IN THE CAROLINA WOODS. 



S. PHELPS. 



After a month in the open woods at 

 Pinebluff, N. C, I suffered a severe re- 

 lapse of the hunting fever. Though often 

 "the horn of the hunter is heard on the 

 hill" in that region, foxes and skunks are 

 almost the only game, and demand a large 

 stable and kennel. So, acting 'on informa- 

 tion issued by the Seaboard Air Line, I 

 took train to a promising hunting center. 

 There the obliging hotel proprietor, a few 

 hours after my arrival, had me scouring 

 the fields with a prominent State officer, 

 his keen scented pointer in front and a 

 well scented darkey behind. Of a half 

 dozen coveys of quails we bagged 6. These 

 birds rise with little less noise and no 

 greater certainty of direction than the 

 broken pieces from a blasted rock. Is 

 that why they are called a "quarry" ? But 

 one covey, which we flushed at a distance, 

 rose together like sparks from a chimney, 

 and 3 fell. Those our excellent re- 

 triever recovered for us. We missed the 

 dog in the dense growth, and in due time 

 he appeared with another bird in his 

 mouth. Probably he had pounced on it 

 alive. 



Next morning I beat directly into the 

 timber, and in the course of 2 hours I 

 fell in with Ab and Henry, who are fa- 

 mous gunners and trappers. I secured 

 board with Henry for 25 cents a day and 

 engaged the services of Ab as guide for 

 50 cents. 



When Henry learned that his guest was 

 a parson, he said he was cautious about 

 trusting people, for the last preacher that 

 had visited the neighborhood had killed a 

 man and had been taken in by the author- 

 ities. Henry then inquired whether that 

 fighting they had in China wasn't "some- 

 thing about religion." 



The wild turkey, that biggest and. 

 shrewdest of American game birds, uses 

 in those woods in limited numbers. Tak- 

 ing a snack in our pockets we sallied forth 

 on 4 successive days into the great forest 

 where his lordship holds court, but he 

 failed for a long time to hold out the 

 golden scepter, though we tramped 15 miles 

 or more daily. About once a day there 

 would be a glimpse of a monstrous black 

 shadow whirling by out of gun-shot. One 

 must take "a dawg to squander 'em" in 

 the a'fternoon, and then, before sun- 

 rise the following morning, take one's po- 

 sition in the same spot behind the blind 

 and watch, while the guide with his yelper, 

 made of a hollow bone and a wooden tube, 

 or of a nail and a piece of slate, amorously 

 woos the weary gobbler. Friday night Ab 



played poacher and walked through post- 

 ed land. He scattered several turkeys 

 and followed with his eye one that roosted 

 in the top of an 80-foot pine. That was 

 our opportunity. 



Next morning, after a 2-mile tramp 

 through the wet woods, "slippin' along 

 tol'able easy," we squatted motionless until 

 it grew light enough to see which tree 

 milord had chosen. Alas ! the guide had 

 mistaken the tree, and, without warning, 

 there sounded the "shruff, shruff" of the 



WHAT A THANKSGIVING FEAST ! 



huge wings at too great a distance for our 

 wing shot. 



Late in the afternoon I lost a band of 

 turkeys in a wheat field through the noise 

 of a rabbit-running dog. Ab then returned 

 to the location of the morning. A "fress" 

 in the leaves warned him that sharp eyes, 

 peering keen from a protruding, awk- 

 ward head, had espied him. He leaped to 



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