In the early morning, all things being favorable, their first move after leaving the roost is in search of food, which search they undertake with characteristic vigor and energy, scratching and turning over the dry leaves and decaying vegetation. Two kinds of food are thus gained: various seed or mast, fallen from the trees and bushes, and all manner of insects, of both of which they are very fond, and which constitute a large part of their food supply. There is no bird of the gallinaceous order that requires and destroys more insects than wild turkeys. They will scratch with great earnestness over a given space, then, all at once, start off, moving rapidly, sometimes raising their broad wings and flapping them against their sides, as if to stretch, while others leap and skip and waltz about. Then they will go in one direction for some distance. Suddenly, one finds a morsel of some kind to eat, and begins to scratch among the leaves, the whole flock doing likewise, and they will keep this up until a large space, perhaps half an acre of land, is so gone over. What induces them to scratch up one place so thoroughly and leave others untouched would seem a mystery to the inexperienced; but close observation will show that such scratching indicates the presence of some kind of food under the leaves. It may be the nuts of the beech, oak, chestnut, chinquapin, black or sweet gum tree, pecan nut, grape, or muscadine seed. If one will observe the scratchings, it will be seen that they occur under one or another of such trees or vines. Thus they travel on, stopping to scratch at intervals until their crops are filled.

Under certain conditions, wild turkeys are compelled to seek numerous sources to obtain a supply of food, as when there is a failure of the mast crop, which affords the principal supply of their food, or when there is an overflow of the great swamps or river bottoms, which turkeys so often inhabit. When such overflows occur, the turkeys are either forced to take up their abode in the trees, or to leave their feeding ground and retreat to the high lands that are not overflowed. In the latter case there is little trouble in procuring food by scratching in the dry leaves or gleaning in the grain fields. But turkeys are hard to drive from their haunts, even by high waters, and more often than not they will stubbornly remain in the immediate locality of their favorite swamps and river bottoms by taking to the trees until the waters have subsided; they will persistently remain in the trees even for two or three months, with the water five to twenty-five feet in depth beneath them. At such times they subsist upon the green buds of the trees upon which they perch, and the few grapes and berry seeds that may remain attached to the vines which they can reach from the limbs. It is truly remarkable how long these birds can subsist and keep in fair flesh under such conditions. There is a critical time during these overflows, when turkeys are hard pressed in that they may obtain sufficient food to sustain life; this is when the rivers overflow in December, January, or February, before the buds have appeared or have become large enough to be of any value as food. Under these conditions they must fly from tree to tree until they reach dry ground, or starve to death.

Although I have never known of a gobbler being thus starved to death, I have seen them so emaciated they could hardly stand. One incident of this sort I will relate: I found four very large old gobblers in an overflowed swamp on the Tombigbee River in Alabama, and as it was in February, it was too early in the year for herbage to begin the spring growth. The river had overflowed the bottoms suddenly, and it was a long way to dry land, perhaps three miles, so the turkeys could get little or nothing to sustain life. I shot one of these gobblers, not thinking of their probable condition, and found I had bagged a skeleton.

If the bottoms are not over three miles wide, turkeys will usually, on approach of rising water, start for the dry ridges farther back from the river, and there remain until the waters steal upon them, when they will fly into the trees. Sometimes a ridge is an island at sundown when they go to roost, but is covered during the night, and when the morning comes there is no dry land in sight for the poor birds to alight upon. This is bewildering to them and presents a new state of affairs. If there be an old mother hen in the flock, she will at once take in the situation, and by certain significant clucks and a peculiar cackle, which is a part of their elaborate language, she will take wing and fly two or three hundred yards in the direction of dry land, alighting in the trees, when, after a rest, with another cluck or two, the party will continue in the same direction. This is kept up until the dry land is reached, when, with wild acclaim and a general cackle of exultation, they all alight on the ground and proceed at once, at a fearful rate, to scratch up the leaves in search of food.

The hunter, aware of these habits after the swamps begin to overflow, will lose no opportunity for an early visit to the hummock at the margin of the backwaters. The turkeys do not remain near the edge of the overflow for any length of time, but very soon extend their range farther into the high forests and fields. They seem to know instinctively that it is unsafe to linger near the edge of the water.

