380 FEATHERED GAME 
reasonable man, you have game enough. You 
had better go home now, for the flight is done 
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 
