98 MEN I HAVE FISHED WITH. 



useless for months. Martin then tried to stun him by a 

 blow on the head with a stick, but the heron met him 

 with a jump and a stroke at his face that luckily missed, 

 or he might have been killed or lost an eye. We learned 

 something of the fighting qualities of a blue heron that 

 was new to us all. I had not been as rash as the others, 

 for Port Tyler had told me how one had made a dent in 

 the stock of his gun ; and after seeing what Oliver and the 

 dog got I had great respect for a wounded heron, which, 

 by the way, the boys called a "crane" as they took him to 

 the house dead. 



We made several trips to the river and each time had 

 fine sport. Martin once had a big turtle on his hook, 

 which fortunately was strong, and the turtle was landed. 

 But it was a singular beast. In the last story it is related 

 how the collecting of turtles was a fad of early boyhood, 

 and I thought I knew them all, yet here was one with a 

 soft, flat shell which felt like wet sole leather, a snout like 

 a pig's, and a temper as savage as that of a snapping tur- 

 tle. Verily Michigan had singular fishes and turtles, but 

 no unfamiliar bird had been seen so far; but that was to 

 come, and in a way to be remembered. 



"Ever shoot a wild turkey?" asked Jim. 



"No, never saw one; we don't have 'em about Al- 

 bany." 



"I'll get you a shot at one if you'll come over to my 

 house," said he, "and you won't have to go far for it. I 

 know where it feeds every day." 



If I had known the whole story, or how it was going to 

 turn out, perhaps the turkey might have lived longer ; but 

 Jim had an idea of getting some fun out of either me, the 

 turkey or some other thing. It happened that a neighbor 

 of his had a flock of white turkeys which ranged the 

 woods, and a stray young wild turkey fed with the tame 



