Green Forest Stories Thornton W. Burgess (best romance novels of all time .txt) 📖

that Crow out of the way, I think I will get some Ducks tonight,” thought the hunter and looked at his gun to make sure that it was ready.

Over in the West, jolly, round, red Mr. Sun started to go to bed behind the Purple Hills, and the Black Shadows came creeping out. Far down the Big River the hunter saw a swiftly moving black line just above the water. “Here they come,” he muttered, as he eagerly watched that black line draw nearer.

Twice those big black birds circled around over the Big River opposite where the hunter was crouching behind his blind. It was plain that Dusky, their leader, remembered Blacky’s warning the night before. But this time there was no warning. Everything appeared safe. Once more the flock circled and then headed straight for that place where they hoped to find more corn. The hunter crouched lower. They were almost near enough for him to shoot when “bang, bang” went a gun a short distance away.

Instantly Dusky and his flock turned and on swift wings swung off and up the river. If ever there was a disappointed hunter, it was the one crouching in that blind. “Somebody else is hunting, and he spoiled my shot that time,” he muttered. “He must have a blind farther down. Probably some other Ducks I didn’t see came in to him. I wonder if he got them. Here’s hoping that next time those Ducks come in here first.”

He once more made himself comfortable and settled down for a long wait. The Black Shadows crept out from the farther bank of the Big River. Jolly, round red Mr. Sun had gone to bed, and the first little star was twinkling high overhead. It was very still and peaceful. From out in the middle of the Big River sounded a low “quack”; Dusky and his flock were swimming in this time. Presently the hunter could see a silver line on the water, and then he made out nine black spots. In a few minutes those Ducks would be where he could shoot them. “Bang, bang” went that gun below him again. With a roar of wings, Dusky and his flock were in the air and away. That hunter stood up and said things, and they were not nice things. He knew that those Ducks would not come back again that night, and that once more he must go home empty-handed. But first he would find out who that other hunter was and what luck he had had, so he tramped down the shore to where that gun had seemed to be. He found the blind of Farmer Brown’s boy, but there was no one there. You see, as soon as he had fired his gun the last time, Farmer Brown’s boy had slipped out and away. And as he tramped across the Green Meadows toward home with his gun, he chuckled. “He didn’t get those Ducks this time,” said Farmer Brown’s boy.

XXVII The Hunter Gives Up

Blacky The Crow didn’t know what to think. He couldn’t make himself believe that Farmer Brown’s boy had really turned hunter, yet what else could he believe? Hadn’t he with his own eyes seen Farmer Brown’s boy with a terrible gun hide in rushes along the Big River and wait for Dusky the Black Duck and his flock to come in? And hadn’t he with his own ears heard the “bang, bang” of that very gun?

The very first thing the next morning Blacky had hastened over to the place where Farmer Brown’s boy had hidden in the rushes. With sharp eyes he looked for feathers, that would tell the tale of a Duck killed. But there were no feathers. There wasn’t a thing to show that anything so dreadful had happened. Perhaps Farmer Brown’s boy had missed when he shot at those Ducks. Blacky shook his head and decided to say nothing to anybody about Farmer Brown’s boy and that terrible gun.

You may be sure that early in the afternoon he was perched in the top of his favorite tree over by the Big River. His heart sank, just as on the afternoon before, when he saw Farmer Brown’s boy with his terrible gun trudging across the Green Meadows to the Big River. Instead of going to the same hiding place he made a new one farther down.

Then came the hunter a little earlier than usual. Instead of stopping at his blind, he walked straight to the blind Farmer Brown’s boy had first made. Of course, there was no one there. The hunter looked both glad and disappointed. He went back to his own blind and sat down, and while he watched for the coming of the Ducks, he also watched that other blind to see if the unknown hunter of the night before would appear. Of course he didn’t, and when at last the hunter saw the Ducks coming, he was sure that this time he would get some of them.

But the same thing happened as on the night before. Just as those Ducks were almost near enough, a gun went “bang, bang,” and away went the Ducks. They didn’t come back again, and once more a disappointed hunter went home without any.

The next afternoon he was on hand very early. He was there before Farmer Brown’s boy arrived, and when he did come, of course the hunter saw him. He walked down to where Farmer Brown’s boy was hiding in the rushes. “Hello!” said he. “Are you the one who was shooting here last night and the night before?”

Farmer Brown’s boy grinned. “Yes,” said he.

“What luck did you have?” asked the hunter.

“Fine,” replied Farmer Brown’s boy.

“How many Ducks did you get?” asked the hunter.

Farmer Brown’s boy grinned more broadly than before. “None,” said he. “I guess I’m not a very good shot.”

“Then what did you mean by saying you had fine luck?” demanded the hunter.

“Oh,” replied Farmer Brown’s boy, “I had the luck to see