Had it taken to wing and escaped?
Impossible! He had seen it fall, and without a flutter. It must have been shot quite dead? It could not have come to life again?
He searched all about—going round the stump at least a dozen times, and carefully scrutinising every inch of the ground for a score of yards on each side—but no turkey could be found!
Had the unlucky sportsman been at all doubtful of the fact of his having killed the bird, he would have given up the search in despair. But upon this point he was as certain as of his own existence; and it was that which rendered him so pertinacious in his endeavours to find it. He was determined to leave neither stick nor stone unturned; and, to aid him in the prosecution of his search, he called loudly for his retriever Quashie.
But to his repeated calls no Quashie came; and Mr Smythje was forced to the conclusion that the darkey had either gone to sleep, or had strayed away from the spot where he had left him.
He had some thoughts of going back to look for Quashie; but, while he was meditating on the matter, an idea occurred to him, which promised to explain the mysterious disappearance of the bird.
The stump upon which the “turkey” had been perched could scarcely have been termed a stump. It was rather the trunk of a large tree, that had been abruptly broken off below the limbs, and still stood some fifteen or twenty feet in height, erect and massive as the tower of some ruined castle. Though quite a dead-wood, and without any branches of its own, it was, nevertheless, garnished with verdure. A complete matting of vines that grew around its roots, and parasites that sprang from its decaying sides, inclosed it with a tortuous trellis-work—so that only near its top could the shape of the old tree be distinguished.
At first the sportsman supposed that his game had dropped down among the ragged shrubbery; and he searched the whole of this with elaborate minuteness, but in vain.
It now occurred to him—and this was the idea that promised the éclaircissement spoken of—that the bird had not fallen from the stump, but had dropped dead upon the top of it, and there might still be lying!
The dead-wood, which, at its broken summit, appeared to be some five or six feet in diameter, rendered this conjecture probable enough; and Smythje resolved upon putting it to the proof, by climbing to the top. He would have appointed Quashie to the performance of this feat; but Quashie non esset inventus.