February, 1919 
FOREST AND STREAIM 
89 
HUNTING MERRIAM 
WILD TURKEY 
(CONTINUED FROM PAGE 61) 
flock and followed them for another hour 
over much rough country until they be- 
came so fresh that I expected any mo- 
ment to come in sight of the bunch. 
T he sun was getting low and I left my 
cover and proceeded up the base of 
the canon in the direction of the 
ridge with the ultimate view of returning 
to camp. After flve minutes of walking 
my attention was directed to a swish of 
wind overhead and I looked up to see two 
turkeys sailing across the canon. Just 
before they got to the pinons I sent both 
barrels after them, which brought one 
bird down and I saw it sneak away up 
through the pinons. I followed as best 
I could over the rough rocky slope of 
the canon, and after some time gained 
the ridge at a point where I expected 
it had crossed. Suddenly a sharp call 
of alarm from the oak brush near me, 
put me to attention, and vainly did I try 
to locate that bird. Then I advanced a 
few paces and the sound of my footsteps 
brought him out in the open, about 30 
yards from me. I could just make it out 
in the fading light, then killed it with a 
charge of No. 2 shot. 
We swapped three varieties of lingo 
for some time that night and I enjoyed 
the story of Turkeyfoot’s meeting with 
the turkeys, as translated by Jess. He 
had killed two flne specimens, a young 
gobbler and an old hen. The collection 
now numbered eight, and as they hung 
there under the big pine, viewed through 
the smoke and light of the Are — beneath, 
a carpet of snow and a background of 
forest black of a winter’s night; above, 
white streaks of clouds set in a starry 
sky — and blending so well with it all, my 
two weatherbeaten companions, content- 
edly absorbing the warmth of the Are, the 
Indian’s long hair in strings down either 
side of his bronze hued face, it was a 
scene that I sometimes enjoy bringing to 
view, especially when the environment of 
the city gets too oppressive. 
W E awoke next morning to find that 
a little skift of snow had fallen, 
and after a later breakfast than 
usual prepared for my last hunt and 
effort to get an old gobbler w’hich, up 
until this time, we had not secured. The 
new snow covering the old tracks made 
the outlook promising and I made in a 
direct line from camp with the intention 
of cutting across the turkey country and 
following the first tracks I might strike. 
I left camp to the w-est and the lower 
country while TurkejToot ro(^ away on 
his buckskin pony to the north where he 
had hunted the day before. I had gone 
some distance, crossing the tracks of sev- 
eral animals, bob cats, coyotes, weasels 
and porcupines — even the tuft-eared gray 
squiri'els had been making their little 
marks in the snow, for the morning was 
perfect and much of the smaller variety 
of wild life was in evidence. Then, un- 
expectedly, appeared the tracks that I 
had come to know so well and which al- 
ways put me on the alert. Well defined 
in the fresh snow were those of a single 
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