There is one objection to the box, slate, or similar calls: they make quite a noise near by but can not be heard any distance. The instrument I make can be heard a half or three quarters of a mile away.

This call is used by taking the flat bone end between the lips and by measured sucking motion the notes are produced. The cluck is produced by placing the tip of the tongue on the end of the mouth-piece, and giving a sudden jerk and suck. This, according to my opinion, is the most natural cluck that was ever made by any instrument, and it can be modulated so as to seduce or alarm at the will of the operator.

It is necessary to practise the use of a caller until proficiency is attained, the same as you would do in playing a flute or violin. Calling, in my opinion, is the most important thing to be considered when in quest of the turkey, and the knowledge of how to do it is difficult to impart to others.

There are four distinct calls of the wild turkey one should become familiar with to become an expert turkey hunter; these are the call of the young hen, the old hen, the young gobbler, and the gobble of the old male bird. The latter is almost impossible to learn, and I have seen but two or three men in my life who could imitate the gobble. The sound is made with the throat, and I know of no way it can be taught. The notes of the hen turkey consist of a variety of quavering sounds such as are given by the domestic fowl, but which require study and practice, with the best devised caller, to imitate. The plain yelp or "keow-keow" are the chief notes to learn, and once mastered and employed in concert with the cluck, will usually be all that is necessary in calling turkey, be it a flock of scattered individuals or an old gobbler (in the gobbling season), but it would avail nothing on the latter at any other time. "Keow-keow-keow," or "keow-kee-kee," "cut," "cut"—these are the variety of notes, and each has its meaning, however singular that may appear. The turkey has no song, and the notes it employs are either conversational, call, distress, or alarm notes.

Early morning, when they are dropping down from their roost, is the best time to study their language as well as their habits. If you go near a flock of tame turkeys and begin to yelp and cluck, they will reply and keep it up as long as you do, so you can soon learn their language. If the turkeys be wild ones, keep well out of sight, for they will stand no familiarity. I am not, however, a stickler about keeping out of sight when calling. I prefer to sit in front of a tree that is on the side from which the turkey is expected to approach, rather than to get behind it. I sit in front of the tree in such a manner that a turkey with the keenest eye in the world will not identify me, if properly fixed, clothed, and motionless. The explanation of this is that the gobbler is not looking for a person, but for another turkey; and as it can think of but one thing at a time, it sees nothing that does not resemble that which it is in quest of; but if you move, its keen eye will quickly detect you.

The turkeys seem to have no special power of smell, so if the hunter's clothes are gray or drab, he may sit at the base of a tree, and by keeping quiet, the turkey will many times come within ten or twenty feet, and, although looking directly at him, will fail to make him out and walk leisurely away.

I once had a flock of wild turkeys come very near me, and some of them jumped up and stood on the log I was resting my back against; one hen was within three feet of me, and she stood for a few minutes purring and looking me over, finally leaping off. Then a young gobbler came in front and took a good look at me. He seemed to have a suspicion that I was not a stump, for he walked back a little and stopped to meditate. Not being satisfied with his first investigation, he came up again and took a better look; after satisfying himself he walked leisurely away. He looked so quizzically at me that I could scarcely refrain from laughing. At the same time these inquisitive birds were looking me over, my rifle was trained on an immense gobbler within eighty yards strutting in plain view. Upon him my attention was chiefly fastened, and in a few minutes the old fellow came to bag. A dead grass colored suit is not so good for a turkey hunting suit as one gray or brown.

If the game you seek be an old gobbler, and the time spring, you will employ the call fully as much as when calling the scattered brood in fall or winter. I generally use the plain, quaint, easy measured yelp or quaver and cluck of the female; this same call has a hundred variations, but it is not necessary that you employ all of them. The simple "cluck-cluck-cluck" and now and then plain "keow-keow," when properly done, is generally effective. I have called as loud as I could, so as to be heard a mile away, while an old gobbler was standing near enough for me to see the light of his eyes without alarming him. Again I have called very low, just as a test, with the same result. Sometimes the old bird is unusually cautious; then the less calling the better; then, after you have engaged the attention of the turkey so that it will stop and gobble and strut, the less you call him the better, for the reason that in gobbling and strutting it is using all its own persuasive power to draw you to him, thinking you are a hen. Under these conditions so long as you continue to call or reply he will remain and gobble, and insist on your coming to him. But if you have commanded his attention and stop calling and wait, he will make up his mind to come to you, as he has come to the conclusion that the hen is indifferent to his company and is moving away from him; this will excite his anxiety and cause him to make haste toward you.

Under such circumstances, and they occur very often, the hunter will very soon note, after he has quit calling, the gobbler will gobble oftener, more furiously, and strut with greater vigor. This is the time when most turkey hunters make a fatal mistake, for if you call after the gobbler starts toward you, he will stop a while at that point, and go through all the maneuvers he has been worrying you with for some time, march back and forth to his recent stand and give you another hour or two of waiting, or perhaps he will go away to return no more. Do not make this mistake, but keep still, wait, and watch. Let the gobbler do the gobbling and strutting, and you do nothing but keep your eye on your rifle sights and watch for his appearance. When he suddenly stops gobbling and strutting look sharp and keep your gun leveled in the direction from which he is expected, but by no means have your gun in such a position that you will have to move it after the turkey is in sight. Some men have a habit of moving their guns about, although they have their heads and bodies hidden and quiet. They might as well get up and say "hello."

If a gobbler stops, and gobbles and struts in one place some time, while you are calling him, this is good evidence that he will come to you, if you have but patience and keep quiet; nine hunters out of ten, however, take the opposite view of it, and for the lack of good understanding of the turkey, and of patience, get up and go home at the very time when success would have crowned their efforts. Now, if a hen has gone to the gobbler, as will often occur, and they are out of your sight in the brush, you will know this to be the case by the long interval between gobbles; if it be fifteen to twenty minutes, you may be certain a hen is with him.

