The other leaped
across the brook and ran--swift as a deer--right up the slope. As
I tried to get the sight on him I heard other turkeys fly, and the
crack-crack of R.C.'s gun. I shot twice at my running turkey, and all
I did was to scatter the dirt over him, and make him run faster. R.C.
had not done any better shooting. Romer, wonderful to relate, was so
excited that he forgot to make fun of our marksmanship. We scouted
around some, but the turkeys had gone. By promising to take Romer
hunting after supper I contrived to get him back to the glade, where
we made camp.
II
After we had unpacked and while the men were pitching the tents and
getting supper I took Romer on a hunt up the creek. I was considerably
pleased to see good-sized trout in the deeper pools. A little way
above camp the creek forked. As the right-hand branch appeared to be
larger and more attractive we followed its course. Soon the bustle
of camp life and the sound of the horses were left far behind. Romer
slipped along beside me stealthily as an Indian, all eyes and ears.
We had not traveled thus for a quarter of a mile when my quick ear
caught the cluck-cluck of turkeys. "Listen," I whispered, halting.
Romer became like a statue, his dark eyes dilating, his nostrils
quivering, his whole body strung. He was a Zane all right. A turkey
called again; then another answered.
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