40 AMERICAN GAME BIRD SHOOTING. 
though I looked earnestly in the direction indicated, I 
could see nothing resembling a turkey. 
While I was peering, I heard the cheerful tzit boom 
of the gobbler as he struck the ground suddenly with his 
wings, and strutted about, trying to induce the supposed 
hen to come out and see him on parade. The caller 
waited a few minutes to see if the strutter would gobble 
again, and finding he did not, he gave a low and appeal- 
ing call, and received in reply a long and throat-splitting 
roll of liquid sounds, which seemed to come from a small 
thicket only a few feet to the rear. 
“« He’s flanking us,” whispered the yelper. ‘‘ You had 
better retreat now if you don’t want him to attack you.” 
“I thought you said he would not bite?” I exclaimed. 
“‘Did I? Well he seems to be in a mood to bite this 
morning, for I never before knew him to be so willing to 
advance.” 
“«T’ll make him bite the dust if he attempts to bite 
me,” I replied. This was greeted by a loud gobble from 
the turkey, and a suggestion from my comrade that the 
bird was mocking me; but I disdained to notice such 
an insinuation. 
‘< He knows where I am now,” he continued, “but I’ll 
have to encourage him a little more;” and suiting the 
action to the word, he indulged in two or three soft, endear- 
ing ‘‘keouks.” When he finished, he told me to look out 
for the gobbler, and give him some small shot in the head 
if he left the thicket. I nodded assent, as I was so agita- 
ted that I did not dare to trust myself to even whisper; 
and having loaded one barrel with No. 6 shot, I drew 
back the hammer of the gun in the most noiseless manner, 
and poked the muzzle through the blind, in order to 
avoid all possibilities of a miss. 
I was so anxious for the appearance of the expected 
visitor that every moment seemed to be a minute, but, 