You cannot always be sure that a cessation of gobbling is for the purpose of attending the hen or of coming to you, but you will soon find out if you wait, as the turkey is sure to strut and gobble near the place after the caress is over; this has been my experience hundreds of times; in fact it is characteristic and habitual, and it rarely happens otherwise. Here is an instance: Two young men accompanied me once to a creek near the margin of a large prairie in Texas to see me call an old gobbler. At the dawn of day the gobbler broke forth into a lively gobbling, when we proceeded to an old fallen pine log to call him. Having waited for him to fly down from his roost, I began the regulation series of calls, clucks, etc. The turkey was a great gobbler and did his share of it, but he would not come immediately to the call. After a while one of the boys remarked that he heard a hen yelping near the gobbler, and then all gobbling ceased, and the boys remarked he had gone off with the hen. I said, "No, he is there yet." This silence lasted fifteen or twenty minutes, while the mosquitoes were covering the faces of the boys; but they were bent on seeing the play out and would squirm and rub off the pests, then listen and look, as they lay prone on the pine straw and peered over the log. Once in a while I would yelp, but no response came until the gobbler's attention to the hen had ceased; he then began to gobble again as vigorously as though nothing had occurred. Then I began calling again, but he would not come to me, and soon another hen came flying and lighted in a tree near him, and a moment or two after flew down to him. This caused another long wait. When through with the second hen there was another long strutting and then another hen paid him a visit. By this time the boys had become impatient, and were anxious to go home; the mosquitoes were biting them severely and their stomachs were craving nourishment; so was mine, but I knew what I was about, and in a low whisper remarked: "Boys, if you can endure it no longer we will go home, but it is hard to have come this far before daylight, six miles, and have such a fine gobbler within our grasp, then give it up and go home without him."

"Oh, well," both said in a whisper, "if you think you will get him, we will stay all day."

"That is all I ask," I replied. "On these terms he goes home with us."

By this time the gobbler had finished his attention to the third hen and was gobbling furiously in the same spot. I began to call again and the gobbler responded lustily. Having given him a few well-meant calls, I put the caller in my pocket. Seeing this move, one of the boys asked me if I was going to give up. "No," I replied, "it is his turn to parley and he will come now if no other hen comes to him, so you fellows keep still as death, but keep a careful watch."

Very soon, after a series of rapid and excited gobbling, all was still. My rifle got into position, and I whispered to the boys to peer over the log, but to keep their heads still, as the gobbler was coming and would soon be in sight. The woods had been burned and the low scrub in our region was black and charred, save small spots that had escaped the fire. I soon saw the white top of the old gobbler's head stealing slowly through the dead brush a hundred yards away, but the boys could not see him until he walked upon a small mound some three feet in height, that brought his whole form above the dead bushes. His feathers were all down, lying close to his body, and his long beard hung low; a noble bird he was. The most thrilling and picturesque object to my eye is the long beard of the turkey; just as the big horns of a buck are to the deer hunter. In a low whisper I asked the boys if they saw him. "Yes, yes," both answered in a trembling whisper. Then the rifle cracked and the bird sprang into the air and fell back dead. The two boys, wild with delight, sprang to their feet and went crashing through the burned underbrush to get hold of the fallen turkey. One of the young men, quite a hunter, remarked: "That beats all the maneuvering with a gobbler I have ever seen and was well worth the long ride to witness." So presenting him with the big twenty-two pound bird, we went home.

As soon as possible select a place to call from. To a novice there is no special rule by which one can at all times be governed in calling old gobblers. Each bird is possessed of some peculiarity different from its neighbor, and all individual variations the hunter must meet with good judgment. When out very early in the morning in the vicinity of turkeys, get some elevated position, a ridge if possible, and, as the dawn is breaking, listen for the gobble. The first sounds one is apt to hear are the hooting of the owls; the next, as the light grows apace, is the note of the cardinal, found in all southern woodlands. As a roseate glow begins to replace the gray dawn, one will hear the "gil-obble-obble-obble." It may be within one hundred yards of you or perhaps a mile away. You should wait until the turkey gobbles again to be certain of his direction, then make all haste to him, and get as near as you wish before he flies down from his roost. When within one hundred and fifty yards of the gobbler, stop, and be careful lest he sees you, as his ever watchful eyes look everywhere, especially at things on the ground.

As soon as possible select a place to call from. To a novice an old treetop or log is best, but to me the front of a tree is preferable, with an open space in front that the gobbler may come into to be shot. But whatever the place selected, get into position as soon as possible, and let it always be an attitude that will not cramp you should you have to remain a long time, and where you can have easy action for your arms and gun. That is why I prefer the side of a tree next to the game.

If the gobbler is still gobbling after you have seated yourself, sit quietly until he flies down; that is best. But if you cluck or yelp to him in the tree, let it be but once or twice to attract attention and no more; no matter how much he gobbles, you must keep still until he leaves his roost, and even then wait a few moments for him to gobble or strut, which he is sure to do on reaching the ground, after taking a look around. After this you can give him a cluck or yelp, or several of them, no matter how many, provided they are well delivered. If you are not yet an expert at calling, best make as few calls as possible; for he will surely reply by either gobbling or strutting, or both. Do not be in a hurry, for generally he is in no hurry, but has all day to worry you, and will surely do it if you continue calling after you have said enough. If you desire to get your shot at the gobbler as early as possible, call as little as you can after you have got him interested. If you continue to yelp every time he gobbles, he will stop in one place and gobble anywhere from two to six hours, exhausting all your patience and temper.

In selecting a place to call from, there is one caution that should never be forgotten: never get behind a tree so that you will have to look from one side to point the gun; the turkey is sure to see you and run away before you can shoot.

CHAPTER XIII
CALLING UP THE LOVELORN GOBBLER

There is a wide difference between the old gobbler and the young gobbler, and the tactics to be employed in hunting them are quite different. At two years old he can be distinguished by his beard, which is then about five inches in length, the tip having a burned appearance; his spurs are about five eighths of an inch long, are not pointed, while the average weight of the bird is about sixteen to eighteen pounds. At three years this burned appearance disappears and the beard is seven or eight inches long, straight, black, and glossy, the spurs being an inch or more and pointed. The bird may now be considered full grown, and weighs from nineteen to twenty-two pounds. Henceforth there is no way I know of to tell his age. He continues to grow for several years, taking on fat as he gets older, while the beard will attain to a length of twelve to thirteen inches, when it wears off at the tip on account of dragging on the ground while the bird feeds. But the beard does not indicate the size of the turkey, as some very small gobblers have extremely long ones. The largest turkey I ever saw had an eight-inch beard and weighed twenty-four pounds even though quite lean; he would have weighed thirty-one or thirty-three pounds if he had been fat, and he may have been twenty years old, for he was known to have inhabited one locality for more than fifteen years.

You must first ascertain where the gobblers are to be found, and then be on the ground before there is the least sign of daybreak to select a place where you can sit hidden and in comfort. If satisfied that gobblers are in the vicinity, wait until dawn approaches, and if then you do not hear them, hoot like the barred owl. If there is an old gobbler within hearing, nine times out of ten he will gobble when the owl hoots; but if you get no response, "owl" again, or give a low cluck; the old gobbler may be on his roost within sight of you. If still no response, cluck louder, and repeat at intervals, adding a few short, spirited yelps; if you fail, move quickly a half or quarter mile away and call loudly with a cluck and yelp or two. Proceed in this manner until you have traversed the range of your proposed hunt. In this way I have encountered several old gobblers in a morning's tramp, while there was not one within hearing of the point first selected.

