258 The Turkey Family 



merrily " harks forrard," confident of again find- 

 ing the trail about the edge of the next big wood 

 straight ahead. I should say that from one-half 

 to three-quarters of a mile would be a longish 

 flight, even for a badly scared turkey; but they 

 sometimes go much farther. 



The courtship of the gobbler is impressive — 

 nay! mastodonic. He might pose as the living 

 image of pompous desire. Most people have seen 

 a strutting domestic gobbler, and the wild fellow 

 has it just as bad. The masters of woodcraft, the 

 comparative few who have lain out from long be- 

 fore sunrise and watched the strutting, the inflated 

 posing, and, frequently, the fierce fighting of the 

 love-mad gobblers, have enjoyed a performance 

 which no other American game can hope to eclipse. 

 But the man who would watch it through must be 

 sly and silent as the lynx, for while a hot-blooded 

 gobbler might be a bit careless, the cooler-headed 

 hens are close by and their eyes are wondrous 

 sharp. And even a gobbler disturbed at the 

 height of his strutting is no fool. Let him even 

 suspect danger, and his pride at once collapses 

 and he is off like a silent-footed shadow. In spite 

 of all their stately courtship, the males are polyg- 

 amous old reprobates and worse ; for not only do 

 they desert the hens so soon as the love season 

 has ended, but not a mother's son of 'em would 

 hesitate to smash eggs or brain chicks if either 



