“That black rascal has found something over
on the shore of the Big River,” said Farmer
Brown’s boy to himself. “I’ll
go over there to see what it is. There isn’t
much escapes the sharp eyes of that black busybody.
He has led me to a lot of interesting things, one
time and another. There he is on the top of that
tree over by the Big River.”
As Farmer Brown’s boy drew near, Blacky flew
down and disappeared below the bank. Fanner
Brown’s boy chuckled. “Whatever it
is, it is right down there,” he muttered.
He walked forward rapidly but quietly, and presently
he reached the edge of the bank. Up flew Blacky
cawing wildly, and pretending to be scared half to
death. Again Farmer Brown’s boy chuckled.
“You’re just making believe,” he
declared. “You’re trying to make
me believe that I have surprised you, when all the
time you knew I was coming and have been waiting for
me. Now, what have you found over here?”
He looked eagerly along the shore, and at once he
saw a row of low bushes close to the edge of the water.
He knew what it was instantly. “A Duck
blind!” he exclaimed. “A hunter has
built a blind over here from which to shoot Ducks.
I wonder if he has killed any yet. I hope not.”
He went down to the blind, for that is what a Duck
hunter’s hiding-place is called, and looked about.
A couple of grains of corn just inside the blind
caught his eyes, and his face darkened. “That
fellow has been baiting Ducks,” thought he.
“He has been putting out corn to get them to
come here regularly. My, how I hate that sort
of thing! It is bad enough to hunt them fairly,
but to feed them and then kill them — ugh!
I wonder if he has shot any yet.”
He looked all about keenly, and his face cleared.
He knew that if that hunter had killed any Ducks,
there would be tell-tale feathers in the blind, and
there were none.
Farmer Brown’s boy sat on the bank of the Big
River in a brown study. That means that he was
thinking very hard. Blacky the Crow sat in the
top of a tall tree a short distance away and watched
him. Blacky was silent now, and there was a knowing
look in his shrewd little eyes. In calling Farmer
Brown’s boy over there, he had done all he could,
and he was quite satisfied to leave the matter to
Farmer Brown’s boy.
“A hunter has made that blind to shoot Black
Ducks from,” thought Farmer Brown’s boy,
“and he has been baiting them in here by scattering
corn for them. Black Ducks are about the smartest
Ducks that fly, but if they have been coming in here
every evening and finding corn and no sign of danger,
they probably think it perfectly safe here and come
straight in without being at all suspicious.
To-night, or some night soon, that hunter will be
waiting for them.