If turkeys have begun gobbling at dawn, you must choose a place to call from. My choice is in front of a tree a little larger than one's body, facing the turkey. If possible have your back to a thicket with open ground in front, or you may prefer to get behind a log or stump, or in a fallen treetop. Do not make a blind, for the obstruction will hide the game which is as apt to approach from one direction as another; generally the unexpected way. If you sit out in an open place by a tree, and stick up two or three short bushes in front, he will never see you until near enough for you to shoot.

If the old gobbler is in the tree before you take your position, do not approach nearer than one hundred to one hundred and fifty yards of him; he may possibly see you or he may fly behind you, or alight at your side when you call, and run away before you can shoot. This may look like a small matter to consider, but you will find it amounts to much in dealing with old gobblers, as I have learned from experience. I have had them fly right over my head, so close that I could have touched them with my gun barrel, or alight at my side and run away in a twinkling. One flew so near my brother once as to flip his hat brim with its wing. The most remarkable instance I ever knew occurred to a Mr. Daughty in Alabama. He was calling a turkey that was gobbling in a tall pine, and finding the call would not bring him down, Mr. Daughty took off his old brown felt hat and gave it a flop or two over his knees. Before he had time to think the gobbler was upon him, and he had to drop his gun and ward it off with his hands. He told me the gobbler had stretched out his feet to alight on his head and frightened him so he never thought of his gun, and was so dazed that the gobbler was gone before he recovered his wits. I once called one down, and as he stretched his legs to alight, he saw me, and with a loud "put-put," checked his flight and shot up like a rocket.

A gobbler will invariably alight within fifty to seventy-five yards of the roosting tree, according to the height they are perched from the ground; therefore one hundred and fifty yards is sufficiently near if your purpose is to call; but if you intend to stalk and shoot him in the tree, you will do best if you show no part of your body; and especially keep the gun barrel out of sight. Many hunters will hide themselves but expose their gun, which is a great mistake, as the bird will surely see the glint of light on the barrel.

It is best, in my opinion, not to call while the gobblers are in the trees, for the reason that the gobbler is expecting the hen to come to him; and it will often happen that as long as you call, so long will he remain in the tree and gobble and strut. I have had gobblers sit on their roost until 9 o'clock and gobble because I kept yelping.

Having got into position, wait until your nerves are cool. The turkey hunter must have time. Give a low, soothing cluck, then listen carefully, as the turkey may gobble the instant he hears the cluck; perhaps two may answer, but we will confine our attention to one. If a two-year-old bird, he will gobble before he thinks; but we will not allow you such an easy job as a two-year-old. Suppose the gobbler is three years or over—he will straighten up his long neck and listen some moments. He is not sure it was a genuine cluck, but he thinks it was, and duly drops his broad wings, partly spreads his tail, and listens; then, "Vut-v-r-r-o-o-o-m-m-i" comes the booming strut, and "Gil-obble-obble-obble," if he dares this it is to elicit a call or cluck from you to make sure he is not deceived. Now call, "Cluck, cluck, keow, keow, keow," at once he answers "Gil-obble-obble-obble" two or three times in a breath so loud and shrill that it rings out like thunder in the quiet of the forest. Now give a low quaver, "Keow, keow, keow," just audible to him, yet low, then stop right there. He will yell out in a fierce and prolonged rattle that will make the squirrels quit their feeding and spring to the trunk of the tree, and arouse the herons from the margin of the rivers and swamp ponds. Then comes the heavy booming strut, and if he gobbles again, be quiet and let him talk to his heart's content. Unless you yelp or cluck at this time, he becomes more and more nervous and restless, and even dances on the limb. Keep quiet; he will now give a few lusty gobbles, and then there is a short pause. Look out now. There is a rustle in the tree, a flip, flip, and you see his big dark form leave the tree and sail to the ground, giving his broad wings a flop or two to ease up the impetus, and as he strikes the earth a cloud of leaves arise in a circle to settle around him. The royal bird straightens up his matchless form, and while his fine hazel eyes scan the surroundings, you gaze with admiration at his symmetry and beauty. More likely than not he has alighted to one side; if so, beware! Probably, too, if the woods are not very open, you will not see him on the ground and must judge as to his movements.

If there be but one gobbler, wait a few minutes after he is down, as he is listening and watching; then make a few yelps softly, but rapidly, and a cluck or two. He will gobble and strut vehemently. Be sure your cluck is a perfect assembly cluck, or he may take it as an alarm "put." Your cluck, if made at all, should have a reassuring accent, or better not attempt it, depending on the yelp or quaver. The cluck and "put" are so nearly similar in sound to the ear that they are difficult to distinguish; but one is a call note and the other is an alarm, hence it were better to omit both rather than disturb the confidence of the bird you are calling. While the two notes are impossible to describe in words, they can readily be produced by an expert caller with a good instrument. Give the gobbler two or three quick little yelps, "Keow, keow, kee, kee," in a kind of an interrogatory tone; this is sure to make him gobble and strut, or probably to strut only. I prefer that he strut, although the gobble is more exhilarating to one's ear, but does not signify as much. The strut is the better sign every time; it shows he has leisure and passion.

Your "Cluck, keow, ku-ku," brings forth at once "Gil-obble-obble-obble. Cluck-v-r r-o-o-o-mi." Hush, hear that? "Cut-o-r-r-r," "Cut, cut keow, keow, keow." What is it? Is some one else calling? No; the sound is too perfect. Hark! how he gobbles and struts with renewed vigor, for it is the siren note of the real hen who has gone to him. You might as well now keep quiet for fifteen or twenty minutes, for he will not answer as long as he is with a hen. As soon as she is out of sight, however, he will listen to you. Here, reader, is the most important lesson to be learned and the most valuable in all turkey lore—patience.

Fifteen minutes is usually ample time with the lusty turkey. You keep up the call and tease at proper intervals until sufficient zeal is restored, which can be determined by the vigor of his gobble; then do not call any more, no matter what he does. Keep still and watch his manœuvres, and presently he will begin to gobble and strut with great stress, gyrate, and swerve from side to side, right to left, his big tail, doing everything to fetch the new hen whose voice he hears; but you must not break the spell by any false move. All at once he stops and everything is still again. Maybe another hen has come to his court, maybe not. But do not yelp or cluck; he may be coming to you, for he knows precisely where you are, and if he is not caressing another hen he is surely approaching you. This may take fully an hour, sometimes six.

