"Bring down one of those turkeys," said Jerry to Dunk, as a flock of wild turkeys flew over their heads.
None of the boys claimed to be expert marksmen, but they soon found that Hawke deserved that distinction. He succeeded in bringing down one of the flock Jerry had referred to, though it was flying at a good height. It was nothing more than the boys naturally expected; in fact, they would have been disappointed if he had not proved himself excellent in everything.
"There's just nothin' he can't do," Dunk had said, and in this all the boys heartily agreed.
"Don't shoot too much before dinner," warned Carl, as though he feared they might clean out all the game. "We don't want to do much of that till afternoon. Too heavy to carry."
"Oh, I guess we won't have much of a load," responded Fred, who had made three unsuccessful attempts.
"I guess I don't know how to handle this new gun," was Herb's excuse, when he failed to bag his game.
By ten o'clock they had reached the point in the river which Carl advised was good fishing territory.
"We'll fish till noon," announced Tender Gray, "and then cook 'em."
"Yum, yum," came from several of the boys, who knew what a camp-baked mountain trout was. "I'm hungry already," said Fly.
"Where's your line, Carl?" asked Fred, when all but the Indian had sat down and cast their bait.