h dry grass and leaves, and
others they fastened on the sides.

"It ain't purty," said Jim, "but it turns rain an' snow, an' that's what
we're after."

"I take another view," said Paul. "It does look well. It blends with the
wilderness, and so it has a beauty of its own."

The three hunters were not to return that night, and Paul and Jim kept
house. Jim slept lightly, and just before the dawn he rolled over in his
buffalo robe and pushed Paul's shoulder.

Paul awoke instantly, and sat up.

"What is it, Jim?" he asked anxiously. It was his natural thought that
some danger threatened, and it was so dark in the cabin that he could not
see Jim's face.

"Do you hear that hoo-hooing sound?" asked Jim Hart.

Paul listened and heard faintly a low, mellow note.

"What is it, Jim?" he asked.

"The call of the wild turkey."

"What, Indians again?"

"No, it's the real bird, talkin'. An old gobbler is tellin' his hens that
day is comin'. It's a plumb waste on his part, because they know it
theirselves, but he must jest let 'em know what a smart bird he is. An'
it's that pride uv his that will be his ruin. Git up, Paul; we must have
him an' one uv his hens to eat."

"Where do you think they are?" asked Paul.

"In the hick'ry grove. I guess they lighted thar fur the night, when
flyin' 'cross the lake."

The two hurried on their clothes, took their rifles, and stole out. A
faint tinge of light was just showing under the horizon in the east, but
the air was not yet gray. It was very cold at that early hour, and Paul
shivered, but he soon forgot it in the ardor of the chase.

"Slip along softer nor a cat, Paul," said Jim. "We don't want to give old
Mr. Gobbler any warnin' that his time hez come. Thar, hear him? The tarnal
fool! He's jest bound to show us where he is."

The mellow call arose again, very clear and distinct in the silent air,
and as they approached the edge of the hickory grove, Jim pointed upward.

"See him thar on the limb," he said, "the big feller with the feathers all
shinin' an' glistenin'? That's the gobbler, an' the littler ones with the
gray feathers are the hens. I'm goin' to take the gobbler. He may be old,
but he's so fat he's bound to be tender; an' s'pose, Paul, you take that
hen next to him. When I say 'Now,' fire."

The two raised their guns, took careful aim, and Jim said "Now." They
fired together, aiming at the necks or heads. The big gobbler fell like a
stone from the bough and lay