ness seized them and they flew up into 

 the pines to watch him, wliile the gob- 

 bler sped on his way. Once Black 

 Beard turned and called fractically, but 

 they only sat there, staring stupidly 

 down at the setter winding along the 

 trail below. A few moments later 

 there was a loud roar of guns, and 

 a. solitary hen, leaping over her slain 

 companions, ran wildly toward the Big 

 Swamp. The spell was broken, and 

 so was her right wing, leaving a trail 

 of blood along the ground. At nightfall 

 she responded to the gobbler's yelp, and 

 wearily dragged her broken wing to 

 where he stood watchfully in a cluster of 

 reeds. Seeing that she could not fly, he 

 roosted beside her on a log that night, 

 facing the numerous perils of the nether 

 forest. This he continued to do till the 

 inflammation from the wound had ended 

 her unhappy life. 



Then he wandered forth, alone and 

 mateless — an outlaw in the Big Swamp. 

 The territory from "Ten Mile Tract" to 

 "Six Runs Ford" became his range. 

 Men hunted him remorsely, but fruit- 

 lessly as well; a kindly fate lay about 

 his life. Often he could be seen speed- 

 ing softly like a black thing of night 

 through the thicket, or sailing gloriously 

 over the pines and cypress trees in the 

 Big Swamp — always out of reach. He 

 could not be tempted to approach a 

 "blind" (the experience during the great 

 snow was well remembered) ; the best 

 "turkey-callers" always failed to elicit 

 his response. Once only he answered 

 them ; then with mischievous mockery 

 quavering in his well-sounded tones. 



Two whole years he spent thus. Along 

 the Big Swamp he came to be known as 

 Black Beard, not only for the long tuft 

 that now swept proudly over his breast, 

 but for craft and cunning ; and his piracy 

 in the open fields — piracy accomplished at 

 times when men least expected it. 



The farmers of the Big Swamp section 

 employed their spare time, and rainy 

 days, in hunting Black Beard, apparently, 

 to his delight. It was no unusual thing 

 for him to appear now and then, as if by 



magic, before them, only to lead them 

 bewildering chases through the swamp; 

 then disappear with a farewell gobble 

 over the tops of the trees. 



More than one sportsman, too, had 

 counted on the big turkey for a Thanks- 

 giving dinner only to dine on the spare 

 bone of a vain regret. 



A party of 'possum hunters passed 

 along the Big Swamp one night not long 

 before Christmas. There had been no 

 rain for some weeks, and the swamp was 

 remarkably dry for that period of the 

 year. No one ever knew just how it 

 happened, but in some way fire got out, 

 and aided by a rising wind, swept on with 

 the fury of demons, leaving in its wake 

 a broad blackened waste. The wild 

 things of the swamp hemmed in on all 

 sides were driven within an inclosure 

 a mile in length and a quarter of a mile 

 m breadth. (This was where the stream 

 ran deepest and broadest over the bed 

 of a former mill pond.) Thither, long 

 before the dawn, gathered hunters from 

 far and wide. Armed with all kinds of 

 guns and accompanied by numerous 

 nondescript dogs, they surrounded the 

 asylum of the wild. Then the fatal drive 

 commenced. Rabbits and foxes, 'coons 

 iiud 'possums dashed forth, but they were 

 given little heed. Every eye watched for 

 lilack Beard and every gun was loaded 

 with turkey-shot, save now and then one 

 in the hands of an inveterate deer-hun- 

 ter. For hours the drive continued, the 

 circle growing smaller and smaller. Yet 

 the old turkey had not appeared. Had 

 he outwitted them, after all? Had he 

 flown that red gauntlet of fire and sought 

 other woods? No; it could not be. 



Suddenly there was a shout and every 

 eve was strained, every gun uplifted in 

 eager hands. Then grandly, as he had 

 done in the olden days. Black Beard 

 rose up. up — and for a moment the morn- 

 ing sunlight flashed on his glossy coat; 

 then a scattering volley flamed forth and 

 he circled and fell back — to the soil he 

 had loved — kingly and splendid even to 

 the end. 



John Jordan Douglass. 



210 



