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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78765 ***
+
+                          DAY BEFORE YESTERDAY
+
+                              W. C. Tuttle
+
+               The ducks were here by the millions. Sure
+                       everybody got their limit
+
+
+“And it came to pass in those days that there was a tribe of men
+called Dukklubbers, who were open of face and of apparent veracity.
+Their smiles were as the sun shining through a cloud, and of promises
+they were as full as the sea of fishes.
+
+“But behold, they prophesied only of things that happened yesterday and
+of the day before, levying their tribute heavily upon the tribe called
+Dukhunters, who were fools and of abiding faith, paying willingly, yea
+even to paying their tribute in advance that they might partake of the
+winged web-footed creatures which swam upon the waters of the earth.
+
+“But behold, the Dukhunters were of a great wrath, because of the
+winged creatures there were none and the tribute had been enormous. And
+they went away filled with a great wrath and swore many things. But the
+Dukklubbers were of great cheer because they were very wise, knowing
+much about the Dukhunters. Among this knowledge was the fact that the
+Dukhunter was a great fool, and as soon as his wrath subsided he would
+again open his ears to their prophecy and come back, bearing tribute.
+And they knew no man might deny their prophecy nor prove it untrue,
+because they prophesied only of things that came to pass yesterday and
+the day before.”
+
+                  --From the Book of E. Z. Mark, who had been jobbed.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Telephone conversation via long-distance:
+
+“Hello, Ed? Bill talking. How are they coming?”
+
+“Fine, Bill. Lotsa sprig.”
+
+“How much for four blinds tomorrow?”
+
+“Sixty bucks.”
+
+“Be with you about midnight. Looks good, eh?”
+
+“Ought to be. Good-by.”
+
+Ensues two hundred and thirty miles of auto travel--a search in the
+night for that darned dirt road, in which everybody loses all sense of
+direction; eventually the right road, and the club. Ed is there with a
+lantern.
+
+“Hello, Ed, old boy!”
+
+“Gentlemen!”
+
+“How does she look, Eddie?”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+“Well, I’ll tell you. This morning some of the boys had fair luck.
+Yesterday wasn’t bad at all, but _day before yesterday_--Oh, boy!”
+
+And there you are. The duck we got that day cost us just exactly one
+hundred dollars--and it was a spoonbill. And not a fat spoonie, either.
+But we didn’t kick because we belonged to the tribe called Dukhunters.
+If we had been there _day before yesterday_--Oh, boy! They say it was
+great.
+
+For seven seasons I have dipped my boots in nearly every duck-puddle
+from Ensenada, Baja California, to the mythical dead-line between Los
+Angeles and San Francisco, possibly caused by the fact that Los Angeles
+folks speak of the big earthquake instead of the fire. I am known as an
+omnivorous duck hunter--a dreamer of duck dreams in which a limit of
+birds is the _piece de resistance_.
+
+They say there are thousands of ducks just south of Bakersfield. It
+fires my imagination, and I hie me to a certain sporting goods house
+where everybody talks ducks. I pay my fifteen dollars for a Sunday
+blind. And about noon of that day I get so darned mad that I shoot an
+unsuspecting mud-hen and go home. It has cost me about thirty dollars
+for that mud-hen.
+
+They say the ducks are coming in by the thousands in the Wasco country,
+a mere 200-mile trip--about thirty miles of curves on the top of the
+world, a drag of thirty miles through the worst silt muck you have ever
+seen in anybody’s country, if it rains. But I go. Yeah, verily I go.
+
+“There were quite a few ducks here yesterday, but if you had been here
+_day before yesterday_--Well, it was the best flight you ever saw.”
+
+“How about tomorrow?”
+
+“We-e-ll, I don’t know. They seem to have pulled out for some reason or
+other.”
+
+Los Banos! Ah, there’s a word to conjure with. A place to fill a duck
+hunter’s heart with delight. A phone call brings the information that
+the place is filled with birds. In fact, the Chamber of Commerce has
+had a crew of men digging extra ponds for two weeks to accommodate the
+increase of ducks from the north.
+
+Los Banos is only a mere three hundred miles. What are three hundred
+miles to a duck or a hunter? It is a simple matter to make reservations.
+The ride is nothing. Tomorrow we will each shoot a limit. Twenty-five
+ducks! Anticipation is at high ebb.
+
+And then we talk to the keeper. It is seldom that the owner shows up.
+The keeper is usually an inoffensive ex-carpenter from Iowa, who is not
+to blame.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+“Well,” sez ’e, “I didn’t see many today. Quite a lot of ’em yesterday,
+but _day before yesterday_ you could knock ’em down with a club.”
