"Don't they flush--fly?" Ken queried of Pepe.
"No--no--shoot!" exclaimed he, as another streak of brown crossed an open spot. Ken hurriedly unbreached his gun and changed the light shells for others loaded with heavy shot. He reached the edge of a bare spot across which a turkey ran with incredible swiftness. He did not get the gun in line with it at all. Then two more broke out of the bushes. Run! They were as swift as flying quail. Ken took two snap-shots, and missed both times. If any one had told him that he would miss a running turkey at fifty feet, he would have been insulted. But he did not loosen a feather. Loading again, he yelled for George.
"Hey, George--turkeys!"
He whooped, and started across on the run.
"Gee!" said Hal. "Ken, I couldn't do any worse shooting than you. Let me take a few pegs."
Ken handed over the heavy gun and fell back a little, giving Hal the lead. They walked on, peering closely into the bushes. Suddenly a beautiful big gobbler ran out of a thicket, and then stopped to stretch out his long neck and look.
"Shoot--hurry!" whispered Ken. "What a chance!"
"That's a tame turkey," said Hal.
"Tame! Why, you tenderfoot! He's as wild as wild. Can't you see that?"
Ken's excitement and Pepe's intense eagerness all at once seemed communicated to Hal. He hauled up the gun, fingered the triggers awkwardly, then shot both barrels. He tore a tremendous hole in the brush some few feet to one side of the turkey. Then the great bird ran swiftly out of sight.