, I’m mighty relieved, as the broncho said when he bucked the man off. You see, I thought they were wild ducks, and when they wouldn’t fly, I was afraid they were degenerating. Of course, as they were tame ducks, it’s all right.” Pete waded out of the water and the setter laid back his ears and growled suspiciously. “Hello, dog!” said Pete, as he went toward where he had deposited his shoes, stockings, and rifle.
“Just stay where you are, please!” said the man. He waved toward Pete’s possessions. The dog trotted over to them and stood guard, watching their owner intently. Pete’s grin broadened. He tossed down the duck he had rescued.
“There’s another out there,” he said. “Guess the dog could get it, couldn’t he?”
“Where do you gentlemen belong?” asked the man. The gentlemen exchanged glances. Then —
“Centerport,” answered Allan.
“Students?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Humph!” said the owner of the ducks. “Want me to believe you thought my ducks were wild ones, do you?”
“You don’t suppose we’d walk six miles to shoot tame ones, do you?” asked Pete, scathingly. The man shrugged his shoulders.
“I suppose you’re ready to pay for the pair you’ve shot?”
“Glad to,” answered Pete. “How much?”
“Well, I guess a dollar will do. They were both Pekins.”
“Can’t say I’ve had a dollar’s worth of sport,” said Pete, “but here’s your money.” He put a hand into his trouser pocket. Then he stopped short and looked with dismay at Allan. The owner of the ducks waited silently.
“Guess you’ll have to trust us, partner,” said Pete. “We both came away without any money.” Allan, fearing arrest would follow this announcement, held his breath. But the man only smiled courteously.
“Very well,” he answered. “There is no hurry.”
“Thanks!” said Pete. He looked inquiringly toward the dog. “How about my shoes and stockings? It’s a bit chilly.”
“I fancy your walk back will warm you up,” said the man. Pete whistled.
“Going to keep ’em for security, eh?” he asked. The other nodded gravely.
“Couldn’t compromise, I suppose?” Pete insinuated. “That carbine’s worth a good bit more’n a dollar. It’s hard walking without any shoes.”
“I dare say,” was the reply. “But maybe if you stub your toe a few times, it’ll remind you to find out whether a duck is domestic or wild before you shoot it.”
“Look here, Mr. Whatever-your-name-is,” said Allan, explosively, “you’ll get your old dollar. We’re not thieves. But you’ve got to let him have his shoes and stockings.”
“If I don’t?” asked the man, with a flicker of appreciation in his eyes.
“Why – we’ll just take them, that’s all.”
“I wonder if you could do it?” said the other, measuring the two with his eyes. “I almost believe you could.”
“Well, then – ” began Allan.
“But of course you’d get damaged in the process,” continued the other, cheerfully. “Now, look here; you’ve killed my ducks, and it’s only right that you should pay for them. Isn’t that so?”
“Yes; but if we have no money – ”
“That’s it,” was the answer. “It doesn’t seem probable that you two students would come six miles from college without any money. Where are you going to get your dinner?”
“There isn’t going to be any dinner,” said Pete. “You can believe us or not, just as you like, and be hanged to you! If you’ll put down your gun, I’ll lick you.”
“That’s an honest offer,” said the man, smiling outright for the first time, “but it isn’t just practical. I rather think you could do it, and I don’t see why I should be licked merely because you have killed my ducks. Do you?”
“I guess that’s so, partner,” Pete answered. “But something’s got to be done. I can’t walk home without any shoes.”
The man received this assertion in silence, glancing thoughtfully from Pete to the articles in discussion. The dog looked suspiciously from Pete to Allan. Allan scowled at the dog’s master. The latter spoke:
“Here, Jack!”
Jack went to him unwillingly. Pete picked up his shoes and stockings.
“Thanks!” he said. Then he put them on. The man watched him smilingly. When the last lace was tied, Pete got up.
“My name’s Burley,” he said. “I’ll come over with your money to-morrow or next day. Come on, Allan. Good day, sir.”
“You’re forgetting your rifle,” said the man. Pete looked puzzled. Then —
“Do I get that, too?” he asked.
“Yes, you might as well take that along, I guess.” Pete went back and got it. “Where you going now?” asked the man.
“Home,” said Pete.
“But how about dinner?”
“Well, maybe we’ll beg something to eat on the way. I guess there ain’t any place around here where they’d take a Winchester carbine as security for a Thanksgiving dinner, is there?” asked Pete, with a smile. The stranger answered the smile.
“Hardly. But I tell you what you do. Strike straight up through the woods here over the hill till you come to a lane. Keep along that for a quarter of a mile until you come to a big brown house standing back from the lane. You go there and tell ’em you’re hungry, and you’ll get plenty to eat. Ask for Mr. Guild. Don’t forget, now; first house you come to. There isn’t another for a mile further, so you’d better follow my advice.”
“Thanks!” said Pete. Allan echoed him.
“All right,” said the man, smiling kindly. “Good morning, gentlemen.”
“Good morning,” they answered. They started off through the woods in the direction he had indicated, but after a few yards Allan turned and looked back. The man, with the setter at heel, was moving along a path at right angles to them. He glanced up and waved his hand.
“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.
A turn in the lane laid bare a broad expanse of lawn, interspersed with ornamental trees and shrubbery, beyond which stood a long, rambling house of brown-shingled walls and numerous red chimneys. Farther off were stables and barns. From the chimneys the smoke arose straight into the still air, suggesting warmth and good cheer. The boys paused and looked longingly across the lawn.
“Shall we try it?” asked Allan.
“Sure!” Pete said. “I’m so hungry I could eat cedar bark.”
“But what will they think?” Allan demurred. “It isn’t as though it were a farmhouse, you know.”
“That’s all right; the sweller the folks the better the rations. Come on; let’s cut across here.”
“We’ll just ask for some bread and a glass of milk,” suggested Allan.
“Bread and milk? Ginger! I’ve got to have pie and hot coffee!”
“But we’ll go to the back door, won’t we?”
“Like tramps? Not a bit of it. We’ll go to the front. What was the name he told us?”
“Guild.”
“That’s right; Guild. Hello! look there; there’s another one of those setter dogs. Looks just like the beast the fellow back there had, doesn’t it?”
But this dog only observed them indifferently from a respectful distance, and then trotted around the corner of the house as they mounted the broad steps, crossed a wide veranda, and pushed the ivory button beside the big oaken door. Allan strove to appear at ease, but in reality looked as though he had come to steal the family silver. A neatly-aproned maid opened the door.
“Is Mr. Guild in?” asked Pete, with unruffled composure.
“Yes, sir. Will you please walk in?” They followed her into a library, in which a wood fire was crackling merrily in the chimney-place. Allan felt like an impostor. Pete calmly selected the easiest chair and lowered himself into it with a deep sigh of contentment.
“This is something like!” he said. “I’ll bet we’ll get two or three kinds of pie, Allan.”
But Allan, sitting uncomfortably on the edge of a straight-backed chair, only smiled distressedly and listened to the footsteps coming nearer and nearer down the uncarpeted hall. The footsteps reached the door; Pete and Allan got to their feet as the door swung open.
“Mr. Guild – ” began Pete. Then he stopped short.
Before them was the owner of the ducks!
