A TURKEY HUNT OF LONG AGO. 



M. B. 



As soon as I was old enough to ride a 

 horse, father began taking me with him on 

 his hunting trips. A sheepskin was used 

 for a saddle blanket and I sat behind, 

 hanging to father's coat tails when the 

 riding was rough. My shooting experi- 

 ence began when I got strong enough to 

 stand the kick of a gun and this incident 

 took place shortly after that time. 



I well remember a trip we had one Satur- 

 day in November and the luck, and lack of 

 it, that attended. A darkey reported that a 

 gang of turkeys was ranging on a creek 

 about 5 miles from home. Father decided 



Soon the turkey took fright and flew 

 out. Father tried a difficult shot and 

 missed. I was so small I don't suppose the 

 turkey considered me dangerous; anyway, 

 she came sailing over me, appearing as big 

 as an ostrich to my excited eyes. I hazily 

 remember looking along the barrel and 

 pulling trigger; then there was a crash 

 and the turkey fell in the bushes in front 

 of me, surprising me so that I jumped. 



We walked around the woods until we 

 had the gang well scattered, then separated 

 to make our blinds, father taking the dogs 

 with him. 



A BIG FAT TURKEY THAT HAD GONE TO REST IN A SMALL TREE. 



to go after them, and, better still, to take 

 me. 



We started as soon as breakfast was 

 over, I riding behind him as usual. He 

 took along both of the dogs, one a young 

 Gordon setter, high mettled and excitable. 

 When we reached the hunting grounds the 

 dogs disappeared in the woods. While the 

 old horse was making her way carefully 

 down a steep ridge they began barking, 

 and a moment later we heard the "putting" 

 of turkeys and the swish of wings. 



One bird sailed into a big pine about 

 ioo yards ahead of us. Father dismount- 

 ed, tied the horse to a tree, and motioned 

 me to follow him. Instead of following, 

 however, I branched off to the right and 

 with gun cocked crept up behind the cover 

 of a clump of sassafras bushes.. 



They tell a story of an old turkey hunter 

 in our county. His front name was Put- 

 nam, cut down by common usage to Put. 

 One day he flushed a gang of turkeys, made 

 a blind and began calling. Then he fell 

 asleep. An old gobbler strolled up and 

 looked in. As he did so, Put snored, at 

 which the gobbler cried in alarm, "Put-put- 

 put !" It awakened the sleeper, who, as 

 the turkey disappeared answered, "Hello, 

 what you want?" 



Something like this came near happen- 

 ing to me on this occasion. I had been 

 calling some time and as no response came 

 I stretched out on my back to take a little 

 rest. I don't know whether I went to 

 sleep or not,. At any rate, the next thing 

 I remember was a frightened gobble, and 

 looking up I espied a turkey about 15 feet 



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