*XIII*
*A TURKEY-HUNT*
Upon awakening in the early morning Ken found his state one of hugeenjoyment. He was still lazily tired, but the dead drag and ache hadgone from his bones. A cool breeze wafted the mist from the river,breaking it up into clouds, between which streamed rosy shafts ofsunlight. Wood-smoke from the fire Pepe was starting blew fragrantlyover him. A hundred thousand birds seemed to be trying to burst theirthroats. The air was full of music. He lay still, listening to thismelodious herald of the day till it ceased.
Then a flock of parrots approached and circled over the island,screeching like a band of flying imps. Presently they alighted in thecypresses, bending the branches to a breaking-point and giving the treesa spotted appearance of green and red. Pepe waved his hand towardanother flock sweeping over.
"Parrakeets," he said.
These birds were a solid green, much smaller than the red-heads, withlonger tails. They appeared wilder than the red-heads, and flew higher,circling the same way and screeching, but they did not alight. Otherflocks sailed presently from all directions. The last one was a cloudof parrots, a shining green and yellow mass several acres in extent.They flew still higher than the parrakeets.
"Yellow-heads!" shouted George. "They're the big fellows, the talkers.If there ain't a million of 'em!"
The boys ate breakfast in a din that made conversation useless. Thered-heads swooped down upon the island, and the two unfriendly speciesflew back and forth, manifestly trying to drive the boys off. The misthad blown away, the sun was shining bright, when the myriad of parrots,in large and small flocks, departed to other jungle haunts.
Pepe rowed across the wide shoal to the sand-bars. There in the softooze, among the hundreds of deer-tracks, Ken found a jaguar-track largerthan his spread hand. It was different from a lion-track, yet he couldnot distinguish just what the difference was. Pepe, who had accompaniedthe boys to carry the rifles and game, pointed to the track and said,vehemently:
"Tigre!" He pronounced it "tee-gray." And he added, "Grande!"
"Big he certainly is," Ken replied. "Boys, we'll kill this jaguar.We'll bait this drinking-trail with a deer carcass and watch to-night."
Once upon the bank, Ken was surprised to see a wide stretch ofcomparatively flat land. It was covered with a low vegetation, withhere and there palm-trees on the little ridges and bamboo clumps down inthe swales. Beyond the flat rose the dark line of dense jungle. It wasnot clear to Ken why that low piece of ground was not overgrown with thematted thickets and vines and big trees characteristic of other parts ofthe jungle. They struck into one of the trails, and had not gone ahundred paces when they espied a herd of deer. The grass and low bushesalmost covered them. George handed his shotgun to Pepe and took hisrifle.
"Shoot low," said Ken.
George pulled the trigger, and with the report a deer went down, but itwas not the one Ken was looking at, nor the one at which he believedGeorge had aimed. The rest of the herd bounded away, to disappear in aswale. Wading through bushes and grass, they found George's quarry, asmall deer weighing perhaps sixty pounds. Pepe carried it over to thetrail. Ken noted that he was exceedingly happy to carry the rifles.They went on at random, somehow feeling that, no matter in whatdirection, they would run into something to shoot at.
The first bamboo swale was alive with _chicalocki_. Up to this time Kenhad not seen this beautiful pheasant fly in the open, and he wasastonished at its speed. It would burst out of the thick bamboo, whirits wings swiftly, then sail. That sail was a most graceful thing tosee. George pulled his 16-gage twice, and missed both times. He hadthe beginner's fault--shooting too soon. Presently Pepe beat a big cock_chicalocki_ out of the bush. He made such a fine target, he sailed soevenly, that Ken simply looked at him over the gun-sights and followedhim till he was out of sight. The next one he dropped like a plummet.Shooting _chicalocki_ was too easy, he decided; they presented so fair amark that it was unfair to pull on them.
George was an impetuous hunter. Ken could not keep near him, nor coaxor command him to stay near. He would wander off by himself. That wasone mark in his favor: at least he had no fear. Pepe hung close to Kenand Hal, with his dark eyes roving everywhere. Ken climbed out on oneside of the swale, George on the other. Catching his whistle, Kenturned to look after him. He waved, and, pointing ahead, began to stoopand slip along from bush to bush. Presently a flock of Muscovy ducksrose before him, sailed a few rods, and alighted. Then from right underhis feet labored up great gray birds. Wild geese! Ken recognized themas George's gun went _bang_! One tumbled over, the others wheeledtoward the river. Ken started down into the swale to cross to whereGeorge was, when Pepe touched his arm.
"Turkeys!" he whispered.
