no Hunting Trips of a Ranchman 



nearly midnight when we sat down to the delicately 

 browned turkey steaks in the mess tent, and realized 

 that we had enjoyed the delights of one of the best 

 sports in Texas turkey-shooting in the roosts. 



&quot;Early in the afternoon following the night s 

 sport we left the fort mounted on fine three-quarter 

 Kentucky thoroughbreds, and taking the eleven 

 greyhounds, struck off six or eight miles into the 

 plains. Then spreading into line we alternated dogs 

 and horses, and keeping a general direction, beat up 

 the small oak clumps, grass clusters, or mesquite 

 jungles as we went along. Soon, with a loud whirr 

 of wings, three or four turkeys rose out of the 

 grass ahead, started up by one of the greyhounds; 

 the rest of the party closed in from all sides; dogs 

 and men choosing each the bird they marked as 

 theirs. The turkey, after towering a bit, with wings 

 set struck off at a pace like a bullet, and with eyes 

 fixed upwards the hounds coursed after him. It 

 was whip and spur for a mile as hard as horse, man, 

 and hound could make the pace. The turkey at last 

 came down nearer and nearer the ground, its small 

 wings refusing to bear the weight of the heavy body. 

 Finally, down he came and began running ; then the 

 hounds closed in on him and forced him up again as 

 is always the case. The second flight was not a 

 strong one, and soon he was skimming ten or even 

 a less number of feet from the ground. Now came 

 the sport of it all; the hounds were bunched and 

 running like a pack behind him. Suddenly old 

 Grimbeard, in the heart of the pack, thought it 



