30 AMERICAN GAME RIRD SHOOTING. 
cerned, and these have taught me to respect his mental 
and physical qualities, and to sympathize with those who 
capture him after many trials and tribulations. I re- 
member what difficulty an old settler and myself had 
one morning to bag a gobbler which was said to be ‘‘so 
cute,” owing to the number of times he had been fired 
at, that he knew the ‘‘ call ” of every man in the district 
who owned a gun. It was even intimated that he knew 
how near he could approach them without getting hit, 
and that his usual trick was to draw their fire and then 
stand and laugh at them until he was ready te drop from 
exhaustion. My informant went se far as to say that 
this celebrated gobbler respected good marksmen, and’ 
only smiled or laughed at them when they missed, but 
that he fairly hated the poor shots, and hooted them in 
the most contemptuous manner. 
“ Better look out for yourself!” he exclaimed, ‘‘or he 
may give you a dose of hissing.” 
“‘ And what about yourself ?” I asked. 
“‘Oh! I’m used to it,” was the answer; ‘‘I don’t care 
much for his hissing now.” 
“All right; then I’ll steel myself against his derision 
also, by bagging him as soon as he comes near enough,” 
I replied, confidently. 
‘* Well, you needn’t fret about that, for unless he has 
become mighty polite of late, he won’t come near enough 
to bite you, anyway.” 
I expressed my pleasure at this feeling of considera- 
tion on his part, as we started for the haunt of the 
cynical bird, about three o’clock, one delightful morning 
in March. This haunt being in the sunny South, the 
light breeze that stole through the vale was laden with 
the fragrance of many flowers, while the air resounded 
with the droning hum of bees and insects, and the song 
of the early-rising birds. We marched about three 