+
+All my life I’ve wished for a chance to go hunting day before yesterday,
+but I’m always two days too late. And then there’s the claim agents to
+contend with. There are always several of them on hand.
+
+I have found that the way to get ducks is to wait until the other
+fellows get a whack into ’em, knocking several, fire your gun into
+the air and yell, “I got two!” Then go and get ’em. Of course, if you
+shoot a pump or an automatic you may claim more. I’ve been claimed
+out of more ducks than any man alive, and it is because I’m so damned
+astonished when I do knock a duck that I forget to yell first.
+
+My last experience was at the Westfield club, run by my good friend
+Charley Buttles. Yes, Charley speaks very affectionately of day before
+yesterday, just like the rest.
+
+Anyway, my shooting partner and I were in a double blind, when a flock
+of sprig hit the water about forty yards away. About a hundred and
+twenty-five yards away was another double blind. For some unknown
+reason, one of the occupants of those blinds stood up and threw a load
+of shot at the ducks, none of which registered.
+
+The sprig hopped up and swung toward us--one of those things you dream
+about. I doubled on two bull sprig, while my partner emptied his
+automatic.
+
+“How many did you get?” he asked me, and I told him I killed two.
+
+“Fine!” says he. “I got four.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+But before we could make a move to get out of the blind, those two claim
+agents were coming on the run. “I got one with each barrel, and you got
+four with your pump,” one of them yells. “Boy, that’s shootin’!”
+
+I looked at Fred, and Fred looked at me. They were big fellows, those
+claim agents.
+
+[Illustration: They were big fellows, those claim agents]
+
+“How do yuh get that way?” demanded Fred. “We killed all those ducks.”
+
+“Well, of all the nerve!” says one of ’em. “Imagine that!”
+
+And they went back to their blind with the ducks while everybody, except
+Fred and me, laughed.
+
+A few minutes later, along came a lone spoonie. He was so high that he
+looked like a sparrow. But I was mad, and when he came over me I knocked
+him for a loop with my Super Magnum, or whatever they call it. Anyway,
+it shoots three-inch shells.
+
+The spoonie died in his tracks and hit the muck about twenty feet from a
+single blind, a hundred yards away. I got up and said to the wide world,
+“If there’s no argument, I’d like to have that bird.”
+
+[Illustration: “If there’s no argument, I’d like to have that bird”]
+
+“What bird?” asks a distant voice, and I saw the owner of that blind in
+the act of picking up my bird.
+
+“Oh,” says I sweetly, “did you kill it?”
+
+“Who in hell do you think killed it?” says he, and took it back to his
+blind.
+
+What could I do? A check of the shooters later on showed a ten-to-one
+opinion that the man never even fired his gun. But he got the duck.
+Personally, I think he’s the man who is usually designated as “they,”
+the party they speak of when remarking “They say,” etc. So much for
+claim agents.
+
+But don’t misconstrue me. There are limits of birds in California. It
+may be proved by pictures. In fact, I have been a party to such
+pictures. The last one I was in on has already been published twice in
+daily papers. It shows a well-known sportsman with a limit of ducks.
+There were thirty of us hunters who contributed all our opening-day
+shoot to make up that limit. You will think it queer that thirty men
+could contribute a limit of ducks when the limit is twenty-five birds.
+But the fact of the matter is, in some cases as high as three men held
+certain claims on a single duck.
+
+In seven years of duck shooting my birds have cost me on an average
+of seven dollars per duck. Perhaps it is lucky for me that I never
+have shot--and kept--a limit. And I’m not the worst shot in the
+world. Figuring my ability from an army standard, I’m possibly a top
+sergeant. At times I’m a lowly private, and again I’m a Brigadier
+General. And once in a while I become Commander-in-Chief.
+
+[Illustration: All he needs is their address]
+
+Following the claim agent, or preceding him, as the case may be, comes
+the high shooter. He is a person who goes out to shoot just for the fun
+of shooting. Without the slightest conception of how far a shotgun will
+boost a load of shot, he shoots as long as he can see the bird. All he
+needs is their address. And sometimes he finishes up his bombardment by
+drawing a six-shooter and giving the birds a final salute. For fifteen
+dollars per day he can ruin the shooting for more men than a heavy fog
+in the San Joaquin on Sunday.
+
+But in spite of it all, we got our limit one day. Of course, nobody
+believes we did. Before old Buena Vista Lake dried up, my shooting
+partner and myself managed to knock down fifty birds, and we were
+looking at the world through rose-colored glasses.
