282 The Turkey Family 



rips the solemn silence of the woods — and then 

 what ? It depends. If the man behind the gun 

 happens to be one of Cooper's marvel manipu- 

 lators, there is a sudden stiffening of a grand 

 bronze body, a great clashing of wings as its 

 fellows flee in terror, and a spurt of steaming life- 

 blood upon the virgin snow. When the tracker 

 happens to be an ordinary man — say like myself, 

 or, for that matter, like you — things are apt to 

 be different, although in part similar. There will 

 be the sudden stiffening of a grand bronze body, 

 the clashing of wings as its fellows flee, then a 

 mightier clashing as the ought-to-be-dead bronze 

 body chases after its fellows, and, presumably (?) 

 in lieu of the spurt of blood, there will be a 

 stream of steaming, bright-blue Saxon speech 

 from about where the tracks and empty shell 

 prove that somebody stood and shot. On account 

 of these little technicalities, I seldom hunt turkeys 

 with the rifle. 



But with the gun it is different, and while I 

 know that where one carries a gun he is apt to 

 wish he had a rifle, and vice versa, I greatly prefer 

 the gun. Most of my trailing has been done in 

 heavily wooded country, having here and there a 

 marshy opening with big clumps of tangled brush, 

 all of which meant flying shots at comparatively 

 short range. A good twelve-gauge, plenty of 

 powder, and an ounce of heavy shot should stop 



