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Late that afternoon, prompted by Patrick’s suggestion that duck would be nice on the evening menu, Harry took his shotgun and a few cartridges and soon disappeared behind the wall of red gum eucalypts which reached to the shoulders of both banks of the river.
As Harry quickly discovered, there was no shortage of ducks. His meanderings sent many of them whirring into the air ahead of him. ‘On the next rise, I’ll be ready for you little buggers,’ he murmured.
Seconds later, a pair of plump wood ducks launched, scarpering at full speed toward a billabong on his left. In one smooth movement, Harry brought the butt of the shotgun to his shoulder. Sweeping the barrel to his left but keeping it just in advance of the ducks’ line of flight, he fired. Feathers flew. With soft thuds, both duck
