The Killer

  CHAPTER IV

  THE EARLY BIRD

  I was awakened rather early by Redmond, who silently entered the room,lit a kerosene stove, closed the windows, and departed. As I was nowbeneath two blankets and an eiderdown quilt, and my nose was cold, I wasduly grateful. Mistaking the rite for a signal to arise, I did so; andshortly descended. The three fireplaces were crackling away merrily, butthey had done little to mitigate the atmosphere as yet. Maids weredusting and sweeping. The table was not yet set. Inquiry telling thatbreakfast was more than an hour later, I took a gun from the rack,pocketed the only five shells in sight, and departed to see what I couldsee.

  The outer world was crisp with frost. I clambered over the corral fence,made my way through a hundred acres or so of slumbering pigs, and soemerged into the open country.

  In the middle distance and perhaps a mile away was a low fringe ofbrush; to the left an equal distance a group of willows; and almostbehind me a clump of cottonwoods. I resolved to walk over to the brush,swing around to the willows, turn to the cottonwoods, and so back to theranch. It looked like about four miles or so. Perhaps with my fiveshells I might get something. At any rate, I would have a good walk.

  The mountains were turning from the rose pink of early morning. I couldhear again the bickering cries of the snow geese and sandhill cranesaway in an unknown distance, the homelier calls of barnyard fowl nearerat hand. Cattle trotted before me and to right and left, their headshigh, their gait swinging with the freedom of the half-wild animals ofthe ranges. After a few steps they turned to stare at me, eyes andnostrils wide, before making up their minds whether or not it would bewise to put a greater distance between me and them. The close sod wasgreen and strong. It covered the slightly rounding irrigation "checks"that followed in many a curve and double the lines of contours on theflat plain.

  The fringe of brush did not amount to anything; it was merely aconvenient turning mark for my little walk. Arrived there, I executed asharp "column left----"

  Seven ducks leaped into the air apparently from the bare, open, and dryground!

  Every sportsman knows the scattering effect on the wits of theabsolutely unexpected appearance of game. Every sportsman knows also theinstinctive reactions that long habit will bring about. Thus,figuratively, I stood with open mouth, heart beating slightly faster,and mind making to itself such imbecile remarks as: "Well, _what_ do youthink of that! Who in blazes would have expected ducks here?" and otherfutile remarks. In the meantime, the trained part of me had jerked thegun off my shoulder, pushed forward the safety catch, and prepared forone hasty long shot at the last and slowest of the ducks. Now theinstinctive part of one can do the preparations, but the actualshooting requires a more ordered frame of mind. By this time my witshad snapped back into place. I had the satisfaction of seeing the duck'soutstretched neck wilt; of hearing him hit the ground with a thudsomewhere beyond.

  Marking the line of his fall, I stepped confidently forward, and withoutany warning whatever found myself standing on the bank of an irrigationditch. It was filled to the brim with placid water on which floated afew downy feathers. On this side was dry sod; and on the other was drysod. Nothing indicated the presence of that straight band of silverywater until one stood fairly at its brink. To the right I could see itssides narrow to the point of a remote perspective. To the left it ranfor a few hundred yards, then apparently came to an abrupt stop where itturned at an angle.

  In the meantime, my duck was on the other side; I was in my citizen'sclothes.

  No solution offered in sight, so I made my way to the left where I couldlook around the bend. Nearing the bend I was seized with a bright idea.I dropped back below the line of sight, sneaked quietly to the bank,and, my eye almost level with the water, peered down the new vista. Sureenough, not a hundred and fifty yards away floated another band ofducks.

  I watched them for a moment until I was sure, by various smalllandmarks, of their exact location. Then I dropped back far enough sothat, even standing erect, I would be below the line of vision of thoseducks; strolled along until opposite my landmarks; then, bolt upright,walked directly forward, the gun at ready. When within twenty yards theducks arose. It was, of course, easy shooting. Both fell across theditch. That did not worry me; if worst came to worst I could strip andwade.

  This seemed to be an exceedingly unique and interesting way to shootducks. To be sure, I had only two shells left; but then, it must bealmost breakfast time. I repeated the feat a half mile farther on,discovered a flood gate over which I could get to the other side,collected my five ducks, and cut across country to the ranch. The sunwas just getting in its work on the frost. Long files of wagons and mencould be seen disappearing in the distance. I entered proudly, only tenminutes late.