OF A RANCHMAN 167 



evening's sport. All the dead birds were 

 gathered together and strapped in bunches 

 by our saddles and on the pack-mules. It 

 does not take many pecan- and grass-fed 

 turkeys to make a load, and back we trotted 

 to camp, the steel hoofs striking into the 

 prairie soil with a merry ring of triumph 

 over the night's work. The hour was nearly 

 midnight when we sat down to the deli- 

 cately 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. 



" Early in the afternoon following the 

 night's sport we left the fort mounted on 

 fine three-quarter Kentucky thorough- 

 breds, 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 direc- 

 tion, 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 



