432 AMERICAN GAME BIRD SHOOTING 
but directly between me and the sun. Quicker than 
thought my gun went up, a flame of fire leaped out, 
and was answered by the thud of the turkey as it 
fell. 
““Confound you!’ said Riley good-naturedly, walking 
over and picking up the turkey, a young hen. He took 
the gobbler and made me take the hen, weighing only 
about one-half of his load, and we set out for the wagon, 
four or five miles away. ‘I am glad you got them, if 
I didn’t get any,’ said he. ‘You got them both, and 
that is just as good.’ 
“*No, it isn’t,’ I answered. ‘You claim that you 
killed one, and I’ll stand by you.’ 
“No, you won’t. You killed them both, and you’ve 
got to have the credit of it.” And he was as good as 
his word.” 
The story of an oddly secured Thanksgiving turkey, 
killed in 1893, in the Alleghany Mountains, was inter- 
estingly told in Forest and Stream, some years ago, by 
Mr. Edw. Banks, now of Wilmington, Del. A party 
of three, of whom Mr. Banks was one, had been shoot- 
ing ruffed grouse near Bellwood, Pa., but without any 
great success. There was a little snow on the ground 
and many tracks of turkeys in the snow. Presently the 
party went to a cold spring and sat down to eat lunch. 
While doing so one of them remarked that he wished 
he could get a Thanksgiving turkey. Mr. Banks says: 
“Lunch was about over when we heard a gun go off, 
with a regular old black-powder dr-ro-o-oom. It was 
not more than three or four hundred yards away from 