"Cluck, put, put," there stands a young gobbler within twenty paces to the left: he has approached from the rear. Make no motion. He has not identified you. "Put, put." Keep still. "Put, o-r-r-r-r." He begins to step high, turning to one side, then to the other. "C-r-r-r-r." He pulls out the tip of one wing and places it on the other. Note that. He is going to walk away. "Put, c-r-r-r-r." He is gone; but let him go, and good riddance, for he has created a distrust in the old gobbler's mind that will take some time to remove. You are now compelled to change your place and call again. "Gil-obble-obble-obble." Gracious! he is off to the right and fifty yards nearer. If there is sufficient cover, make a detour of from one hundred and fifty to two hundred yards and get ahead of him; then sit down, give a yelp or two, and end with a cluck. That will reassure him at once, and he will most surely gobble in reply; if so, you sit still. Have your rifle in readiness so that no move be made when he comes into view. Very likely you have waited some time since he gobbled last, and apparently he has quit all strutting. There is another ominous pause, but you are ready for him and on the sharp lookout. You are sorely vexed, but your good judgment keeps you alert while the other hunters have long since gone home.

"Gil-obble-obble-obble." Sh-e-e-e-e. There he is within thirty paces to the right at a half strut. What a bird! See his noble bearing, the bronzed coat, the glint in the keen eye. You can't move now, for he sees you, but he has not made you out. Be still and let him pass behind that big oak, then turn quickly before he comes into view again. Ah! that low green bush has obscured him; he has passed out of sight and does not reappear. Your nerves begin to run like the wheels of a clock with the balance off. Your disappointment is inconsolable. "Gil-obble-obble-obble," nearly one hundred yards on his way. This is discouraging, but the educated turkey hunter never gives up so long as a gobbler will argue with him.

Get up at once and make a rapid detour, taking in two hundred yards; get ahead of him again and on his line of march. Then sit down and call as soon as possible to attract his attention. This done your chances are as good as ever. "Gil-obble-obble-obble." You have estimated well. The gobbler is one hundred yards back yet, which gives you a breathing spell. He begins to rehearse the old rôle of gobbling and strutting, but with greater force, as he has had a long rest. Now give another call and cluck to see where he is; no response, and you are becoming as restless as a raccoon robbing a yellow-jacket's nest, and crazy for just one more call; but I advise not; have patience, and wait. Another call would only cause delay if not other harm. He is the one now to get nervous, for that hen may escape. A crow gives a sudden caw in a neighboring tree, and, "Gil-obble-obble-obble," says the turkey, now only seventy-five yards away. But you are silent. Again comes a long pause, and you think he has detected you and gone. A red tail hawk darts screaming through the timber, and, "Gil-obble-obble-obble cluck v-r-r-r-o-o-m-i," goes your bird thirty yards nearer; then all is silent again. He has made a strenuous effort to draw your call, but you are deaf. Another long pause and you are in a tremor all over. He has quit making any noise, and the stillness is painful for, save a solitary red bird trilling his carol in yon elm, and a gray squirrel nibbling the buds on that slender maple, all is still. Two chameleons are racing on the log behind which you are crouching, and, springing suddenly to the dry leaves, they startle you with the clattering they make, so highly strung are your nerves; but you dare not move.

Why this insufferable silence? The gobbler is coming, but when will he appear? Your rifle is in position, cocked, your eye running along the glistening barrel, but that is all of you which is allowed to move. A distant dead tree falls with a heavy thud that shakes the earth. "Gil-obble-obble-obble," breaks upon your ear and sends a thrill through your nerves, and the timid squirrel wiggling and scampering to his hole in a hollow gum. The sound comes from the oblique left. Your eyes turn slowly that way. Ah! there he stands, half erect, half concealed in the brush. You see the white top of his head, the crimson wattles of his arched neck, the long beard and the glint of his eye, for he is only forty paces away; but do not fire, as the least twig may deflect the ball. He has not made you out, although in plain view, nor will he, unless you make a sudden move.

You have carefully brought the rifle to bear on him. He is meditative and somewhat listless; but note that tail going up: he is going to strut, and that will bring him into an open space. "Cluck v-r-r-r-o-o-o-m-i." There! he is broadside on. See that crease that runs along his neck ending near the butt of the wing? Drop your bead on the butt of the wing opposite where that crease ends. That will kill him every time, as behind lies his heart; while if you aim for the centre of the body the bullet will go through the viscera, making a mess of it, and while a fatal wound, he may get away and be lost to you, for it will not always knock him down. If he stands quartering, aim at the centre of the breast next to you. It will at once be fatal. If the back is presented, which is not once in a hundred times, draw upon the centre of it. Unless turkeys are very plentiful, and you care little about losing a good chance, don't shoot at his head with a rifle.

CHAPTER XIV
THE INDIFFERENT YOUNG GOBBLER

Of all stages, conditions, and peculiarities of these fowls, the young gobbler is the most difficult to understand. He is absolutely unique, hence you must employ entirely different tactics when you go in quest of him. He has little education, but he possesses a great native shrewdness, and I have sometimes thought him more difficult to get than either the old gobbler or hen; this may be a fool's luck, or it may be the result of stupidity or reticence, but I have killed ten old gobblers to one young one. As I have before stated, while the young males are with their mothers and sisters in the flock there is little difficulty in bringing them to the call after the flock is scattered. But after the separation of the sexes they are extremely hard to call, for the reason that they have abandoned the society of the females altogether, and do not pay any attention to their voices. Lack of information and a reckless carelessness have caused the loss of many young gobblers that otherwise might have been secured. After the young males have been separated some time from the females, and are banded together, they are hard to find and hard to bag when found. Instead of flushing at once into the tree at the approach of an enemy, they usually take to their legs and run some distance before stopping, making their pursuit difficult and unreliable. If once flushed and scattered, and the hunter understands how to call them, he can usually get one or two out of the flock if he is familiar with their peculiar ways. Thus after December we have three distinct classes of turkey society, the old gobblers, the young gobblers, and the hens; and no matter what the number of them is, they persistently maintain this separation the rest of the winter.

