THE LOST JOKE 129 
group of six as rowdy, scandalous-looking real-article 
decoys as anyone would hate to have. . It sounds easy 
but it takes knack to set up a dead sprawling duck in a 
natural position. 
A touch of cold fell gently on my cheek. The wind 
had changed to the north’ard. In half an hour it was 
twenty degrees colder. My double-decker blind failed 
to keep out the searching wind. I robbed half of it to 
make the northwest side thicker. The water was being 
blown back again from the west side of the lake. . The 
point my blind was on was to windward now and not 
in the lee of the land. The distant feeding ducks be- 
came wild and restless, rising in bunches and making 
slow headway against the wind, sometimes even blown 
backward in a long circle only to regain the ground lost 
when the gust ended. 
Still the shooting was good. It came from an unex- 
pected source, the big marsh south of the blind. Many 
mallards were hidden there feeding among the small 
pond holes. Mallards are bold and hardy ducks, but 
perhaps they also felt the icy touch of coming winter 
and began to long for the pleasures and delights of the 
Southland. They were uneasy and in small flocks and 
singles began to fly about low down over the marsh. 
Then a bunch of three flying near the north end of the 
marsh saw my decoys and decided to make a neigh- 
borly call. The luck was with me and I made two long 
singles that I flattered myself by calling a double. 
It was pretty though difficult shooting. The mal- 
lards came up slowly against the strong gale. At the 
first shot, they would break back, the wind carrying 
them before it twisting and skimming, the hardest 
possible work for the second barrel. It’s the acme of 
sport—these difficult shots on ducks when you have 
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