It was the first flight of the turkey.

His course then altered, although not a great deal, and carried him half a mile or so in a direct line as before.
"The second flight," remarked Basil to his brother, as both followed at a loose gallop, now with their eyes anxiously watching the dog, and now halting a moment by some conspicuous tree to "blaze" their way, by breaking one of its branches.
The dog at length entered a copse.
"Ha!" exclaimed Basil, "Francois has killed his turkey there.

No," he continued--as the hound shot out of the copse again, and struck off into the open plain--"no.

It has sought shelter there, but it has been run out again, and gone farther." Marengo now led in a direct line for several hundred paces; when, all at once, he began to double and run in circling courses over the prairie.
"Draw up, Lucien! draw up!" cried Basil, as he pulled upon his bridle-rein.

"I know what that means.