"How shall we fire?" asked Dick. "There is no call for all of us to shoot at the same bird."
"I'll take one on the left," answered John Barrow. "You take one on the right. Tom can take a middle one sitting high, and Sam a middle one sitting low. All ready?"
"Yes," came the answer, from one after another.
"Then fire when I say three. One, two—three!"
Bang! bang! went the firearms, and as the reports echoed through the forest, two of the wild turkeys were seen to drop dead under the branches upon which they had been sitting. One, that was badly wounded, fluttered down and began to thrash around in the brush. The rest of the flock flew away with a rush and were lost to sight between the trees.
"Three! That isn't so bad!" cried Dick, as they all started on a run forward. Soon they had the turkey on the ground surrounded, and John Barrow caught up the game and wrung its neck.
"I guess I missed my mark," came rather sheepishly from Tom.
"You!" exclaimed Sam, in surprise. "I was just going to say I had missed."
"Nobody missed," put in the guide.
"Nobody?" came from the three Rovers.