At the next threshing in the bushes his gun was leveled; he covered the whistling bronze thing that shot up. The turkey went down with a crash. Pepe yelled, and as he ran forward the air all about him was full of fine bronze feathers. Ken hurried forward to see his bird. Its strength and symmetry, and especially the beautiful shades of bronze, captivated his eye.
"Come on, boys--this is the greatest game I ever hunted," he called.
Again Pepe yelled, and this time he pointed. From where Ken stood he could not see anything except low, green bushes. In great excitement George threw up his gun and shot. Ken heard a squealing.
"Javelin! Javelin!" yelled Pepe, in piercing alarm.
George jerked a rifle from him and began to shoot. Hal pumped his .22 into the bushes. The trampling of hard little hoofs and a cloud of dust warned Ken where the javelin were. Suddenly Pepe broke and fled for the river.
"Hyar, Pepe, fetch back my rifle," shouted Ken, angrily.
Pepe ran all the faster.
George turned and dashed away yelling: "Wild pigs! Wild pigs!"
"Look out, Ken! Run! Run!" added Hal; and he likewise took to his heels.
It looked as if there was nothing else for Ken to do but to make tracks from that vicinity. Never before had he run from a danger which he had not seen; but the flight of the boys was irresistibly contagious, and this, coupled with the many stories he had heard of the javelin, made Ken execute a sprint that would have been a record but for the hampering weight of gun and turkey. He vowed he would hold on to both, pigs or no pigs; nevertheless he listened as he ran and nervously looked back often. It may have been excited imagination that the dust-cloud appeared to be traveling in his wake. Fortunately, the distance to the river did not exceed a short quarter of a mile. Hot, winded, and thoroughly disgusted with himself, Ken halted on the bank. Pepe was already in the boat, and George was scrambling aboard.