The soft, gentle quaver of the hen has no effect on the ear of the young gobbler at this season, and he will hearken to no other note or call than that of the young gobbler. Even were a flock of hens to pass beneath the tree on which he is perched, he would regard them with no more interest than he would a flock of crows; hence neither the hen nor her yelp would be a decoy to him, but the call of another young gobbler will enlist his attention. The call of the young gobbler, like that of the average boy as he is developing into manhood, is changeable and erratic; at times it is ridiculous from its awkwardness, and hard to imitate or even to identify. It consists of an irregular hoarse and discordant croak and a coarse muffled cluck that sounds like an acorn falling into a pool of water, or the gentle tap of a stick on a log. If this yelp or cluck is properly and timely made, it will bring the young gobbler to the hunter, but usually he is in no haste to come even then. They have ample time to spare for all their movements, and it requires the greatest patience and dogged determination of which a sportsman is capable to sit and wait their pleasure; but if the hunter has a band of young gobblers well scattered, if he has a good caller and is expert in its use, and will make up his mind to sit quiet and talk turkey, he will usually be rewarded. He should use only one or two low, coarse clucks, well measured and some time apart; then the low, muffled "Croc, croc." The young gobbler may be sitting on the limb of a tall cypress, hidden from view by a festoon of Spanish moss; or, if in a pine, hidden by the limbs, as still as a part of the tree. "Croc, croc," and one low, hoarse cluck, as if a nut had struck the bark of a dead log in falling, are the only sounds you dare to make. He is not so reckless in regard to the call or answers as the hens, and not so nervous. While he sits and contemplates, he measures notes; so that you have to be careful if you would fool him. Now call, "Croc, croc." His fears begin to dissipate, and running his beak through his feathers, he makes his toilet. This over, he slowly raises his long neck and head and replies, "Croc, croc." "Cong, cong, croc, croc, cluck." He turns his head with one side earthward, and gives himself a convulsive shake—"Croc, croc." He lifts up one foot and then slowly puts it down; lifts one wing, placing its tip on top of the other, then slips that one out and laps it on the first. "Croc, croc, kee, kee." He looks around again to be reassured. Now there is a rustle in the top of the tree, and you see the leaves move, for he has turned on the limb and you may see a portion of his body. You dare not shoot or risk a bullet through that brush. Wait. "Croc, croc"; he walks along the limb a few feet, but you still get only glimpses. "Croc, croc," and down he sails to the earth. A cloud of dry leaves arises around him and settles again as he closes his broad wings and straightens up. Now is your chance; bag him.

When the young gobbler once makes up his mind to go to your call, there is little or no stopping on his part. He walks boldly along, as if he had no fear of anything. But be careful; he will see you surely if you make an unnecessary motion, and there is no compromising a mistake with him. His adieu is final. He is a bird of the fewest words at any time, and stands upon the idea that absolute silence is safety. His habits are exclusive and retiring, seldom showing himself in openings, although at times he is fond of open pastures or prairies where he can see all around him.

CHAPTER XV
HUNTING TURKEY WITH A DOG

I do not believe there is any safer way of bringing a turkey to bag than by the judicious employment of a good turkey dog, and by that I mean a dog trained especially to hunt turkeys. The hunter, too, who employs a dog must know and act his part well to be successful.

Of all times to hunt the wild turkey with a dog, the autumn and winter months are the best. The dog should be a natural bird dog, either pointer or setter. My choice, next to the pointers or setters, are the terriers, either Scotch or fox. The Scotch terrier makes an excellent turkey dog, due to its intelligence, patience, courage, and snap.

I have had dogs lie by my side when turkeys were gobbling and strutting within a few feet, and never move a muscle until the gun was fired, when they would be upon the bird instantly.

If you employ a dog in gobbling time, he must be thoroughly educated to distinctly know his part, which is to keep at heel or lie at your side and watch without a sound until the bird is called to gun and shot; then the dog is allowed to go and seize the quarry if it is not killed by the shot and making off with a broken wing.

In Alabama I once saw a large gobbler coming slowly to my call over a pine hill about ninety yards away. I fired at him with my rifle as he was moving in a full strut. At the shot, my gobbler tumbled over, but quickly got up and made off at a lively run with one wing hanging. I started after him, at the same time calling to my brother (who was below me on a creek, calling another turkey) to let go his dog. In a moment I saw a gray streak shoot out from the thicket on the creek, and start up the hill in pursuit of the running gobbler. It was my brother's Scotch terrier, and within one hundred and fifty yards the dog overhauled the gobbler, to my great satisfaction, and held him until I arrived. Had I not had the services of a dog at this time the turkey would have escaped, as he could get up the high, rocky slope faster than I.

It is best to take a young dog six or eight months old. The training is easy enough, provided the preceptor knows his part. Like educating a dog for quail, he must get the rudiments before he ever sees the live game, for once a lesson is spoiled a dog is also spoiled. Give him a few lessons before taking him into the woods to hunt turkeys. He must know the turkey is his quest ere he is let loose; and do not loose him until you have found unmistakably fresh signs; for one mistake at such a time will take months to repair.

Teach him to lie down, the same as in quail lessons, no matter if he is a pointer, terrier, or hound. Having taught him to lie down, take him walking where there are trees, logs, and fences, and every now and then suddenly sit or squat down by some tree or fence, calling him quickly to you by soft words and motion of the hand. Make him lie down close to your hip, better the left side if you are right handed, so that by any unexpected move he may not destroy your aim at a critical moment. Teach him to lie on his belly or with his head prone between his forepaws. This is easily done, and will insure a motionless attitude as a turkey is approaching. If he whines under excitement, as some will, tap him lightly with a small switch on the head; this will also make him put his head down, and he will soon understand the meaning of it.

Next get a dead wild turkey, hen if possible, as it is lighter. Take the dog into the yard or field where there are no dogs or children to bother him. Let him play with the turkey a little, while you encourage him, then have some one drag the turkey from him by the head a short distance, while you hold and encourage the dog to go. Let the turkey be hung up in a tree or bush out of his reach; then let him go and take the trail and tree the bird, and encourage him to bark and jump against the tree. Then have it fixed so that after he has jumped and barked a while you can fire a gun or pistol and the carcass falls to the ground and he pounces upon it. Repeat this as often as you have an opportunity. You may keep a wing cut off at the second joint, using that for several lessons before it becomes tainted, but by no means allow him to tear the wing or bite the flesh of the turkey. You might set him after a tame turkey now and then, but this might bring him some day to grief by a load of shot from your good neighbor.

