! February, 1919 F 
around before dark in hopes of locating 
: some fresh signs. 
It was 3 o’clock when we made camp 
I and an hour later, after devouring a mis- 
cellaneous assortment of food, I gave the 
sign to “Turkeyfoot” and he led the way 
to the region of the tracks we had seen. 
After a considerable time we came upon 
some fairly fresh tracks and a little later 
the Indian pointed to some fresh scratch- 
ings under the pinons where a number 
of the big wary birds had been feeding 
on th€( pinon seeds, and the earth was 
still damp and showed contrasty dark 
patches amongst the brown litter of the 
pinons. In fact, the spot had been so 
recently frequented by turkeys that it 
seemed as though they must be near 
enough for a shot, but as quietly as we 
approached that particular spot, those 
turkeys had in some way learned of our 
coming and were doubtless far away 
from the place when we arrived. But 
I was not disappointed for I hardly ex- 
pected to see turkeys that night. Fresh 
proof of their being in the vicinity of 
camp was as much as I hoped to find 
and I returned at sundown well satisfied 
with the results of the investigation. 
T he night was cold and clear and by 
the warmth of the fire we fell into 
a good sleep which lasted until 5:30 
next morning, at which time the cold 
had commenced to penetrate. Driven to 
fast work by Jack Frost, we soon had 
coffee bubbling at the outer embers of a 
hot fire, and after consuming a hearty 
breakfast, I left for the country of the 
turkey tracks. Visions of a flock of wild 
turkeys running through the ravines of 
sage brush and yucca, or, a calling hen 
perched on some pine log in the scatter- 
ing oak brush, or, perhaps, a bunch of 
them scratching for pinon seeds some- 
where in that great forest of pinons were 
ever before me as I worked from canon 
to canon — listening, watching and search- 
ing for fresh signs that might turn my 
mental pictures into realities. After 
several hours of this kind of hunting 
(and at a moment when I was commenc- 
ing to wonder to what country those tur- 
keys had migrated), from some uncer- 
tain direction I heard the call of a turkey, 
so far away in fact that I had to listen 
intently for some time until I was able 
to locate the actual direction. It was 
certainly a hen turkey calling — “Ouoit- 
oit-oit-oit-oit” on rising scale — just that 
old familiar bam yard call, but yet how 
different it sounded, and what a thrill it 
gave me, in that wilderness so far from 
anything domestic. 
Carefully studying the country I began 
a well guarded approach offered by a low 
ridge running parallel to the ravine in 
which I figured the calling hen was lo- 
cated. After some little maneuvering I 
got to where the calls were distinctly 
clear, and near enough to commence some 
careful sneaking; so I made my way to 
the top of a low lying ridge studded with 
lofty yellow pines and intermingled with 
patches of scrub oaks, and which afford- 
ed me a well concealed outlook. Again 
went the call, this time somewhere below 
me on the opposite side of the ridge. 
After a little more sneaking I made out 
several dark forms through my screen of 
OREST AND STREA 
oak brush. The flock was about 200 yards 
away, and I made my way on hands and 
knees slowly and very quietly to the last 
patch of brush that remained to keep me 
from being seen. This accomplished, I 
found myself still considerably out of 
range, about 125 yards from the flock, 
which was feeding and scratching about 
under some pinons at the base of a small 
ravine. They looked so contented in their 
attitudes and unconscious of the near 
enemy that I wondered if they were as 
wild as their name implied, until pres- 
ently the cause of the appearance of 
safety was explained by the long neck 
of an old hen protruding above the top 
branches of a pinon; this wary bird was 
acting as sentinel for the flock. 
A good-sized pine tree about 40 yards 
down the slope was the only cover of- 
fered to make a closer approach and 
though I knew I would still be out of 
range (even if I could reach the tree 
without being seen by the old bird on 
guard) an 80-yard chance with heavy 
loads was worth trying for rather than 
making a wide detour with loss of much 
time and very likely the turkeys; so get- 
ting the old sentinel bird in line with the 
big tree I crawled from the thick cover 
into the open, and if those turkeys had 
been elephants I don’t believe my desire 
to reach that tree in the hope of getting 
a shot would have been any keener than 
it was during that 40-yard crawl. How- 
ever, the tree was reached in safety and 
the old bird from her elevated position as- 
sured me with a few short calls that I 
got away with the stalk okeh. Then 
peering out from the tree just a few 
inches from the ground I got my first 
good view of the big birds as they 
scratched among the deep litter under 
the pinons. At times one would dart 
out from the flock to catch some flying 
insect and their movements as a whole 
were noticeably rapid and their bodies 
lithe and slender, in comparison to the 
heavier and fuller-bodied farm fowls. 
