42 AMERICAN GAME BIRD SHOOTING. 
“Because I never like to double-bank anything, let 
alone a poor turkey.” 
“« A nice excuse that.” 
“Never mind, my boy, you scared him badly enough 
to make him run away, whereas I thought you would 
leg it on seeing him.” 
“T’m much obliged to you for your good opinion, but 
you need not express it, for I think I scared him to 
death.” 
‘Tf he saw your face you might have done so; but he 
didn’t—so you needn’t imagine you did.” 
“‘T’'m going to see about the matter, anyhow,” said I, 
in a mock serious tone, for I had an idea I could not 
have missed with both barrels; so I left the blind, and 
started for the thicket, gun in hand, telling him to wait 
until I returned. 
“Oh, I’m going with you,” said he; ‘‘else you may 
go to the next farm-house and buy a gobbler, and, after 
shooting him, impose him on me as the old original.” 
“‘The most suspicious people are always the worst,” I 
replied, in the gravest manner, ‘‘and I think you are an 
old sinner.” 
“IT know I’m not a saint,” he answered; ‘‘if I were, I 
wouldn’t be shooting turkeys in the wilds of Florida.” 
When we reached the position where the turkey first 
stood, I saw some feathers there, and this induced me to 
indulge in some boasting at my friend’s expense, but he 
insisted that the gobbler had plucked them out himself, 
in order to deceive me. 
“‘Oh, you incorrigible!” I replied, ‘‘how you do like 
to discourage people!” 
‘* You may not believe it, but it’s a fact, neverthe- 
less,” he replied. ‘I have stuffed two beds with what 
feathers I shot out of him, and I think more than a 
dozen others have done the same, but still we can’t kill 
him. He is enchanted, I tell you, and can’t be bagged by 
