A TURKEY HUNT IN NEW MEXICO. 



J. E. BECK. 



A few days before Thanksgiving it was 

 agreed that a ranchman, his son and I 

 should meet at a place in the White Moun- 

 tain district of New Mexico, some 15 

 miles from the fort, to have our first fall 

 hunt. They were to take bedding in the 

 wagon for me. I started about 1 o'clock in 

 the afternoon, expecting to reach camp in 

 time for supper, but a little too late to help 



strange to me and I made no pretense of 

 being a Pathfinder, my chances of sitting 

 by a camp fire without gathering the wood 

 myself were in the proportion of squirrels 

 to mosquitoes on a hot day in an Alabama 

 swamp. 



After spending some time in adverse 

 criticism of the human family in general 

 and of ranchmen in particular, I decided 



SLUNG HER ON A POLE AND STARTED FOR CAMP. 



ANONYMOUS. 



get in wood. I jogged along leisurely, 

 fearing the penalty of getting to> camp too 

 early, and arrived at the rendezvous about 

 4.30. My feelings may be imagined when 

 I found a message there telling me the 

 other 2 had changed the original plan and 

 were camped in a canyon 10 miles farther 

 in the mountains. As the country was all 



to chance finding the new camp and cool 

 off en route, there being snow on the 

 ground. The way that cayuse covered 

 those 10 miles would have surprised any 

 wayfarer who had seen his sleepy gait 

 earlier in the day. There is no twilight 

 in that section and from sundown it goes 

 to pitch dark in about 20 minutes. That 



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