In case the overflow occurs in March or April, when the trees are full of fresh buds and blossoms, the turkeys have an easy time, living in the treetops, fluttering from branch to branch, gathering the tender buds and young leaves of such trees as the ash, hackberry, pin oak, and the yellow bloom of the birch, all of which are favorite foods, while of the beech and some other trees it is the fringe-like bloom they eat. They will remain in the trees out of sight of land for months if they have plenty of buds and young leaves to eat, and keep in fair flesh; but the flesh is not so palatable as when feeding on mast or grain.

I once knew a flock of fifteen turkeys to remain in trees above an overflow for two months. I could see them daily from my cabin on the bank of a lake in Alabama, and could sit at my table and watch them fluttering as they fed on the hackberry buds. They were in sight of a dry, piney wood, and a flight of three hundred yards across a lake would have taken them to the dry land, but not once did they seem inclined to go to it. They remained in the trees until the water went down, and the next I saw of them was in an open plantation, with the lake on one side and the river on the other. The water had barely left the surface in places, and it was muddy and sloppy. They never once went to dry land, but returned to their swamp haunts as the water abated.

On one occasion, as I was going down the river in my skiff, I saw and passed a great number of wild turkeys, one hundred or more, in small flocks in the timber near and along the river banks. The adjoining swamps were overflowed, with no land above the water. Most of these turkeys were sitting in cottonwood trees immediately on the river banks or a little way out in the timber, eating the buds. Many of them were in the trees that hung over the river, and, although most of the trees were leafless, thus exposing the turkeys to view, they remained there quite unconcerned while steamboats passed right by them. As I had three turkeys already in my boat, I felt no desire to molest them as I drifted by and under them. I passed right under some fine gobblers on their perches, not over thirty feet up, and they only looked curiously down at me; they seemed to be busily engaged in feeding, and sailed from tree to tree, keeping up a great stir and racket. It is a beautiful sight to watch a flock of wild turkeys budding, especially on beech buds. The branches of the beech trees are long and so limber that the birds with all their efforts can barely hold on to the tiny twigs while they gather their food; hence they are kept in a constant wobble and flutter, bobbing up and down with their wings spread out to sustain an equilibrium, and their broad tails waving and tossing, bringing them into all manner of attitudes, thus enabling the hunter to see and hear them a quarter of a mile through the timber. Some get upon very small limbs, then stretch out their long necks and pick the buds; others will spread out both wings for support and lie prone on a bunch of twigs while they feed. There is little or no trouble for the hunter to approach a flock so engaged and pick off his choice. They are so bent on eating that they take no note of what is going on around them; even if over dry land they will often remain in the trees half a day eating buds, if other food is scarce, and when tired or satiated they will sit calmly on some large limb and go to sleep or preen their feathers. This is one of the best opportunities afforded the crafty hunter with his good rifle to steal up behind a tree and deliberately drop one, as at this time the leaves are too small to afford much cover, and the turkeys are exposed to open view, giving the prettiest shots imaginable for the rifle. While this is one of the most successful and easiest ways of securing turkeys, there are few hunters who know enough about it to take advantage of it. Persons will often pass under trees in a turkey locality, when suddenly one or more turkeys will fly out. The hunter looks up, but sees only the turkeys on the wing, and cannot understand why they were in the trees at that time of day, as he has not flushed any. He wonders how they came to be there and does not know they were up there budding, having probably been there all the morning.

The budding season lasts but a short time, if the birds are not forced to it by an overflow. On dry land it lasts a month or six weeks, for by that time the buds have matured into full-grown leaves, and are too old and tough for the birds to eat.

CHAPTER IX
HABITS OF ASSOCIATION AND ROOSTING

After obtaining a supply of food, the wild turkeys become moody and careless, lounging about the sunny slopes if the weather be cool, or if it be hot, seeking the shade of the hummock or thicket, preening their feathers or wallowing in the dust. They thus pass the middle hours of the day in social harmony and restful abandon. About three or four o'clock in the afternoon the line of march is resumed in the direction of the roosting place, and they gather their evening meal as they journey along. They are excellent timekeepers, usually winding up the day at one of their favourite roosts; but in case this calculation is faulty and sundown overtakes them a mile or so from the desired spot, they will start on a run in single file, the old hens leading, and keep going rapidly until their destination is reached. They will then stop suddenly in a close group, peer about, uttering low purring sounds, while having a breathing spell from the long run. Having regained their composure, the old hens will sound several clucks in rapid succession, terminating in a guttural cackle, when the whole of the flock will take wing. With a wild roar, up they go in different directions, alighting in the largest trees with seldom more than two or three turkeys in a single tree. If they are not satisfied with their first selection of a roosting place, they will fly from tree to tree until a satisfactory place is found; then they settle down quietly for the night.

