46 AMERICAN GAME BIRD SHOOTING. 
dog having crouched behind us, he was covered with 
leaves to conceal the light-colored spots on his body. 
My companion then commenced his endearing calling, 
and performed his part so well that I decided that if 
any man could bag an enchanted turkey he could, as he 
was undoubtedly the chief of yelpers. His call was soon 
responded to by the rattling cry of a young turkey, 
which was evidently some distance away. 
“T’m going to have that fellow if he comes near 
here!” exclaimed my new acquaintance, who rejoiced in 
the name of Hank Greene. 
“‘T’'ll bet. you ten dollars to one you can’t hit the first 
turkey that comes within twenty yards of you,” said my 
friend. 
“Done!” and a hand shake followed to decide it. 
The yelper then resumed his calling, and soon received 
a vehement reply from an adult which was not, appar- 
ently, thirty yards away. His resonant call stirred my 
blood like a bugle blast, and gave me an excellent idea of 
one of the causes that makes turkey-hunters so enthusi- 
astic about the sport. He received no endearing response 
in return, however, for we were busy loading our guns in 
hot haste, in order to give him a warm reception when 
he appeared. Finding that the supposed hen was coy, 
he flew down from his perch and announced the fact by 
aloud gobble, and received in answer a soft but distinct 
yelp. This induced him to make an effort to split his 
throat, for he poured out volumes of gobbles in rapid 
succession. 
‘‘That’s the enchanted gobbler, I do believe!” ex- 
claimed my cicerone; ‘‘and if he is, you ””—motioning 
his head to Greene—“ are to have the first shot, and you 
(me) the second, if he misses.” 
Greene laughed at the idea of missing, and the other 
also chuckled in the most intense manner, as if he 
thought there was something exceedingly ludicrous in the 
