66 BEYOND THE PASTURE BARS 



nah, with wild turkeys around me I have never 

 seen a live one. 



I was in a small steamboat on the Savannah 

 River one night. We were tied up till morning 

 along the river bank under the trees of the deep 

 swamp. Twilight and the swamp silence had set- 

 tled about us. The moon came up. A banjo had 

 been twanging, but the breakdown was done, the 

 shuffling feet quiet. The little cotton-boat had 

 become a part of the moonlit silence and the 

 river swamp. 



Two or three roustabouts were lounging upon 

 some rosin-barrels near by, under the spell of the 

 round autumnal moon. There was frost in the' 

 air, and fragrant odors, but not a sound, not a 

 cry or call of beast or bird, until, suddenly, break- 

 ing through the silence with a jarring eery echo, 

 was heard the hoot of the great horned owl. 



One of the roustabouts dropped quickly to the 

 deck and held up his hand for silence. We all lis- 

 tened. And again came the uncanny Whoo-hoo- 

 hoo-whoo-you-oh-oh! 



"Dat ol' King Owl," whispered the darky. 

 "Him 's lookin' fer turkey. OP gobbler done 

 gone hid, I reckon. Listen! 01' King Owl gwine 

 make oP gobbler talk back." 



