298 The Turkey Family 



whispered once in her feeble, pleading way, " Best 

 tumble that big fellow, he's near enough; then 

 rake 'em with the gun, for they'll huddle when 

 they hear the shot." 



Not at all ! Caution is such a coward. A 

 game man never fears — possibly what he don't 

 know about. There was a grinding squeak, a 

 heave as though some big sleeping animal were 

 stirring under me — then I gave an imitation of 

 a young man falling through a skylight and fetch- 

 ing up in the well ! 



To say there was pawing and at least one war- 

 whoop would be feeble. The ice could not have 

 been resting on the water, and presumably the 

 weight of the guns and myself, helped by the vibra- 

 tion of the train, had proved too much. It was 

 cold down in there too, but as I zvas in, there was 

 no use in leaving good weapons behind. What 

 felt like a long winter of pawing finally brought 

 up everything, and I ran for it. 



What about the turkeys, do you ask.? 



Reader, I solemnly swear to you that the only 

 decent turkey is a hot turkey. Cold turkey is a 

 horror, unfit for publication or further discussion. 



THE FLORIDA WILD TURKEY 

 (M. s. osceold) 



Any one but an experienced naturalist would 

 find it difficult to distinguish this from the pre- 



