THREE BUSTERS FROM A BLIND. 



HERB. 



Some 16 years ago, when I was 14 years 

 old, my home was in Virginia, on the 

 James river. Having an inordinate love 

 for sports of both field and stream, and be- 

 ing possessed of an old 12-bore muzzle 

 loader, as also of an aged "yaller" pointer, 

 Minx by name, I passed most of my time 

 in hunting quails, squirrels and cotton- 

 tails, often seeing larger game but never 

 getting a shot. 



Three large turkeys, which, the neigh- 

 bors said, had been ostracised from their 

 flocks, had been together for years, but I 

 never met them until one morning while 

 on my way to visit my traps. As I passed 

 through a neck of pines I saw the tracks 

 of 3 large turkeys in the path. On each 

 side of the path the leaves had been 

 scratched up, showing signs both new and 

 old. 



Seeing that the pines were within their 

 range, I thought to myself, "Now is my 

 time to kill a wild turkey;" so after going 

 to my traps I returned to the house, took 

 a hatchet and a small measure of corn, 

 and went back and built myself a pirie 

 bough blind, such as I had often seen in 

 the woods while hunting. I drove the 

 corner stake into a rut made by a log- 

 ging wagon the winter before. I then 

 trailed the corn down the path about 40 

 yards. 



The next morning I found the bait un- 

 disturbed, but the following morning 

 showed that the grain had been eaten on 

 the evening previous. The turkeys must 

 roost near. I put down more corn. The 

 next morning it was gone ; and such was 

 the case the ensuing 4 days. 



The eighth morning found me and my 

 dog reclining in the blind an hour before 

 daybreak. Just before the sun rose I 

 heard the turkeys putting, and the noise 

 of their wings as they flew from their 

 roost a short distance from me. My heart 

 beat hard for an hour or so. I expected 

 every moment to see them come out to 

 the bait. After waiting 4 hours and see- 

 ing nothing of them, I left the blind and 

 went home. The next morning I tried 

 again, with the same resullt. 



On the tenth morning, having heard the 

 horn blown for breakfast, and comparing 

 the warm dining room and that hot break- 

 fast with my cramped position in the 

 blind, the freezing cold and the non-ap- 

 pearance of the turkeys, I decided to quit 

 and go home. 



Just as I shook the old blanket from 

 me and was reaching for my gun, I heard 

 Something coming from behind me, mak- 



ing a great rustling through the leaves. 

 Looking over my shoulder through the 

 blind I could see a great gobbler coming 

 toward me. His neck was outstretched 

 and he was running as only a wild turkey 

 can run. When within 10 feet of me he 

 stopped, threw up his head, and seemed to 

 be listening. 



I glanced at old Minx. He was crouch- 

 ing and shaking as if with a chill, and the 

 saliva was dropping from his quivering 

 jaws. I believe he was the most excited 

 dog I had ever seen. As I slowly turned 

 the gun toward the gobbler he walked up 

 the other wagon rut, stopped within 4 feet 

 of me, and, raising himself on his toes, 

 tried to look over into the blind. 



Just as I decided to jump up and give 

 it to him as he raised he uttered a peculiar 

 gutteral call, on which 2 more gobblers 

 ran up and passed him, and at once began 

 picking up the bait some 30 feet from the 

 blind. Gradually putting the gun on to 

 the 2, I at the same time gave a sharp 

 whistle, at which they threw up their 

 heads, almost touching each other, in a 

 direct line with my gun; and at the report 

 of my right barrel down they went. 



Old Minx, who had not taken his eyes 

 from the first gobbler, dashed at him 

 through the blind, scattering it right and 

 left. By that time I was on my feet, and the 

 turkey was going up through the pine tops 

 as swiftly as a ruffed grouse; but when 

 the left spoke down he came. Minx then 

 turned his attention to the 2 birds first 

 shot, which were flopping around. 



Propping my gun, I ran to pick up the 

 big one, but when I had him almost with- 

 in reach he raised himself to his feet. His 

 head seemed as high as mine, and his 

 beard must have come from Kansas. As 

 he stepped off I could see that one of his 

 wings was hanging. Minx came at my 

 call, but the turkey had vanished into the 

 brush. The dog hit his trail and went off 

 on it, catching him in about 5 minutes. I 

 secured the bird and returned for the other 

 2, but found that all of them were too 

 heavy to carry; so taking the largest 1 

 went home and sent back a negro for the 

 others. 



It would be false to say I was not 

 "stuck up." or that I did not strut around 

 as proud as any turkey cock for some 

 time thereafter. I have shot a great many 

 turkeys since, but by flushing them and 

 yelping them up. I never got another one 

 at a bait, or one that I feel as proud 

 nor, for that matter, one that proved so 

 tough a morsel to chew. 



357 