Take the dog with you on a few hunts in the woods for turkeys. If you find a flock, put him after them at once and let him flush them, which he will hardly fail to do. Then, if you can kill one over him, your turkey dog is well-nigh made. Having had your turkeys flushed, you can walk slowly and cautiously in the direction they flew, looking into every tree, and you will soon see one or two of them perched upon a limb. To get your bird now is easy if you have a good rifle; and you had better not be out if you haven't one, as no kind of shooting requires better marksmanship than turkey shooting, especially in the timber. Having treed your turkey, you may get several shots, and meantime the dog is allowed to trot around and bark as he sees fit, as the more noise he makes the more is the attention of the birds diverted from you to him; but after you have looked among the trees in a few hundred yards of the flush, if you have not secured your bird, select a good place to call. Sit down with your back against a tree, or behind a log or fallen tree if that suits you better. Sit quite flat and low, bringing the knees nearly up to the eyes. Call the dog to you at once by a whisper and wave of the hand, and make him lie snugly at your side, looking in the direction you look.

After a few minutes, when everything is still, you begin to call at short intervals. Now and then a low yelp, at first, and if you get a reply, cease calling until the results begin to show up, either by one or more turkeys coming to your call, or in their collecting together in another direction, which is more likely to be the case, from the fact that the mother hen is doing more effective calling than you, or they are inclined to go that way anyhow. In such a case you must get up at once and proceed in the direction you see them flying. Go quickly to where they are collecting. Put the dog after them again and into the trees they will go; you then proceed as at first and continue these tactics until you have got what you want, or have lost them entirely.

This is excellent and exciting sport, and the dog loves it and soon becomes an expert in the chase. But of all methods of hunting the turkey it is the most disastrous, next to baiting, not so much in the number of birds killed, but the turkey has a great dread of a dog, and if too frequently chased by one it will drive the birds out of the locality. It should seldom be practised in the same locality or upon the same flock of turkeys more than once in a season.

The rifle is preëminently the gun to employ in this method of hunting, and there is a great satisfaction in taking a fine bird from its lofty perch in a tall pine, gum, or cypress at one hundred to one hundred and fifty yards, where it would be safe from any shotgun.

Dogs trained to hunt turkeys must not be allowed to run squirrels, hares, deer, or any woodland game. It makes no difference as to quail or prairie game, but in the timber his work belongs to the turkey alone.

In teaching the young dog to grasp a turkey, it should be trained to seize the bird by the neck every time, and not touch the body, as his teeth will lacerate the tender skin and tear the flesh—a thing no true sportsman would tolerate. It is easy to teach the dog not to mouth the game by making him take the neck in his mouth every time an opportunity is afforded. If he takes hold of the body, or mouths the feathers, make him let go and take the neck. He will soon learn this.

The common fox hound also makes a good turkey dog, and takes naturally to it, but he is too noisy. A turkey dog must not yelp or bark on the track before he sees the birds as the hound does. Turkeys are alarmed easily and prefer to run instead of to fly, and if the dog barks on the trail they will run for miles, all the time probably not one hundred yards in advance of the dog. So the dog for turkeys must keep silent until in sight of them, and then bark savagely until they are all flushed. This the pointer, setter, or terrier will do. Be sure to encourage your dog to bark at the turkeys in the trees.

Audubon says: "In the spring when the males are much emaciated by their attention to the hens, it sometimes happens that, in plain, open ground they may be overtaken by a swift dog, in which case they squat and allow themselves to be seized, either by the dog or the hunter, who has followed on a good horse." I have heard of such occurrences, but I never saw an instance of the kind. Good dogs scent the turkeys when in large flocks at a great distance; I may venture to say half a mile away, if the wind is right. Should the dog be well trained to the sport, he will set off at full speed on getting the scent and in silence until he sees the birds, when he instantly barks, and, running among them, forces the whole flock to take to the trees in different directions. This is of great advantage to the hunter, for, should all the turkeys go one way, they would soon leave the perches and run again; but when they are separated by the dog, a person accustomed to the sport finds the birds easily and shoots them at pleasure.

No turkey is going to run very long ahead of a dog, if the dog is in sight and chasing him. A pack of mouthy beagles, or an old, slow deer-hound, giving mouth continually, might keep a turkey in a trot until fatigued; it is possible then that a quick, swift dog like the Scotch terrier or the pointer might rush on and catch him. But the first impulse of the turkey, on the near approach of an enemy, is to fly and not to depend on its legs; though on seeing an enemy at some distance, turkeys will run away and not fly at all.

In the open prairie it is quite another matter. On seeing a turkey or flock of them on a wide prairie, one can, by riding in a circuitous direction, as if passing in ignorance of them, get near and start them into a trot, and keep them trotting by keeping between them and the nearest timber. In this way, although you ride slowly, you will soon run them down. The first indication of exhaustion to be noted will be the dropping of their wings, and when the hunter sees that, he knows that they cannot rise to fly; he then closes in and easily rides the birds down. This is, or used to be, a favorite sport with the cowboys of Texas, in which they sometimes employed a lariat, catching the birds as they would a calf, or shooting them with a revolver. In case neither the revolver nor lariat is handy, they take a bullet, partly split with a knife, and then let the tip of their cow whiplash into the cleft of the bullet; clamping the lead tightly on the lash. Thus armed, they pursue the turkeys until they drop their wings, when, dashing among them, they strike the neck of the turkey with the lash, a foot from the end of the tip, which sends the bullet whizzing around the neck four to six times; and ere the turkey can recover, the cowboy dismounts and secures it.

If there is snow on the ground there is little trouble in following the turkeys by their tracks. I have done but little of such hunting, as sufficient snow seldom falls in the South to make good tracking. When you hunt turkeys on the snow, all there is to do is to find their tracks and follow them carefully until the birds are seen; then observe the same tactics as in stalking them on the bare earth.

In the South they are unprepared for much cold, and at such times will likely be found grouped together on the sunny slopes of hills, or behind some log or fence, to avoid the bitter winds, especially if the sun is not shining. They will then often remain on their roosts half a day rather than alight on the cold snow.

If you attempt to stalk an old gobbler when he is gobbling it is quite easy if you learn the course he is taking and get ahead of him and simply wait. Some men hunt no other way and are successful; but it requires the greatest care, and a thorough knowledge of the woods you are in, so that you may take advantage of ridges, ravines, gulches, thickets, etc.

