380 FEATHERED GAME 



reasonable man, you have game enough. You 

 had better go home now, for the flight is clone 

 and only an occasional straggler will reward 

 your longer stay. So thinks our worthy pilot. 

 The man in the "dory," too, who has lain down 

 to leeward all this time, has had work enough 

 in picking up the dead and wounded. Add to 

 this that with the growing day a stiff breeze is 

 coming out of the northeast. Black heavy 

 clouds are gathering seaward and the veteran's 

 eyes are beginning to watch their threatening 

 masses closely. At last, — ''Come, boys, we 

 must be gittin' out o' this! There's nasty 

 weather comin' yonder," and with a lusty hail 

 he tells Sam to take him aboard and they will 

 take up the ''tolers." It is no child's play for 

 the green hand to pick up and stow the decoys, 

 but these two, one at the oars and the other at 

 the lines, make short work of it though the 

 ''dory" jumps and pounds in the "chop" peril- 

 ously near to the jagged points of half sub- 

 merged rocks. And now with the game aboard 

 and the passengers safely stowed we square 

 away for home, the "landlubbers" of the 

 party keeping anxious eyes to windward where 

 sea and sky are fast becoming one in a dull 