Wild turkeys have a preference for roosting over water, and they will often go a long way in order to secure such a roost. The backwater from the overflowing streams, when it spreads out widely through the standing timber of the river bottoms, affords them great comfort; also the cypress ponds to be found in our Southern river districts. They evidently fancy that there is greater safety in such places.

The turkey is happy when it can traverse the ridges, glades, and flats in a day's ramble from one watercourse to another, having a roosting place at one ridge one night and the next night at another. This sort of arrangement suits them admirably, as they dislike to roost in the same trees two or more consecutive nights. I have known them to make such regular changes as to roost in three or four different places in a week, bringing up at the same place not exceeding once or twice a week, and that on or about certain days. These are facts peculiar to the wild turkey, especially if localities are favorably arranged. But often they will roost very many nights near the same place. If the range is unlimited, however, they will seldom roost oftener than twice a week at a given spot. There are exceptions though, for I have known positively of old gobblers who took up their abode at a certain spot and roosted, if not in the same tree, in the same clump of trees, night after night and year after year with the persistent regularity of the peacock, which will roost on the same limb of a tree for ten or twenty years if undisturbed. When an old gobbler does take to this hermitlike custom, he is the most difficult bird to bag in the world. His life seems immune from attacks of any nature, and he seems to know the tactics of every hunter in the vicinity of his range. He keeps aloof from any old logs or stumps where an enemy may lurk, and never gobbles until daylight, so that he can take in every inch of his surroundings. I have killed from four to six old gobblers, in a given range, while trying to bag a certain stubborn old chap whose vigilance and good luck have saved him from bullets for years; but through patience and dogged persistence in the hunter he succumbed at last. Although some hold out longer in their reserved and retired course, I can truthfully say that I have yet to encounter one that can not be brought to the gun by fair and square calling. Many experienced and worthy hunters will criticise this assertion, and are honest in their convictions that I am in error; but I will take the dissenter to the haunts of the most astute old gobbler he may select, and call the turkey right up to the muzzle of his gun, or near enough to see the glint of his eye.

A flock may be met one morning on the skirts of the backwater from an overflow river bottom, probably a flock of hens and gobblers together. There would be a great commotion among them and a general mixing up, yelping, and gobbling. On visiting this place the next morning one would not be seen or heard. Crossing to another lake or backwater, one might find the whole flock, or possibly the gobblers, with not a hen around. If in the gobbling season, and the males are gobbling, in less than half an hour the hens would be among them, but if not in the gobbling season the former may not meet the latter again for a month, as in the spring the sexes have no more attraction for each other than were they birds of entirely different groups. Except in the spring you may flush and scatter a flock of hens and gobblers, and after a reasonable wait begin to call with the notes of the hen. Not a gobbler will answer or notice you at all, but the hens will reply by yelping, squealing, and clucking. The gobblers meantime are as stolid as an Indian and as silent as a dead stump. Wait until the hens have gone, then begin the lingo of the gobbler and you find another result.

Usually there are plenty of wild turkeys in the Southern river bottoms, in fall and winter, and there they remain until driven to the uplands by overflows, where they must subsist on pine mast, or remain in the trees over the water, and live on the young buds and tender leaves. I have repeatedly noticed this in the Tombigbee swamps in the State of Alabama. Those that do not go to the hills and pine forests will hug the margin of the overflow until the waters subside, when they will immediately return to their former haunts, however wet and muddy. When incubating time comes they seek the higher, dryer, and more open places, grassy and brush-covered abandoned plantations, there to carry out the duties of reproduction.

After the season of incubation is at an end the gobblers cease, almost entirely, associating with the hens, collecting, as the summer advances, in bands of from two to a dozen. Thus they remain all through the summer, autumn and winter, acting the rôle of old bachelors or widowers, and never separating unless disturbed by an enemy. The females care for and rear the young broods, returning to the swamps or hummocks in the fall, where their favorite food has matured and shed.