That changed Ken's mind. Pepe pointed into the low bushes ahead andslowly led Ken forward. He heard a peculiar low thumping. Trails ledeverywhere, and here and there were open patches covered with a scantgrowth of grass. Across one of these flashed a bronze streak, thenanother and another.
"Shoot! Shoot!" said Pepe, tensely.
Those bronze streaks were running turkeys! The thumpings were made bytheir rapidly moving feet!
"Don't they flush--fly?" Ken queried of Pepe.
"No--no--shoot!" exclaimed he, as another streak of brown crossed anopen spot. Ken hurriedly unbreached his gun and changed the lightshells for others loaded with heavy shot. He reached the edge of a barespot across which a turkey ran with incredible swiftness. He did notget the gun in line with it at all. Then two more broke out of thebushes. Run! They were as swift as flying quail. Ken took twosnap-shots, and missed both times. If any one had told him that hewould 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. Letme take a few pegs."
Ken handed over the heavy gun and fell back a little, giving Hal thelead. They walked on, peering closely into the bushes. Suddenly abeautiful big gobbler ran out of a thicket, and then stopped to stretchout 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 seethat?"
Ken's excitement and Pepe's intense eagerness all at once seemedcommunicated to Hal. He hauled up the gun, fingered the triggersawkwardly, then shot both barrels. He tore a tremendous hole in thebrush some few feet to one side of the turkey. Then the great bird ranswiftly out of sight.
"Didn't want to kill him sitting, anyhow," said Hal, handing the gunback to Ken.
"We want to eat some wild turkey, don't we? Well, we'd better take anychance. 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 andwhizzed ahead like a huge bullet. That turkey had flushed. Ken watchedhim 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 straightahead. Ken shot both barrels, then George shot one, all clean misses.Ken watched this turkey fly, and saw him clearer. He had to admit thatthe wild turkey of the Tamaulipas jungle had a swifter and morebeautiful flight than his favorite bird, the ruffled grouse.
"Walk faster," said George. "They'll flush better. I don't see how I'mto hit one. This goose I'm carrying weighs about a ton."
The hunters hurried along, crashing through the bushes. They saw turkeyafter turkey. _Bang!_ went George's gun.
Then a beautiful sight made Ken cry out and forget to shoot. Sixturkeys darted across
an open patch--how swiftly they ran!--then rose ina bunch. The roar they made, the wonderfully rapid action of theirpowerful wings, and then the size of them, their wildness and noblegameness made them the royal game for Ken.
At the next threshing in the bushes his gun was leveled; he covered thewhistling 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 offine bronze feathers. Ken hurried forward to see his bird. Itsstrength 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 hecould not see anything except low, green bushes. In great excitementGeorge 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 .22into the bushes. The trampling of hard little hoofs and a cloud of dustwarned Ken where the javelin were. Suddenly Pepe broke and fled for theriver.
"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 hisheels.
It looked as if there was nothing else for Ken to do but to make tracksfrom that vicinity. Never before had he run from a danger which he hadnot seen; but the flight of the boys was irresistibly contagious, andthis, coupled with the many stories he had heard of the _javelin_, madeKen execute a sprint that would have been a record but for the hamperingweight of gun and turkey. He vowed he would hold on to both, pigs or nopigs; nevertheless he listened as he ran and nervously looked backoften. It may have been excited imagination that the dust-cloudappeared to be traveling in his wake. Fortunately, the distance to theriver did not exceed a short quarter of a mile. Hot, winded, andthoroughly disgusted with himself, Ken halted on the bank. Pepe wasalready in the boat, and George was scrambling aboard.
"A fine--chase--you've given--me," Ken panted. "There's nothing--afterus."
"Don't you fool yourself," returned George, quickly. "I saw those pigs,and, like the ass I am, I blazed away at one with my shotgun."
"Did he run at you? That's what I want to know?" demanded Ken.
George said he was not certain about that, but declared there always wasdanger if a wounded _javelin_ squealed. Pepe had little to say; herefused to go back after the deer left in the trail. So they rowedacross the shoal, and on the way passed within a rod of a big crocodile.
"Look at that fellow," cried George. "Wish I had my rifle loaded. He'sfifteen feet long."
"Oh no, George, he's not more than ten feet," said Ken.
"You don't see his tail. He's a whopper. Pepe told me there was one inthis pool. We'll get him, all right."
