"Didn't want to kill him sitting, anyhow," said Hal, handing the gun back to Ken.
"We want to eat some wild turkey, don't we? Well, we'd better take any chance. These birds are game, Hal, and don't you forget that!"
"What's all the shooting?" panted George, as he joined the march.
Just then there was a roar in the bushes, and a brown blur rose and whizzed ahead like a huge bullet. That turkey had flushed. Ken watched him fly till he went down out of sight into a distant swale.
"Pretty nifty flier, eh?" said George. "He was too quick for me."
"Great!" replied Ken.
There was another roar, and a huge bronze cannon-ball sped straight ahead. Ken shot both barrels, then George shot one, all clean misses. Ken watched this turkey fly, and saw him clearer. He had to admit that the wild turkey of the Tamaulipas jungle had a swifter and more beautiful flight than his favorite bird, the ruffled grouse.
"Walk faster," said George. "They'll flush better. I don't see how I'm to hit one. This goose I'm carrying weighs about a ton."
The hunters hurried along, crashing through the bushes. They saw turkey after turkey. Bang! went George's gun.
Then a beautiful sight made Ken cry out and forget to shoot. Six turkeys darted across an open patch--how swiftly they ran!--then rose in a bunch. The roar they made, the wonderfully rapid action of their powerful wings, and then the size of them, their wildness and noble gameness made them the royal game for Ken.