The Wild Turkey 293 



The request to stay over had merely been a 

 feeler to make sure I would go ; the brother had 

 merely played that role and had taken my bird to 

 the house where they were temporarily quartered ; 

 had I stayed, the right bird would, of course, 

 have been produced. As it was, I got a 

 ten-shilling fowl for a gobbler which I later 

 heard brought fifteen dollars in Detroit, where 

 my enterprising friends then belonged, the elder 

 being a market hunter. 



That happened quite a few years ago, but if 

 ever I chance to be on a jury, and either of those 

 rascals is charged with the theft of a Turkey rug, 

 — ' nay, even a Turkish cigarette, — I'll hold out 

 for a life 'sentence at least. 



An illustration of the possibilities of shooting 

 from ambush may serve as a parting shot at the 

 turkey. I had gone to the Essex woods (in 

 Ontario), expecting good tracking. Things, how- 

 ever, were all askew. The unreliable climate had 

 taken one of its peculiar notions, and the low- 

 lying woods were deeply flooded and the snow en- 

 tirely gone. My host, a weather-wise old farmer, 

 urged me to have patience and stay with him, as 

 a cold snap was bound to come. It did, that very 

 night, and next day all surface water was frozen, 

 but not enough to bear a man. Hunting was out 

 of the question until a heavy fall of snow came, 