+
+There was an even dozen of mallard drakes, fifteen bull sprig, and the
+rest were hen sprig and widgeon. Oh, they were nice! We carried ’em
+concealed in a sack, for fear of meeting a claim agent.
+
+It was a long way home; so we decided to spend the night at the home
+of a friend, who lived in a rather isolated spot. We drew the ducks,
+tied their necks together and hung them over a clothes-line. Our host
+said they’d dry out very cold. They did--very.
+
+[Illustration: I looked at the cat and drew my own conclusions]
+
+In the morning the twelve mallard drakes and the fifteen bull sprig
+were not on the line. After due deliberation, our host decided that
+the cat got ’em. I looked at the cat and drew my own conclusions. It
+may have been a very smart cat, and no doubt it was, because our host
+told us a number of stories of the cat’s prowess. But I’ll be hanged
+if I’m gullible enough to think any cat could select all those choice
+ducks and tie up the bunches again. Still, I may not know much about
+cats.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+But those are merely the things you have to contend with. If I could
+only find a duck club where there are no high shooters, no claim agents,
+no cats, and get a chance to shoot there day before yesterday--Oh, boy!
+
+But I’ll go again because I belong to the tribe called Dukhunters, and
+the Dukklubbers will probably get me as long as I live--but they can’t
+deny me free speech.
+
+Of course, I do not mean to say that all duck-club managers use the “day
+before yesterday” alibi. There was one who was much more conservative.
+Certainly, his was an exclusive place, with accommodations for only
+eight shooters.
+
+This place, as he explained it, was the _pluribus peritonitis_ of all
+clubs. One needed to furnish references in order to secure reservations.
+No one except dyed-in-the-wool duck hunters need apply, and one must
+agree to abide by the law regarding the sunrise and sunset regulation
+bag limit, etc.
+
+Parentage, religious affiliations, financial standing, shooting ability
+and general conduct were scrutinized. I heard later that halitosis was
+sufficient cause for refusal to accept application. In fact, one man was
+refused on the grounds that in 1880 his grandfather spat on a sidewalk.
+
+Oh, it was easy to see that this was worth trying for. And I made it. My
+friend said it was a lucky fluke that they got my name spelled wrong and
+looked up another man’s record.
+
+Anyway, I rather gloated over the rest of the gang, who merely paid
+fifteen dollars to shoot at an ordinary commercial club where there
+were only sprig, teal and widgeon. I think I bored them with my talk
+of mallards. There is something noble about a mallard.
+
+I had made my reservations early, and lived in a flutter of excitement
+for two months. At last came the day before the opening, and we packed
+the old car full of the usual impedimenta of two anticipating hunters
+who have purchased everything with which to annihilate the festive
+water-fowl. I had invested in a made-to-order double gun--one of those
+80-yard super guns, bored for 3-inch cases and adorned with a single
+trigger which, by the way, got a nasty habit of doubling. And if you
+think a double of 3-inch heavy loads is any loving caress, try it.
+
+But I digress. We arrived safely, after 150 miles of driving over rather
+bad roads. But one must suffer a little, I suppose, while mallarding.
+
+“Aha!” says I, “We’ve got the old alibi whipped this time. It’s the
+opening day, and he won’t dare mention the day before yesterday.”
+
+The opening day broke well. At least we had the satisfaction of knowing
+that something broke well. There were eight of us tucked away in those
+exclusive blinds, waiting for the zero hour, tuned to the minute. It was
+the day of days.
+
+Daylight came apace, as they say; but that was all that came. The
+quack of the festive mallard soundeth not. A few mud hens, like dusky
+harbingers of disappointment, jerked their way along the rushes, but
+the horizon was unmarked by the wavering strings of mallards as per
+the night-before conversation.
+
+We spent a quiet morning consuming much tobacco, nursing grouches and
+working up a killing complex against all duck liars.
+
+My friend met me near the little clubhouse. His eyes held a lust for
+gore.
+
+“By the blankety-blank horns on the sacred toad,” quoth he, “this is
+another of those things, Bill. But there is one satisfaction. The old
+alibi won’t work this time. There was no day before yesterday in this
+duck season.”
+
+John was right. We found the keeper of the club, and he shook his head
+sadly. One could see that he was sorry.
+
+“Gentlemen,” he said, “I really don’t understand it. On the opening day
+last year, with eight men in the blinds--”
+
+But why repeat a lie?
+
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+                         Transcriber’s Note
+
+    This story appeared in the November, 1927 issue of Field and
+    Stream magazine. This story is believed to be in the public
+    domain in the United States. Please note that copyright status
+    may differ in other countries.
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78765 ***