One of the last seasons I spent in the vicinity of the Tombigbee country in Alabama there were no grapes or muscadines in the bottoms, but a good pin oak crop of acorns, such as the turkeys like. In the higher woods there was a heavy black gum and berry crop, and there the turkeys were, while in the oak bottoms there was scarcely a flock.

During the summer months, old gobblers, like old bucks, having banded together, become very friendly and attached to each other, feeding in perfect harmony. They stroll together wherever their inclinations may lead them, and are then very shy and retiring. One seldom sees them in the summer, but when they do it is generally in an open prairie or old field, eating blackberries, wallowing in an old ash hole, or chasing grasshoppers. These old bachelors do not get fat until fall, although they have an ample supply of food. They are lean and ugly and forlorn looking until after the molting season is over, in August and September, and their new bronze suits are donned; they then begin to fatten, and by December are in excellent condition of flesh and feathers, continuing to improve until the gobbling season returns next spring. These confirmed old bachelors will not associate with the other turkeys, but the old hens that have had their nests broken up and have reared no broods will associate all winter with the young broods and their mothers. I have often observed that these old patriarchs, as a rule, never associate with any other age or sex of turkeys. In summer you will often see an old gobbler or two with a flock of hens early in the morning; but see the same flock three hours later and he is not with them. In the early morning hours of spring, while there is a general gobbling and strutting parade, all ages and sexes mingle in the exuberance of the season and hour; but when this outburst of frolic and revelry is over, the different bands return to the sterner business of the day, that of searching for food. The old gobblers remain gobbling, strutting, gyrating round, picking at and teasing each other, or strumming now and then with the tip of wings, until a riot is precipitated and a fight ensues, in which two become engaged, while the more peaceful or timid quickly leave the vicinity. The gladiators then begin a tug of war, and after a few blows and jams with wings and spurs, one seizes another by the loose skin of the head, which is very limp, affording an excellent hold; then No. 2 gets his opponent by the nape of the neck, and they pull, push, and shove, standing on tiptoes, prancing and hauling away, each endeavoring to stretch his neck as high as possible, as if determined to pull the other's head off, while both necks are twisted around each other, their wattles aglow with the red sign of anger, while their hazel eyes sparkle with wrath. They writhe, twist, and haul away, until perhaps a quarter of an acre of earth is trampled, and keep it up until the foolish combat ends from sheer exhaustion, when one of them runs away. The victor, if not too much used up, having recovered breath and strength, will set up a gobbling and strutting that will cause the leaves of the trees to tremble. He thus proclaims his victory and assumes the rôle of monarch of all he surveys.

By these fights one gobbler establishes his claim as lord of a certain range, which no other gobbler will dispute during the rest of the season.

Sometimes, though rarely, I have known an old monarch to take a companion gobbler into the very bosom of his harem, however strange this may appear. I have known of half a dozen instances of this nature where two old gobblers have formed an inseparable alliance and remained together staunch friends for years. Hens are seldom seen in their company and they are extremely difficult to call. I hunted one such brace three years, killing many other gobblers in the long effort to bag these two; never did I call them within gunshot, until one day by some accident they got separated, when it was no trouble to call and kill one of them; the other is, for all I know, alive now.

Such fights as I have described break up the social ring of old bachelors, and until the love season is over each male takes up a range to himself, calling to his side as many of the females within hearing of his voice as will come to him. Several gobblers can be heard in the morning gobbling within a radius of a few hundred yards, but each keeps to himself, and by frequent and persistent gobbling and strutting secures the society of such hens as may favor him with their presence.

After the disbanding of the old gobblers is the best time in the whole season to bring them to call, as they will come to almost any call, yelp, or cluck; except the mogul himself. His bigotry and vanity render him most indifferent to the seductive coquetry of the females, much less to human imitators. Being assured of, and satisfied with, a well-filled harem, he gives little care to the discordant piping of the hunter, or even the gentle quaver of a hen.

In this latitude—from 30 degrees to 33 degrees north—the gobbling season begins about the first week of March, ending the last of May, embracing about three months, though the time depends much on the thermal conditions of the spring. If the weather be dry and pleasant the season will not last as long as if wet and chilly.

