They had to walk nearly a verst before they reached the marsh. The sun
had almost set, and the soil, covered with lush grasses and reeds, felt
moist beneath their feet. It looked darker, and had a damp smell, while
in places water shimmered. Riasantzeff had ceased smoking, and stood
with legs wide apart, looking suddenly grave as if he had to begin an
important and responsible task. Yourii kept to the right, trying to
find a dry comfortable place. In front of them lay the water which,
reflecting the clear evening sky, looked pure and deep. The other bank,
like a black stripe, could be discerned in the distance.
Almost immediately, in twos and threes, ducks rose and flew slowly over
the water, starting up suddenly out of the rushes, and then passing
over the sportsmen's heads, a row of silhouettes against the saffron
sky. Raisantzeff had the first shot, and with success. A wounded duck
tumbled sideways into the water, beating down the rushes with its
wings.
"I hit it!" exclaimed Riasantzeff, as he gaily laughed aloud.
"He's really a good sort of fellow," thought Yourii, whose turn it was
to shoot. He brought down his bird also, but it fell at such a distance
that he could not find it, though he scratched his hands and waded
knee-deep through the water. This disappointment only made him more
keen; it was fine fun, so he thought.
Amid the clear, cool air from the river the gun-smoke had a strangely
pleasant smell, and, in the darkening landscape, the merry shots
flashed out with charming effect. The wounded wild fowl, as they fell,
described graceful curves against the pale green sky where now the
first faint stars gleamed. Yourii felt unusually energetic and gay. It
was as if he had never taken part in anything so interesting or
exhilarating. The birds rose more rarely now, and the deepening dusk
made it more difficult to take aim.
"Hullo there! We must get home!" shouted Riasantzeff, from a distance.
Yourii felt sorry to go, but in accordance with his companion's
suggestion he advanced to meet him, stumbling over rushes and splashing
through the water which in the dusk was not distinguishable from dry
soil. As they met, their eyes flashed, and they were both breathless.
"Well," asked Riasantzeff, "did you have any luck?"
"I should say so," replied Yourii, displaying his well-filled bag.
"Ah! you're a better shot than I am," said Riasantzeff pleasantly.
Yourii was delighted by such praise, although he always professed to
care nothing for physical strength or skill. "I don't know about
better," he observed carelessly, "It was just luck."