When you have discovered a flock of turkeys at some distance from you, stop and wait a few moments. If they are feeding, and you are unobserved by them, carefully note in what direction they are moving. It is hard to tell if they are going or coming two hundred yards away, but there is one way by which their movements can readily be determined and that is by their color. If they are approaching, you will notice the blackness of their breasts; or rather the birds will appear almost black; and if a majority so appear, you may be sure they are coming; in other words, if you see one or two of them straighten up, and they look quite dark or black, you can then be certain of their approach. On the other hand, if you notice that they look a lightish gray or brown color, they are going the other way. But do not be deceived, as sometimes a flock has stopped to feed, and they will be turning and facing in all directions while so engaged; occasionally one will straighten up, flop his wings, and look back. Have an eye to the band and you will see if many of them look black or gray. If there are gobblers in the bunch, note their breasts which are blacker than the hens.

There is another way to find the direction in which the turkeys are moving if you cannot see them. When you have found fresh signs in the woods, note the scratches carefully to see which way most of them incline. This is easily determined by the direction in which the leaves are thrown by the birds' feet. Sometimes, if the scratches are made late in the evening, they will look fresh the next morning and thus deceive the oldest hunter. I once saw scratches on an open pin oak and cane ridge; then others at twenty paces, and again at fifty paces still others. After a careful examination of the scratches, I concluded there must be two old gobblers that had made the signs; and, although I knew of twenty or thirty hens and some young gobblers on that ridge, I had no suspicion before that there were any old gobblers. Now, reader, what caused me to suspect from these scratchings that old gobblers were about, and that there were two of them was this: there were but few scratches and at long intervals. The scratches were very large, almost two feet across, while the leaves had been thrown five or six feet back, indicating long legs and large feet with a great stroke. I noticed there were two separate lines of scratches some ten feet apart on the main trend; also the scratches were twenty to fifty yards apart in the direction the birds were going, which indicated that the two birds were walking along at a brisk pace and keeping pretty well in a straight line, feeding as they went.

I believe no man alive or dead has killed more "old gobblers" than I have, and yet the heaviest I ever bagged weighed twenty-four pounds gross. This bird might have reached thirty or thirty-three pounds had he been fat, but it was late in the gobbling season, when the winter fat is run off by constant love affairs, leaving them greatly reduced in weight. This specimen was killed in Trinity County, Texas, where I have found the turkeys to average heavier than anywhere else I have hunted.

Audubon said the wild turkey would soon become extinct in the United States, sixty or seventy years ago; but to date his prophecy has failed in so far as the Southern or Gulf States are concerned. Although here as elsewhere hunted and persecuted without consideration, they are remarkably plentiful still. There are localities in the Gulf States that will not be cleared up or utilized for agricultural purposes in ages to come—if then. The immense swamps—annually overflowed—great hummocks, and the broken, untenable pine hills, will afford suitable retreats for the turkey for generations to come.

Wild turkeys are less understood by the average sportsman or even naturalist than any other of our game birds. It is common to read of the acute olfactory powers of the turkey; that he scents the hunter at one hundred to three hundred yards; the truth is it must be a pungent odor to have a turkey detect it at ten paces.

CHAPTER XVI
THE SECRET OF COOKING THE TURKEY

Of matters with which the average sportsman has to do, there is none so little understood as that of cooking game, and especially the turkey. Thousands of sportsmen go into the hunting camp expecting to play the rôle of cook without the knowledge of the simplest requirements and as a consequence are in perpetual trouble and disappointment on account of the blunders that are the inevitable results of lack of information. In the solitude of the forest the hunter should not be at loss for methods of cooking even if he has but a frying-pan; a log for a table; his plate, a section of bark or large leaf.

The turkey is supposed to be a bird of dry meat, but this is so only when all juices are boiled or baked out of it. The usual manner in which turkeys are cooked is by roasting or baking. If the turkey is an old one, the first process is to parboil until the flesh is tender; then it is stuffed with sundry things, such as bread-crumbs, oysters, shrimp, shallots, onions, garlic, truffles, red and black pepper, wine and celery to destroy the natural flavor of the bird. It is a mistake to disguise the rich, delicate flavor of turkey meat with the odor of fish, but it is done and called roast turkey.

If the turkey is a young one, cook it in the way usual to stove-baking, after first filling its cavity with a suitable dressing of bread-crumbs, pepper, salt, and onions chopped fine, moistened with fresh country butter. This is the best dressing that can be made, and will detract nothing from the flavor of the bird nor add to it. If an old turkey, parboil it until the flesh is quite tender, then stuff and bake.

In the forest camp I neither bake nor roast the turkey. Imagine a gobbler dressed and lying on a log or piece of bark beside you. Take a sharp knife, run the blade down alongside the keel bone, removing the flesh from one end of that bone to the other. By this process each half breast can be taken off in two pieces. Lay this slab of white meat skin side down, then begin at the thick end and cut off steaks, transversely, one half inch thick, until all the slab is cut. Now sprinkle with salt and pepper and pile the steaks up together; thus the salt will quickly penetrate. Do not salt any more than you want for one meal; the meat would be ruined if allowed to stand over for the next meal before cooking. Just as soon as the salt dissolves and the juice begins to flow, spread out the steaks in a pan, sprinkle dry flour lightly on both sides evenly, taking care to do this right, or you will get the flour on too thick. Give the pan a shake and the flour will adjust itself. This flour at once mixes with the juices of the meat, forming a crust around the steak, like batter. Have the frying-pan on the fire with plenty of grease, and sizzling hot so the steak will fry the moment it touches the hot grease. Put the steaks in until the bottom of the pan is covered, but never have one steak lap another. If the grease is quite hot the steak will soon brown, and when brown on one side, turn, and the moment it is brown on both sides take out of the pan. By this method you retain almost every particle of the juice of the meat, and at the same time it is brown and crisp, and will nearly melt in the mouth. The flour around the steak does not only prevent the escape of the juice, but also prevents any grease penetrating the meat. If you like gravy, have the frying-pan hot and about a teaspoonful of the grease in which the meat was fried left in it; take a half pint of cold water and pour into the pan. Let this boil about five minutes, when you will have a rich, brown gravy, which season with salt and pepper and pour hot over the steak. You don't want a thing else to eat except some good bread and a cup of creole coffee. Having eaten turkey thus cooked you would not care for baked or roast turkey again.

The bony portions of your turkey may be cut up at the joints, and all available put into a pot or saucepan having a lid, with a few slices of pork or bacon for seasoning, or fresh butter. No matter how fat any game is a little pork improves it. Put in a pod or two of red pepper and add a little water; let this boil and simmer until quite done. I am giving directions now for making a stew. For the thickening, take an onion or two and cut into small pieces, a pod of red pepper broken up, a tablespoonful of flour sifted, and some salt. Put all into a pan and pour in a cup of cold water, stir until the lumps of the flour disappear, then put the mixture into the pot with the turkey. Stir occasionally until it boils, and if there is not sufficient gravy in the vessel where the stew is cooking, add more water. Boil thirty minutes, then serve. In this stew you get the finest and most wholesome dish imaginable, and at very little expense and trouble.

