OF A RANCHMAN 165 



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 immediately 

 a magnificent old bird, swelling and cluck- 

 ing, bullying his wives and abusing his 

 weaker children to the last, trod majes- 

 tically 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 re- 

 lations 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 

 siknce reigned, and we waited and watched. 

 The moon climbed up, and in another 



