“The gun makes him so,” said the old woman; “he thinks my boy is going a hunting.”

“Maybe I shall—­who knows?” Verty said.  “If I see a deer upon my way, good-bye to the law work!”

And bounding lightly into the saddle—­a movement which caused the pigeon to open and flutter its wings—­Verty smiled on the old woman, placed his hand on his breast, and touched Cloud with his heel.

Cloud shook his head, and set forward cheerfully, Longears galloping by his master’s side.

Verty drank in the Autumn loveliness with that delight which he always experienced in the fresh pure hills, with the mountain winds around him.  The trees seemed to be growing more and more gorgeous in their coloring, and the cries of wild birds were far more jubilant than ever.  As he went on along the narrow bridle path, under the magnificent boughs, his countenance was brighter and more joyous, and he broke once or twice into a song.

Suddenly, while he was humming thus in a low tune, to himself, a still “croak!” attracted his attention, and he stopped abruptly.

“Ah!” he murmured, “that’s a good big gobbler, and I’ll see about him!”

And Verty cautiously dismounted, and with one foot raised, listened for a repetition of the sound.

It was not long before the turkey’s call was again heard from a thick copse on his left.

The young hunter turned, and imprisoning Cloud’s nostril in his nervous grasp, looked fixedly into that intelligent animal’s eyes.  Cloud seemed to understand very well—­nodded his head—­drew a long breath—­and stood like a statue.  Verty then placed his foot upon Longears, made a gesture with his hand, and Longears showed himself equally docile.  He laid down, and without moving, followed his master with his eyes, and listened.

Verty crept noiselessly, without treading on a leaf or a twig, to a neighboring thicket, from which the horse and dog were not visible.  He then lay down in the bushy top of a fallen pine, and without the assistance of any “call,” such as hunters generally make use of, uttered the low, cautious cry of the wild turkey.  This he repeated a number of times, and then remained still.

For ten or fifteen minutes no noise disturbed the stillness of the forest; all was quiet.  Then a slight agitation of the leaves was visible at the distance of fifty or sixty yards, and a magnificent gobbler made his appearance, moving his bright head, and darting upon every side glances of curiosity and circumspection.

He was looking for the female who had called him.

Verty cocked his rifle, and uttered the low croak again.

This seemed to remove any fears which the turkey had—­he replied to it, and advanced toward Verty’s impromptu “blind.”  A streak of sunlight through the boughs fell on his burnished neck and brilliant head, and he paused again.

Verty ran his eye along the barrel—­covered the turkey bashaw’s head, and fired.  The ball passed through the fowl’s throat, and he fell back with violent flutterings—­no longer anything but the memory of a living turkey.