There are many who can prepare food but never understand the reasons for doing things. Not one in a hundred knows why meal, flour, or cracker-crumbs are put on fish or meat while frying. They tell you it helps to brown the flesh; it does no such thing, but prevents browning while the meat is being cooked. Leave off the flour or meal, and by the time the meat is cooked it will be dry and hard as pine bark and as indigestible. When fish is rolled in flour or meal, the fish is not browned, but the covering is.

CHAPTER XVII
CAMERA HUNTING FOR TURKEYS

During the past ten years, while the season was open on wild turkeys, I have made a rule to leave the gun at home and hunt the turkey with the "camera" instead.

On countless occasions I have sat on the bank of a beautiful creek in Alabama watching and waiting for these noble birds to appear and pose. Time and patience, that's what it takes; likewise to know the ways of the bird.

On one occasion I had found their great tracks on the sandbank, and, noting it as a favorite crossing, made an impromptu blind to mask the camera lest the birds get the least glimpse of it or myself. It took me over two months to get an opportunity for the picture which I secured at last one afternoon as the sun was getting low. I had been calling at intervals, and just when least expected, there they were, moving slowly but watchfully toward the creek and across the scope of the lens. My finger was quick to reach the button as they stepped to the sandy bank, and turned to note that no enemy lurked behind. The click of the shutter startled them but little, and they walked quietly away. I knew I had a good negative, as the late afternoon sun shone brightly on their gorgeous plumage, and they were barely fifteen feet from where I sat.

Not one man in a million has ever had the opportunity of viewing one of these birds in life in the woods at ten to fifteen feet—nor ever will, and to these I hope the photographs will be a pleasure; for to see a ten-year-old gobbler so near, when he is not frightened—and you without gun or other means to injure him—so you may enjoy the most majestic bird the eye of man ever rested on, is not only a feast for the eye, but a pleasant memory that will be with you forever.

In November, 1899, in Alabama, I began to hunt with the camera, and for six months—with the exception of one day only, on which a terrific storm raged—not a day passed that I was not after turkey pictures, sometimes not seeing one in two or three weeks, then again encountering twenty-five to forty in one day. I spoiled several hundred plates in this time, snapping at every chance that occurred. There is no possibility of a time exposure on such sensitive birds, and one twenty-fifth of a second is scarcely quick enough. Often the click of the shutter, so like the snap of a gun when missing fire, sent them whirling into the air or scattered them, pellmell, afoot. I have stalked and crawled to their scratching places and sat concealed with camera masked on an old log or in a hollow stump, till sundown; all day, and the next and the next.

I have made three or four exposures in a day, gone home, developed the negatives, and found nothing on them but shadows—taken in shade; but at other times there was the just reward when all the plates came out with every image "perfect." Then, again, it would rain almost daily for a month or two. Still I went, camera slung over my shoulder, covered with a rubber sheet, hoping for sunshine.

Once I discovered a bearded hen and tried five weeks to catch her with the lens, and never saw her but twice during that time. The next season I found her again in company with three other hens. I called them within ten or twelve feet. This time it had been sunlight all day, but just a minute before they came near enough a thin haze covered the sun. Still, I pressed the button and got a dim negative of her and of one of her playmates, and have not seen her since.

To successfully photograph wild turkeys the greatest care must be taken in having a blind perfectly natural in appearance. Once in the blind, do not move; never mind the wind; wild turkeys cannot smell you any farther than you can them, but they can outsee anything except the heron, crane, and hawk, and you must get within fifteen or twenty feet of them in the bright sunshine, or no picture. Find their scratching places and hide behind a log, or make a blind of brush and green leaves, etc. Be sure to hide all the camera save the disk of the lens, and they will see that nearly every time. I have had them discover the lens and approach within two feet and peer at it with curious wonder, whine and purr, until satisfied it would not harm them, then walk serenely away.

At times when I saw a flock or an individual feeding at a distance, I would take my call and invite them to advance, "stand up and look pleasant," and if in the humor they would often comply. I have a friend living in New Orleans with whom a hundred happy hours have been spent in the camp, wild woods, and along the stream, chiefly in quest of these noble fowls. He and I have exchanged letters once a week for the past quarter of a century. Of course I regale him with every new photograph taken of turkeys. One day I mailed him several that set him afire, and on a certain day friend Renaud came to me with his old 10-gauge which has served him thousands of times.

The next morning when day broke we sat on the crest of a pine ridge adjacent to the hummock bordering the "Big-bee" river swamps, over which the turkeys roosted at night. Ere long the gray of the eastern horizon began to melt in to a rosy hue, and suddenly out of the deep swamp came the shrill, guttural but mighty pleasing "Gil-obble-obble-obble," of a turkey, echoing along the slopes and through the vales of the surrounding forests.

After a while we heard him gobble on the ridge, so I took my call and began to pipe a few words in turkey vernacular, which the old gentleman seemed to comprehend by the way he gave ready reply. By this time the turkeys had all flown down, several gobbling in as many directions. Several were approaching slowly, and we could hear them below the crest of the hill. Luck favored us, so far as nothing yet had disturbed them, and they gradually came nearer, until presently a remark from my companion, "Old Gobbler in sight?" "See him coming, two of them, yes, three"; and on they came, their great black breasts glowing in the bright sun, while their long beards swung from side to side.

Suddenly, when within thirty paces of us, one of them spied Renaud's new drab corduroy cap, which contrasted vividly with the black and charred log behind which we were hid, and "Put," "put;" all were gone, helter-skelter.

Renaud's heart was broken—mine wrecked.

"Why in the d-dickens didn't you shoot?" I asked, mad as a hornet.

"I wanted to get them in position to get the two largest ones."

"Gee! you ought to have made sure of that fellow with the immense beard, and chance another on the rise or run;" but just as we were waxing into a fine quarrel, R. remarked in a whisper, "They are coming back."

"Yes," I replied, "and several others with them—some old ones and some yearlings; so make no mistake this time, and be sure of one of the old ones."

They were very near now, and as I made a low call all stopped and some gobbled; then on they came in a careless manner, neither strutting nor exhibiting any special passion.

I quickly got in my camera work, and ducked my head in time to see the beautiful things walking away from the gun; then two well-measured reports—and the smoke clearing away showed two grand old patriarchs flopping over on the pine straw and soon lying still. I am not sure which was the proudest—I as particeps criminis or he as executioner.

THE END