They reached camp tired out, and all a little ruffled in temper, whichcertainly was not eased by the discovery that they were covered withticks. Following the cue of his companions, Ken hurriedly stripped offhis clothes and hung them where they could singe over the camp-fire.There were broad red bands of _pinilius_ round both ankles, and reddishpatches on the skin of his arms. Here and there were black spots aboutthe size of his little finger-nail, and these were _garrapatoes_. Hepicked these off one by one, rather surprised to find them come off soeasily. Suddenly he jumped straight up with a pain as fierce as if ithad been a puncture from a red-hot wire.
Pepe grinned; and George cried:
"Aha! that was a garrapato bite, that was! You just wait!"
George had a hundred or more of the big black ticks upon him, and he wasremorselessly popping them with his cigarette. Some of them were bitinghim, too, judging from the way he flinched. Pepe had attracted tohimself a million or more of the _pinilius_, but very few of the largerpests. He generously came to Ken's assistance. Ken was trying to pulloff the _garrapato_ that had bitten a hole in him. Pepe said it hadembedded its head, and if pulled would come apart, leaving the headburied in the flesh, which would cause inflammation. Pepe held theglowing end of his cigarette close over the tick, and it began to squirmand pull out its head. When it was free of the flesh Pepe suddenlytouched it with the cigarette, and it exploded with a pop. A difficultquestion was: Which hurt Ken the most, the burn from the cigarette orthe bite of the tick? Pepe scraped off as many _pinilius_ as wouldcome, and then rubbed Ken with _canya_, the native alcohol. If this wasnot some kind of vitriol, Ken missed his guess. It smarted so keenly hethought his skin was peeling off. Presently, however, the smartingsubsided, and so did the ticks.
Hal, who by far was the most sensitive one in regard to the crawling andbiting of the jungle pests, had been remarkably fortunate in escapingthem. So he made good use of his opportunity to poke fun at the others,particularly Ken.
George snapped out: "Just wait, Hollering Hal!"
"Don't you call me that!" said Hal, belligerently.
Ken eyed his brother in silence, but with a dark, meaning glance. Ithad occurred to Ken that here in this jungle was the only place in theworld where he could hope to pay off old scores on Hal. And plots beganto form in his mind.
They lounged about camp, resting in the shade during the hot middayhours. For supper they had a superfluity of meat, the waste of whichKen deplored, and he assuaged his conscience by deciding to have a tasteof each kind. The wild turkey he found the most toothsome, deliciousmeat it had ever been his pleasure to eat. What struck him at once wasthe flavor, and he could not understand it until Pepe explained that thejungle turkey lived upon a red pepper. So the Tamaulipas wild turkeyturned out to be doubly the finest game he had ever shot.
All afternoon the big crocodile sunned himself on the surface of theshoal.
Ken wanted a crocodile-skin, and this was a chance to get one; but hethought it as well to wait, and kept the boys from wasting ammunition.
Before sundown Pepe went across the river and fetched the deer carcassdown to the sandbar, where the jaguar-trail led to the water.
At twilight Ken stationed the boys at the lower end of the island,ambushed behind stones. He placed George and Pepe some rods below hisown position. They had George's .32 rifle, and the 16-gage loaded witha solid ball. Ken put Hal, with the double-barreled shotgun, alsoloaded with ball, some little distance above. And Ken, armed with hisautomatic, hid just opposite the deer-trails.
"Be careful where you shoot," Ken warned repeatedly. "Be cool--thinkquick--and aim."
Ken settled down for a long wait, some fifty yards from the deercarcass. A wonderful procession of wild fowl winged swift flight overhis head. They flew very low. It was strange to note the difference inthe sound of their flying. The cranes and herons softly swished theair, the teal and canvasbacks whirred by, and the great Muscovieswhizzed like bullets.
When the first deer came down to drink it was almost dark, and when theyleft the moon was up, though obscured by clouds. Faint sounds rose fromthe other side of the island. Ken listened until his ears ached, but hecould hear nothing. Heavier clouds drifted over the moon. The deercarcass became indistinct, and then faded entirely, and the bar itselfgrew vague. He was about to give up watching for that night when heheard a faint rustling below. Following it came a grating or crunchingof gravel.
Bright flares split the darkness--_crack! crack!_ rang out George'srifle, then the heavy _boom! boom!_ of the shotgun.
"There he is!" yelled George. "He's down--we got him--there's two!Look out!"
_Boom! Boom!_ roared the heavy shotgun from Hal's covert.
"George missed him! I got him!" yelled Hal. "No, there he goes--Ken!Ken!"
Ken caught the flash of a long gray body in the hazy gloom of the barand took a quick shot at it. The steel-jacketed bullet scattered thegravel and then hummed over the bank. The gray body moved fast up thebank. Ken could just see it. He turned loose the little automatic andm
ade the welkin ring.