CHAPTER X
GUNS I HAVE USED ON TURKEYS

The rifle is, par excellence, the arm for hunting the wild turkey under nearly all conditions. It matters little what calibre rifle is used. Years ago when I began to hunt turkeys the muzzle-loading round ball rifle was the only arm thought fit, and it surely did the work well and satisfactorily.

It is said that Davy Crockett when a boy was compelled by his father to shoot enough game in the morning to supply his dinner, and was allowed one load of powder and a ball to do it with. If he missed and got no game he got no dinner.

In the old days the .38 calibre, shooting a round ball, was about the proper size, with not too much twist in the rifle; one twist or turn in five feet was about the thing. Those rifles were reliable and did not lacerate the flesh unless too much powder was used.

Next came the breech-loading rifle with small charge of powder and heavy bullet; like the Winchester model '66 and Frank Wesson's single shot. These guns shot with remarkable correctness at short range, especially the Frank Wesson rifle; but none of them had enough velocity to do as fine shooting as is required in turkey shooting above 75 to 100 yards. With me the .38 calibre Wesson rifle did more certain work on old gobblers than any other rifle I have ever seen or used, nor was the powder charge sufficient to tear the flesh severely, but it would drive the bullet through two old gobblers.

The next best gun, and the best all-round shooting gun I ever used on turkeys was a .32-20 Winchester, model '73, but this gun tore the flesh badly.

The points to be desired in a turkey rifle are these: A bullet that will kill under ordinary conditions and at the same time leave a minimum trace through the bird; and a flat trajectory for fine shooting at 125 or 150 yards, as that is as far as one will be apt to risk a shot at them.

I found that the .32 calibre killed as well as the .50 calibre—I mean the .32-20—if the shot was placed right. It must be remembered that the skin of birds is very thin and delicate; the flesh under it, especially the breast, is extremely tender and juicy, and a rifle bullet passing through it with great velocity will spatter the flesh like soft butter, the bullet having mushroomed against the thick, hard feathers, or even on striking the flesh itself.

I believe the best rifle that could be made for turkey shooting would be .30 or .32 calibre, with about 15 grains of powder, and the weight of the bullet reduced as much as possible without injury to accuracy. It would have ample force and not tear the flesh and give even greater penetration than the .32-20. A turkey rifle should not mushroom its bullets, for, although the turkey possesses remarkable vitality, he is easily killed if shot in the right place.

As to shotguns, there is little choice so far as the shooting is concerned. Any good modern choke bored gun will answer—the choked being greatly to be preferred, as it concentrates its shot—which is a desirable quality in scoring—on the head or neck, the only mark for a shotgun on a turkey. No. 6 is by all means the size shot for this purpose; one barrel with No. 6 for the head, the other No. 3 or 4 for the body, is the proper thing.

Wing shooting turkey is so out of line with my idea of turkey hunting under any conditions that I have little to offer in that respect. To see a big, fine gobbler with his rich bronze plumage all messed up by shot and grime, legs and wings all broken and bloody, dangling about, is a disgusting sight to the true turkey hunter. The turkey is not built or in any way adapted to being so shot, but there are men so nervous and excitable that they cannot still-hunt turkeys. Such men must be going all the time, and their only chance is to scare up the birds and shoot them on the wing. They are not of the stuff that make good turkey hunters, and they will never succeed, no matter how they try. They have no patience to wait on the movement of a turkey when coming to the call, but can sit around a hotel all day spinning yarns, talking politics, and perhaps playing cards all night. This type of man can never become a quiet, contemplative, thoughtful turkey hunter.

Unless killed or wing broken, a turkey may receive while on the wing a mortal hurt and yet be lost, for it has such vitality that it will prolong its flight to such a distance as to be lost. At short range turkeys on the wing are easily dropped with a shotgun, but then the whole body is usually filled with shot. Hallock says: "If the hunter be so fortunate as to get within reach of a turkey, let him take deliberate aim at the head if he has a rifle, but the possessor of a shotgun should cover the whole body." To me this seems absurd, for it is the reverse of this that I would suggest to successfully kill the bird. Should the man of average nerve and excitability take aim at the head of a turkey with a rifle he will miss it. I have done it myself under certain conditions, and under ordinary circumstances I would not suggest that any sportsman take such chances.

