THE WILD TURKEY. 49 
tended to weep over the perfidy of man and the splendid 
shots they had lost. They shook hands again after the 
embrace, and my friend told his ‘‘ brother” that his con- 
duct had been so noble in thus turning the tables that 
he would waive all claim to the sum of money which was 
due to him, and suggested that it should be taken out in 
drinks the next time they met in town. This proposition 
being favorably received, they doffed hats, bowed lowly, 
and promised to let each other’s cartridges alone for the 
future, as abstracting them from guns while out shooting 
was unworthy of generous rivals. The dead turkey hav- 
ing been brought in, the two men commenced calling 
alternately—one using his mouth, and the other a caller 
made out of a turkey’s wing—but, not receiving any 
response after two hours’ steady calling, they concluded 
to start for home. On our way back we met a man who 
had been in a blind for eight hours, and though he 
had been calling persistently, and receiving responses 
occasionally, yet no turkey had been polite enough to 
come within range of his gun. 
Finding he could do nothing that day, he jomed us on 
our homeward march, and as we trudged onward my 
waggish friend regaled him with the tale about the en- 
chanted turkey, and insisted that we had killed it, so 
that it would never again be heard in that part of the 
world. Greene insisted that we had not killed it, and 
that it would live forever as a monument to the super- 
stitions of negroes, and the romancing power of certain 
hunters, who had lived so long among the gobblers that 
the only language they could speak properly was that of 
the turkeys. The march was enlivened by so many witty 
sallies and grim jokes that I was sorry when our roads 
diverged, and each wended his way to his own domicile. 
For gobblers dead, what more than funeral mtes! My 
“enchanted” specimen having been found to turn the 
scales at twenty-five pounds, was roasted to a nut-brown 
3. 
