“What is it?” asked Fenn, as he saw his chum aiming his gun up through the low branches of a tree near which he had stopped.
For answer Bart fired. There was a flutter of big wings, a protesting gobble or two, and a big turkey cock fell to the ground.
“There, I knew I’d get him!” Bart cried as he ran forward and secured his prize. “I saw him roosting up in the branches, and I fired before he could get away. I knew I’d get him!”
“You don’t think this is the same one you fired at a while ago, do you?” asked Ned.
“Well, it’s one just as big and just as good,” retorted Bart. “I’m satisfied if he is.”
He slung the gobbler, which was a large fat one, over his shoulder and went on, much pleased with himself and his new gun.
“Guess we’ll have roast turkey to-night all right,” Frank remarked as they trudged along.
“I guess not, if I have to cook it!” exclaimed Fenn. “It’s too late to dress any birds to-night. Canned stuff and coffee for yours.”
“Well, to-morrow then,” Frank insisted. “We’ve got to have a turkey dinner while we’re in the woods.”
It was almost dark when they reached camp. They lighted some lanterns, and built a big fire, while Fenn, who had been elected cook, got supper ready. The other boys cleared out the tent for sleeping purposes.