Romer, despite his eagerness, did very well indeed.
At last I espied our quarry, and indeed the sight was thrilling.
Wild turkey gobblers to me, who had hunted them enough to learn how
sagacious and cunning and difficult to stalk they were, always seemed
as provocative of excitement as larger game. This big fellow hopped up
from limb to limb of the huge dead pine, and he bobbed around as if
undecided, and tried each limb for a place to roost. Then he hopped
farther up until we lost sight of him in the gnarled net-work of
branches.
R.C. wanted me to slip on alone, but I preferred to have him and Romer
go too. So we slipped stealthily upward until we reached the level.
Then progress was easier. I went to the left with the rifle, and R.C.
with the .20-gauge, and Romer, went around to the right. How rapidly
it was growing dark! Low down in the forest I could not distinguish
objects. We circled that big pine tree, and I made rather a wide
detour, perhaps eighty yards from it. At last I got the upper part of
the dead pine silhouetted against the western sky. Moving to and fro I
finally made out a large black lump way out upon a spreading branch.
Could that be the gobbler? I studied that dark enlarged part of the
limb with great intentness, and I had about decided that it was only
a knot when I saw a long neck shoot out. That lump was the wise old
turkey all right.
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