The turkey hunter who uses his rifle gets more real enjoyment out of the sport than with any other arm. He gets more chances to kill the bird, because of the greater killing range of the rifle, and consequently is surer of his game, particularly if he is a marksman with a cool head, steady hand, and good vision. If one desires to be a first-class, all-round turkey hunter, my advice is to employ the rifle, and when a turkey is found, aim for the body, and that part of it that covers the vitals. If you do not do this you are likely to see your game running away as fast as his legs can carry him, for, unless your bullet has passed through his body, striking a vital part, the bird is likely to escape. If circumstances are such that you cannot procure a rifle, or are wedded to a shotgun, I should advise the use of No. 6 shot, and would recommend aiming at the head of the bird, unless they are young birds and quite near enough to make sure your shot. Do not use buckshot if you can procure any other. Should you use No. 5 or 6 shot and aim at the head, you will be surprised to learn at what range you can kill a turkey. Some hunters who use a shotgun prefer No. 6 in one barrel and No. 4 in the other, using one for the head and the other for the body. The reason that I do not recommend the use of buckshot in turkey hunting is because the vital parts of the turkey are very small, and at forty yards the chances of reaching these parts with buckshot are slim. Those who have tried buckshot at this range note that they have knocked their birds over nearly every time, but are surprised to see them get up and run away. This never happens if the sportsman uses a good rifle and places his bullet in the right place.

CHAPTER XI
LEARNING TURKEY LANGUAGE—WHY DOES THE GOBBLER GOBBLE

To learn to imitate the cry of a turkey is no great feat, if you have something to call with and know the sounds you wish to imitate. One can become proficient in the use of the call with reasonable effort; but to expect to call intelligently, without a proper knowledge of the interpretation of the notes produced, is as absurd as to read a foreign language and not know the meaning of the words. Unless you know the meaning of the gobble, the yelp, and cluck, in all their variations, you cannot expect to use the turkey language intelligently. Without such knowledge you will fail to interest the bird you try to call, unless by accident or sheer good luck you brought the cautious thing within sight. It is not desirable, though, that we depend upon luck; one should prefer skill in calling, so that he can at all times depend with a degree of certainty on accomplishing his purpose of fooling the bird. I was once hunting with a friend, and as we sat together by White Rock Creek calling an old gobbler; two or three other hunters, at different points but within hearing, were also calling, keeping the turkey continually gobbling. My friend asked why I did not call oftener, fearing the others would decoy the turkey away from us. I told him that I had already put in my call and the gobbler understood it, and the other fellows were calling by simply making sounds with no apparent meaning or reason, and when the gobbler got ready he would come to us. I then took out my pipe and had a smoke. Meantime the calling by the other hunters was going on at a terrific rate, and the gobbler was apparently tickling their ambition with his constant rattle and strut. Ere long he came directly to us and we shot him.

I have known men who could in practice yelp almost as well as the turkey, but when attempting to call the wild bird would do little better than the veriest novice. If such persons' confidence and ability to call did not fail them, their judgment would, and the opportunity would be spoiled by some absurd act.

It is not so much what one should do in calling, but what one should not do, as it is better to leave things undone unless done right. This subject requires the most minute and careful knowledge of turkey lore, and will require much of your patience before you are proficient, and I trust you will find in these lines more for your contemplation than you might suspect.

The conditions under which you call are daily varied, while the methods to be employed each time are quite complex. In spring the males are gobbling, and the love-call of the hen is then the one to use. In the fall and winter, when the turkeys are in flocks and do not gobble, this not being the love season, you do not then make love-call, but such as suits the occasion and the temper of the game.

First, as to gobbling: We will analyze that feature, as it involves great interest to the hunter. As a matter of fact, more people hunt the turkey during the gobbling season than at any other time, and strange to say get fewer turkeys, simply from the fact that the call is not understood.

Why do they go in quest of turkeys at that season? For the reason that they are much more easily located, as the gobbling of the turkey indicates its whereabouts, removing the necessity of spending much time in search of them; hence, were it not for the gobbling many hunters would never attempt to hunt the birds, knowing too well it would be useless.

The first and most important thing that you should impress on your mind is, that the turkey-cocks gobble for a reason.

