THE WILD TURKEY. 41 
as he neither called nor presented himself, I was about 
to withdraw the gun, when he crept to the edge of the 
thicket and stared at the blind. After reconnoitring the 
ground in front he stood still, and, with one leg halt- 
raised, as if he were suspicious of the very ground on 
which he stood, he surveyed his surroundings in the 
most cautious manner. I looked at him with admiring 
eyes for a few seconds, as he was one of the most superb 
specimens of his family I had ever seen, being full grown, 
and arrayed in a new suit of feathered armor, which glis- 
tened with a metallic effulgence of bronze and purple and 
green. Spurred and bearded, he looked to be the ideal 
of a feathered monarch of the forest, for his eyes glowed 
with a liquid brilliancy, while his attitude expressed 
pride, daring, and vigilance. Having feasted my eyes on 
his beauty, I made preparations to make a subsequent 
feast on his body, by taking a steady aim at his head and 
pulling the trigger. A sharp crack followed, and I ex- 
pected to see him fall, but when I looked for his dead 
body I saw him footing it in the liveliest manner for the 
woods a little to the right. Seeing that he would soon 
disappear if I were not quick in my movements, I fired 
at him again just as he was about entering some bushes, 
and when the smoke cleared away I scanned the ground 
for him, but he was invisible. This caused me to give 
vent to an expression that would lead hypercritical per- 
sons to fancy I was not an angel, but it had scarcely been 
spoken before the who-who-who-are-you of the barred 
owl, the defiant gobble of the turkey, and a mocking 
laugh rang throughout the woods. 
“Oh, yes, you’re very clever!” said I to my com- 
panion, for it was he who had uttered the sounds. 
“The animals are making fun of you, my boy,” said 
he, in a bandying tone, ‘‘and I don’t blame them after 
making such a miss as that.” , 
‘‘Why didn’t you shoot him, then?” 
” 
