ig, to a
neighboring thicket, from which the horse and dog were not visible.
He then lay down in the bushy top of a fallen pine, and without the
assistance of any "call," such as hunters generally make use of,
uttered the low, cautious cry of the wild turkey. This he repeated a
number of times, and then remained still.

For ten or fifteen minutes no noise disturbed the stillness of the
forest; all was quiet. Then a slight agitation of the leaves was
visible at the distance of fifty or sixty yards, and a magnificent
gobbler made his appearance, moving his bright head, and darting upon
every side glances of curiosity and circumspection.

He was looking for the female who had called him.

Verty cocked his rifle, and uttered the low croak again.

This seemed to remove any fears which the turkey had--he replied
to it, and advanced toward Verty's impromptu "blind." A streak of
sunlight through the boughs fell on his burnished neck and brilliant
head, and he paused again.

Verty ran his eye along the barrel--covered the turkey bashaw's head,
and fired. The ball passed through the fowl's throat, and he fell
back with violent flutterings--no longer anything but the memory of a
living turkey.

"Very well," said Verty, smoothing the head of his pigeon, which had
been greatly startled by the explosion, "I can shoot better than
that--I ought to have hit your eye, Monsieur."

And going to the spot he took up the turkey, and then returned to
Cloud, who, with Longears at his feet, remained perfectly quiet,

Verty tied the turkey to his saddle-bow, and went on laughing. He made
his entry into Winchester in this extremely lawyer-like guise; that is
to say, in moccasins and leggins, with a rifle in one hand, a pigeon
on the wrist of the other, and a turkey dangling at his horse's side.
Cloud, in order to complete the picture, was shaggier than ever, and
Verty himself had never possessed so many tangled curls. His shoulders
were positively covered with them.

Unfortunately Winchester had no artist at the period.

Mr. Roundjacket was standing at the door of the office, and he greeted
Verty with a loud laugh.

"You young savage!" he said, "there you are looking like a barbarous
backwoodsman, when we are trying our very best to make a respectable
lawyer of you."

Verty smiled, and let Cloud dip his muzzle into the trough of a pump
which stood by the door, venerable-looking and iron-handled, like all
parish pumps.

"What excu