“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. 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.