THE WILD TURKEY. 31 



miles from my companion's liouse, and entered a charm- 

 ingly romantic piece of woods, in which the orange, pal- 

 metto, and magnolia trees were intermingled with the 

 gloomy pine and the graceful, feathery cedar. Brilliant 

 vines or long festoons of funereal moss draped each forest 

 giant, while gaudy flowers and rich-hued shrubbery 

 formed parterres in every direction. Our walk dis- 

 turbed numerous paroquets and humming-birds, which 

 went flitting through the trees like so many rays of rich, 

 bright colors, and roused the crane and heron — whose 

 whooping cries resounded throughout the silent woods — 

 and sent them sailing high into the air. 



The scene was so enchanting to me that I did not care 

 if I never met a turkey there, for it seemed out of place 

 to kill any creature in such a lovely locality. Even my 

 companion, who had turkey on the brain that morning, 

 relapsed into silence when we entered the forest, and 

 evidently drank in its beauties anew, much as he was 

 used to them. He did not lose sight of the object of 

 our journey, however, for he carefully scanned the ground 

 at intervals in search of ''signs," and peered earnestly 

 into trees to see if he could not rest his longing eyes on 

 a plump gobbler. He was unsuccessful in detecting 

 either signs or birds, and this caused him to indulge in 

 a few expletives at turkeys in general, and at our ill-luck 

 in particular. While passing through a dense piece of 

 undergrowth, where we could not see thirty paces ahead, 

 we were startled by hearing the heavy tread of some ani- 

 mal on the dead leaves, and the rapid crashing of branch- 

 lets. This unexpected sound caused us to look at each 

 other in silence for a moment or two, as if to Inquire, 

 What can produce that noise? I was the first to find 

 the use of my tongue, and I asked him — because I sup- 

 posed he ought to know everything about the neighbor- 

 hood — 



"What is that?" 



