Wild Turkey. 97 



soon open out the valley. Another hour brought us 

 over the last divide, and then our hunting grounds lay be- 

 fore and below us. All along through the unbroken nat- 

 ural fields the black-tail and prong-horn abound, and feast 

 to their hearts' content all the winter through on the 

 white, luscious, and nutritious mesquite grass. Through 

 the valley with its flashing silver stream ran the dark 

 line of the famous pecan-tree forests the nightly rest- 

 ing-place of that king of game birds, the wild turkey. 

 It would sound like romancing to tell of the endless 

 number and variety of the waterfowl upon the river; 

 while the multitude of game fish inhabiting the waters 

 make the days spent on the river with the rod rival in 

 excitement and good sport the nights passed gun in hand 

 among the trees in the roosts. Of course, as we are 

 purely out on a turkey shoot, during the day no 

 louder sport is permitted than whipping the stream, or 

 taking the greyhounds well back on the plains away from 

 the river to course antelope, jack-rabbit, or maybe even 

 some fine old gobbler himself. 



"When, after our journey, we reached the brink of 

 the canyon, to drop down into the valley, pass over 

 the lowlands, and settle ourselves comfortably in camp 

 under the shadow of the old stockade fort by the 

 river, was a matter of but a few hours. There we 

 waited for the afternoon shadows to lengthen and the 

 evening to come, when off we went up the stream for 

 five or six miles to a spot where some mighty forest 

 monarchs with huge, bare, spreading limbs had caught the 

 eye of one of our sporting scouts in the afternoon. Leav- 