I watched them fully ten minutes, 
studying their movements and enjoying 
the sight to the utmost, but wishing that 
I was 30 yards nearer for I felt satisfied 
that I would fail utterly at that long 
range of at least 80 yards. Finally they 
commenced to work slowly from me on 
down the ravine and with a preconceived 
plan I rushed at full speed toward them 
and got 25 yards nearer before some of 
them saw me and I stopped for a shot 
at the nearest turkey. At this moment 
I saw a flash of turkey here and there 
and then four of them which had evident- 
ly not detected me, bunched together un- 
der a pinon in a hesitant manner, seem- 
ingly uncertain which way to make their 
escape, and taking advantage of that 
brief moment I let drive with the left 
barrel well up on their necks. Two of 
them went down and I could see them 
flopping over the ground from a sidelong 
glance as I ran out to the right to get 
a shot at the remainder of the flock. 
They went running up to the top of the 
opposite ridge, and before they reached 
it to take wing, the right barrel brought 
down another and the excitement of my 
first meeting with wild turkeys had end- 
ed. They proved to be an old hen and 
two young birds of the year, and being 
M 61 
the first wild turkeys I had ever carried 
to camp, I did not mind the three-mile 
tramp with such a load but rather en- 
joyed the weight of their bodies and sight 
of their beautiful plumage hanging from 
either side of my shoulder. 
W E smoked by the fire late that 
night, and hit on a plan suggested 
by the Apache that we work a new 
country next day, providing it did not 
snow in the meantime, the latter being 
preferable. The sky looked threatening 
and we had pitched the little tent in an- 
ticipation of the first snow of the season. 
A long sound sleep made the awakening 
next morning somewhat of a surprise 
when we found our feet unusually warm 
covered with a blanket of snow which had 
drifted into our open cylinder tent. A 
new aspect had taken effect of our sur- 
roundings. In a few hours the rich colors 
of autumn had changed to a winter scene 
of black and white. Four inches of snow 
had fallen in the night, and we wasted 
no time in getting a fire and breakfast; 
and when the inner man was warmed up 
we set out again to hunt the elusive tur- 
key, this time however, by the fascinating 
method of tracking. But contrary to the 
expectant long hike through snow to find 
the first tracks, after not more than one- 
fourth mile from camp a series of calls 
rattled out that brought us up short, and 
we commenced to sneak through the 
pinons in the direction of the sound, and 
presently came on the tracks of five and 
followed them silently in the soft snow. 
Turkeyfoot in the lead suddenly 
stopped and motioned me that they were 
not far ahead and before we realized it, 
were in sight of them. The Indian’s rifle 
cracked and then I banged into one as it 
hopped into the air to sail down a deep 
canon. We both scored, though I had 
only winged my bird and was obliged to 
chase it some distance down the canon 
before killing it with a second shot. The 
two turkeys, both hens, were hung up to 
a pine limb and we separated in hopes of 
finding the other three birds, which had 
gone down the canon on wing. Sometime 
after I came upon the tracks of a single 
turkey and followed it over a puzzling 
course for an hour or more when it finally 
came to an end, and a few wing tip marks 
in the snow and several tall pines about 
a hundred yards away was a very sugges- 
tive clue as to where this turkey had 
made to, and while I was figuring out a 
means of approach, out he flew from the 
top branches and sailed with hardly a 
wing beat far out of sight. 
T his concluded my morning hunt and 
I returned to find Turkeyfoot wait- 
ing for me with the good news that 
he had found where a flock of turkeys 
had followed along a ridge intent on mak- 
ing to the high, rough country to the 
north, and that the tracks gave evidence 
of there being at least 30 birds in the 
bunch. We ate a hearty lunch and made 
for the upper country, Turkeyfoot leav- 
ing me to make a detour of the ridge to 
see if they had crossed a certain big 
canon into a country where we hoped 
they would not go. I was out about an 
hour when I struck the tracks of the big 
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