98 Wild Turkey. 



ing our horses half a mile from the place, we walked 

 silently along the river bank through the jungle to the 

 roosting trees, where we scattered, and each man secreted 

 himself as best he could in the underbrush, or in a hol- 

 low stump, or in the reeds of the river itself. The 

 sun was setting, and over the hills and from the low- 

 lands came the echoes of the familiar gobble, gobble, 

 gobble, as each strutting, foolishly proud cock headed his 

 admiring family for the roost, after their day's feeding 

 on the uplands. Soon, as I lay close and hushed in 

 my hiding-place, sounds like the clinking of silver, fol- 

 lowed by what seemed like a breath of the wind rushing 

 through the trees, struck my ears. I hardly dared 

 breathe, for the sounds were made by the snapping of 

 a gobbler's quills and his rustling feathers ; and imme- 

 diately a magnificent old bird, swelling and clucking, 

 bullying his wives and abusing his weaker children 

 to the last, trod majestically down to the water's edge, 

 and, after taking his evening drink, winged his way to 

 his favorite bough above, where he was joined, one 

 by one, by his family and relations and friends, who came 

 by tens and dozens from the surrounding country. 

 Soon in the rapidly darkening twilight the superb old 

 pecan trees looked as if they were bending under a heavy 

 crop of the most odd-shaped and lively kind of fruit. 

 The air was filled with the peevish pi-ou ! pi-ou ! of the 

 sleepy birds. Gradually the noisy fluttering subsided, 

 and the last faint unsettled peep even was hushed. Dead 

 silence reigned, and we waited and watched. The moon 

 climbed up, and in an another hour, as we looked through 



