MEXICAN TURKEY. 183 
grove of lofty pines, the first branches of which were too 
high for any missile to reach and do execution upon so 
large a bird, save a bullet from a rifle. As my com- 
panion and myself quietly sat upon the ground a quarter 
of a mile away, waiting for the daylight to leave the sky, 
we heard the Turkeys flying into the trees, and gobbling 
at intervals as they settled themselves for the night. 
Soon darkness spread her veil around us, and all sounds 
from the roost ceased, and we commenced cautiously to 
draw near our objective point. 
Soon we could distinguish the trees in which we knew 
the birds were, but the branches were so far from the 
ground that at first nothing could be seen that re- 
sembled a Turkey. Gradually we drew near until we 
stood beneath the overspreading limbs and close to the 
trunk of the tree each had selected. No movement or 
sound from above indicated that we had been observed 
by the watchful birds, and now to our eyes, grown more 
accustomed to the obscurity, some clumps and bunches 
appeared upon the branches toward the sky. It was 
almost impossible to tell what these were, whether 
Turkeys squatting on the limbs, or masses of moss or 
foliage. But the only way to find out was to shoot at 
them, which we did. At the crack of the rifles came 
numerous pif-pits and a stray gobble as the aroused 
birds moved upon their perches and questioned this 
unusual uproar. Their movements disclosed their forms 
without mistake, and soon there was added to the noise 
of the firearms, and the calls of the now thoroughly 
startled birds, the crash of the falling Turkeys striking 
the limbs as they descended, and then the heavy 
“thump” as the body reached the ground. For a short 
time confusion reigned. Unharmed birds began to 
leave the trees, and the whir and beat of their wings 
