Peter watched him and wondered if Sammy would
be able to think of any plan for helping poor Mrs. Quack. He hoped
so. He himself had thought and thought until he felt as if his
brains were all mixed up and he couldn't think any more. So he
watched Sammy and waited and hoped.
Presently Sammy flirted his wings in a way which Peter knew meant
that he had made up his mind. "Did I understand you to say that
Mrs. Quack said that if Mr. Quack is alive, he probably is hiding
among the rushes along the banks of the Big River?" he asked.
Peter nodded.
"And that she said that she doesn't dare go near the banks because
of fear of the terrible guns?"
Again Peter nodded.
"Well, if that's the case, what is the matter with some of us who
are not afraid of the terrible guns looking for Mr. Quack?" said
Sammy. "I will, for one, and I'm quite sure that my cousin, Blacky
the Crow, will, for another. He surely will if he thinks it will
spoil the plans of any hunters. Blacky would go a long distance to
do that. He hates terrible guns and the men who use them. And he
knows all about them. He has very sharp eyes, has Blacky, and he
knows when a man has got a gun and when he hasn't. More than that,
he can tell better than any one I know of just how near he can
safely go to one of those terrible guns. He is smart, my cousin
Blacky is, and if he will help me look for Mr. Quack, we'll find
him if he is alive."
"That will be splendid!" cried Peter, clapping his hands.
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