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.

"Very well," said Verty, smoothing the head of his pigeon, which had
been greatly startled by the explosion, "I can shoot better than
that--I ought to have hit your eye, Monsieur."

And going to the spot he took up the turkey, and then returned to
Cloud, who, with Longears at his feet, remained perfectly quiet,

Verty tied the turkey to his saddle-bow, and went on laughing. He made
his entry into Winchester in this extremely lawyer-like guise; that is
to say, in moccasins and leggins, with a rifle in one hand, a pigeon
on the wrist of the other, and a turkey dangling at his horse's side.
Cloud, in order to complete the picture, was shaggier than ever, and
Verty himself had never possessed so many tangled curls. His shoulders
were positively covered with them.

Unfortunately Winchester had no artist at the period.

Mr. Roundjacket was standing at the door of the office, and he greeted
Verty with a loud laugh.

"You young savage!" he said, "there you are looking like a barbarous
backwoodsman, when we are trying our very best to make a respectable
lawyer of you."