"Yes, Chanito, turkeys hold councils. They generally travel in flocks and on foot, although they know perfectly well how to fly when they want to cross a stream or to make their escape; and when one of them wants to communicate his opinion to another, he raises a cry, and his companions form a circle round him."
"And what takes place then?"
"The preacher," continued l'Encuerado, without the least idea of irreverence, "lowers his neck and then lifts it up again, raises up the hair-like feathers on his crop, and spreads out his tail like a fan. He then addresses the assembled birds, who strut about with their wings half opened, and answer him with approving gobbles."
The Indian, carried away by his narrative, added gestures to words, strutted about, rounded his arms and lowered his chin upon his breast, in order to imitate the ways of the birds which he was describing.
"But what do they say?" asked Lucien, archly.
"That depends on circumstances," he replied, scratching his forehead. "The flock just now surprised must have cried out: 'What is this animal?'—'A dog,' would be the answer of the most knowing among them. 'Fly, my friends, fly!' he would cry; 'dogs are always accompanied by men, and men have guns.' 'A gun! what's that?'—'A machine that goes boum and kills turkeys.' Then I make my appearance; they bustle about, fly away, and spread in every direction; but my gun had time to go boum and to kill this beautiful bird."
I need scarcely say what mirth was excited by this account. While returning to our bivouac, Sumichrast told Lucien that the turkey is a native of America, and that it was introduced by the Jesuits into Europe, where it flourished well. In a domestic state, the color of its plumage altered to a reddish, a white, and a gray and black color. But it never lost the habit of walking about in flocks, and of laying its eggs in thickets, in a shapeless nest, which the young chicks leave the second day after they are hatched. Lastly, the Aztec name of the turkey—totole—is applied by the Indians to simpletons and cowards.
Lucien then told l'Encuerado about the magpie and the amphisbæna.
"You killed a maquiz coatl—a two-headed serpent!" cried the Indian.
"I only wounded it, for it got away; but it had only one head."