Why does the gobbler stand in one spot and make a great ado? Every turkey, whether born in Florida or Mexico, does the same, and at the same period of the year, because his gobbling and strutting is to let the hens know where he is, and if he keeps it up every hen in hearing will come to him. The gobble of the male turkey is his love-call. In the early spring, when nature begins to unfold its latent energies and develop its dormant resources for creating new life, the old gobbler feels its impulses, and is not slow in asserting his place as leader of the grand aggregation of noisy choristers that make the deep solitudes of the forests ring to the echo. From some tall pine or cypress he loudly proclaims the approach of dawn. "Gil-obble-obble-obble, quit, quit cut," comes the love-call from his excited throat, so suddenly and unexpectedly that all the smaller species within a hundred yards are dazed with fright. I often thought that, if he possessed any faculty of humor, he must be greatly amused at the commotion he creates all by himself.

He stands erect on his high perch, peering in all directions to determine the next thing to do, or to ascertain the result of that already done, and it often happens that this is the last and only gobble he will produce that morning, owing to its being accidental. But he will stand upon the limb of his roost quietly looking about, and after preening his plumage for a few moments, and seeing that no enemy lurks near, he stoops, spreading his great curved wings, and silently as a summer's breeze leaves the tree and sails to the earth fifty to seventy-five yards from his perch. He stands perfectly still some moments until satisfied all is well, then he carefully places the tip of one wing on the other across his back once or twice, and walks slowly away to feed. A few mornings later, if the air be crisp, clear, and not too cold, he will gobble lustily many times before he flies down, for the first warm days of spring begin to arouse his animal instincts and he longs for the society of his mates.

He is now in the prime of turkeyhood, in his finest feather and flesh. He is fat and plump, hence this is the stage at which the hunter, most of all, prefers to bag him; but he is no easy game to secure just now.

If he ever were afraid of his own voice, step, or shadow, it is at this time; but the forest is ringing with a din of bird song, and it is impossible to restrain his impulse to "gil-obble-obble-obble." Making one or two quick steps, he raises his head and says "put-put," then stands perfectly still, his great hazel eyes scanning every leaf or bird that moves.

Why does he gobble? It is the call of nature to break up his loneliness and secure the society of his mates. Turkeys do not mate in pairs, they are polygamous, loving many wives.

I wish to direct attention to the common and erroneous belief, even among expert turkey hunters, that it is the call-note of the hen that brings the sexes together. This is incorrect. It is the call of the male. It was after years of study that I discovered this fact, which, once plain to my mind, assured my success as a turkey hunter. I found that the gobbler was doing the same thing I was doing; I was struggling with all my ability and tact to draw him out, while he was playing the same game on me; it was a question of who had the greater patience. If I remained and insisted on his approach, he would yield and come to me. Here is his customary method: At the very break of day, the weather being favorable, he begins to gobble in the tree in which he is roosting. The gobbling is produced at very irregular intervals, sometimes with long, silent spaces between, at others in rapid succession. Some turkeys gobble a great deal more than others. Some will gobble but once or twice before they come down, and gobble no more that day; others will not gobble until they fly down, and then keep it up for hours. Some will gobble all day from sunrise to sunset. All these various idiosyncrasies the knowledge of the hunter must meet. Some will come to the yelp or cluck at the first imitation of the sound, while others will take hours to make up their minds whether to come at all. Take it all together, the gobbler has most obstinate ways, purposely or not; the wily hunter must bring all his faculties to bear if he would outwit him.

If the old turkey begins to gobble on the roost at the early dawn and to strut (although all do not strut in the trees), he will gobble, watch, and wait, hoping he may catch sight of the female—located by her responsive yelp or cluck—that may be roosting in a tree near him, or one approaching on foot or flying toward him through the timber. If not so fortunate, he will usually fly to the ground, scan the surroundings with his keen eye a moment or so, then drop his wings, spread his semicircular tail, strut, and gobble. Then he lets his dress slowly down as the spasmodic paroxysm subsides, listens, and looks, gobbles a time or two, listens again, and struts, and so on. If he sees no hen or hears no sound resembling that which he desires, he begins to calmly walk toward his feeding grounds, gobbling at long intervals; he then usually stops for the day. This applies to the first weeks of the gobbling season, and he is quite easily called then, as it is too early for the hen to crave his attentions; but later it all changes.

