a deer that was too far away to be brought down, and a few hares, which neither took the trouble to shoot. But now Poke Stover called attention to a flock of wild turkeys resting along the rocks not a hundred yards distant.
"A fine shot, Dan!" he whispered. "We can make a good trade with 'em, down in Bexar."
"That's so," answered the boy. "I'm ready to shoot when you are."
"Let us go into the timber, and come up in front of em," suggested the old frontiersman. "The rocks kind o' hide em from this p'int."
They dismounted and tied their mustangs to a tree. Then, with guns ready for use, they crept off in a semicircle, coming up to within sixty yards of the turkeys before they were discovered.
"Fire!" cried Stover, and bang! bang! went the two guns, one directly after the other. They had loaded with large shot, and five turkeys fell, two killed outright and the others badly wounded. Rushing in, Stover quickly caught the wounded ones and wrung their necks.
"That's what I call a pretty good haul," cried Dan, enthusiastically.
"It's not bad, lad, although I've seen better. I wish I could have gotten a second shot at 'em We might have—" The old frontiersman broke off short. "What's that?"
