or master of wood-craft would know it for a 

 wild turkey. There is another two, in fact 

 in the white-oak just beyond. Hunted 

 well-nigh to extinction, they find asylum 

 here in this lingering stronghold of the for- 

 est primeval. 



Aperch, with head beneath the wing, they 

 look a temptingly easy prey. Wait ! break 

 but one twig whisper even above your 

 breath they are away down wind, on wide, 

 tireless pinions that only the fleetest horse 

 can follow. Yet they are simple fellows 

 easily fooled, despite the caution born of 

 danger. Gregarious, too, and curious as a 

 monkey. The wily hunter knows it to the 

 bird's cost. He builds a blind of brush and 

 leaves, hangs twenty yards in front of it 

 some bit of red stuff, hides himself, and calls 

 upon a " yelping bone " till the woodland 

 rings with his counterfeit note. 



Woe to the birds that hear it. They set 

 off at the run, to hunt this stranger evidently 

 lost in the wood. Running they give out 

 answering calls the sharp yelping prut-t, 

 that once heard is never forgotten. Nearer, 

 nearer it sounds. The ambushed hunter 

 clutches his gun, sights along the barrel 

 towards his red flag. It is there his quarry 

 will pause, curiously peering, checked by the 