The hens seek his presence as the procreative impulses begin to stir them. The gobbler then will take up a chosen territory in a certain piece of woods, the most favorable to required conditions, and roost in the vicinity nearly every night, that is, in case he has secured a fair harem of six or eight hens; but if he is not so fortunate he will run all about the country, having no special place to spend the night. But now we are contemplating the gobbler who has been so fortunate as to secure a fair-sized harem, and has confined himself to one locality, in which he will peaceably and contentedly remain all the gobbling season. I have heard them gobble late in June when they have one or two hens with them, who evidently have had their nests and eggs destroyed and are again associating with the males. It is usual for the hen to visit the gobbler every morning, staying in his company only for a short time; and when she departs he follows her slowly a few steps, then begins to strut and gobble violently until she is out of sight. He knows his complement of hens, and does not cease to strut and gobble until all hens come to him; he then quits gobbling and strutting and steals away to feed on tender leaves, buds, and grasshoppers. At such times the hunter, by piping seductive quavers, may tickle his vanity and stir anew his passion, when he will stop in his hunt for food and commence to gobble, strut, and gyrate enough to exhaust your patience, but if you call properly and are cool and quiet he will come.

The turkey's gobble is easily heard at a distance of from one to two miles if the air is still and clear.

These are the rules that apply to turkeys in general, but there are exceptions; for instance, some old gobblers never secure the favor of even one hen during the whole season, but will run and prowl the country over, seeking such stray females as may be met with, even visiting the grangers' domestic flocks, which is not an unfrequent circumstance in settled neighborhoods. These solitary old birds when met with are easy prey to the expert caller.

CHAPTER XII
ON CALLERS AND CALLING

There are in use by all hunters who still-hunt the turkey, instruments used for imitating the call-notes of this bird; a few lines on these useful implements will not be amiss here.

The box or trough call, the splinter and slate, the leaf call, all have their merits, and can be made to imitate the different notes of the hens and young gobblers. The leaf call is simply a tender leaf from particular trees, held between the lips, and when well executed, the call with it is good. The box call is said to make excellent imitation of the hen call, but I have yet to see one that satisfied me. The box call is made by taking a piece of wood, preferably poplar, or some other soft wood, about four inches long, two inches deep, by one and a quarter thick. Mortise a square hole in this block, leaving the ends one half inch thick, one side one eighth, the other quite thin. The mortise is one and a half inches deep. A piece of slate some four inches long by half an inch wide is drawn across the thin edge of this box in various positions, and one skilled in the use of this call can obtain very good results. The call most in use by the backwoods turkey hunters in the Southern States, and one that causes the death of more turkeys than all other call devices put together, is simply the hollow wing bone from the second joint of a hen turkey, with both ends cut off to allow free passage of air. One end is held with the lips in such a manner that the inside portion of the lips covers the end of the bone. The breath is then drawn in sharply, and when one is skilled in its use the different call-notes of the hen turkey can be produced perfectly. There are several other devices much after this order, but I have never found use for any of them; in fact their defects prompted me to invent a call of my own, which I prefer. First, get the smaller bone from the wing of a wild hen turkey: the radius of the forearm. Hallock says the larger bone, but he is wrong. The bone should be thoroughly cleansed of all its marrow. After cutting off nearly one half inch from each end of the bone, the ends are made quite smooth with a file, all rough surface removed, and the bone finished with fine sandpaper or emery. The round end of this bone is packed and glued into the end of a piece of reed cane joint two inches long and three-eighths in diameter. Then a nice nickel-plated ferrule or thimble is fitted on the cane to prevent splitting, and the sloping end is wrapped with silk. Next, get another joint of cane that the first piece will just fit into and glue them tightly together; then cut off until the right tone is produced. The flat end of the bone is used as the mouth-piece. The end of the bone that is inserted in the cane is wrapped with tissue paper wet with glue and pushed firmly into the cane three quarters of an inch, and care must be taken to make this call air-tight at the joints; when the glue dries, it will be strong, air-tight, and durable. The bands or ferrules are intended to make the instrument doubly strong, as well as to improve its looks. It is a tedious job to make a good call, but when you have one properly made, it will last a great while, and I think this particular call is the best in the world.