FOREST AND STREAM 
as we sat about the hearth fire, built to keep 
the chills off, father said that he wanted us boys 
to go after that big gobbler he and Tom had just 
seen; that it was partly albino, which he had to 
explain to us, meant “white where it hadn’t orter 
be.” Sometimes, he said, birds and almost any 
four-footed animals came pure white all over and 
that people who collected such things wanted 
freaks of the kind and would give good prices 
for them. 1 hat a Mr. Chester, whom father had 
guided and hunted with a few years previously, 
wanted all such sort of birds and if we had a 
mind to hunt Old Spot,” as we then commenced 
calling the old fellow, that we might have free 
swing and that he would not try to get him at 
all. Of course we asked, how much he was 
worth but father would give us no satisfaction, 
only saying, “get him and we’ll see, he is worth 
hunting.” 
About a week later four of us put out before 
day and hunted Osceola bayou hammock until 
io o’clock without seeing more than a lot of 
turkey sign—some big ones—and three hens that 
Frank jumped and would not shoot at for fear 
of missing a chance at Old Spot. It would be 
tiresome to tell you of the many times in the 
next four or five months that we hunted for 
the old gobbler. Once in a while we saw him, 
usually as he flew from a tall pine tree where 
he had roosted during the night; twice Jo-dog 
flushed him for us.—once too far off for a shot 
and the other time Jo had trailed for some time 
and we knew it must be turkeys but having seen 
a bunch of hens earlier in the morning close 
by we were not anticipating Old Spot and while 
John and I, who were hunting him that morning, 
both fired, we both scored a miss so far as we 
knew. 
Occasionally father would ask us about the 
big white gobbler and if we wanted him to help 
us but we held him to his offer as we wanted all 
of the glory and profit as well. 
The next spring, in “gobbling” time, we felt 
sure we could get him without fail but measles 
held us all several weeks just when we might 
have tried for him and later we all to fishing 
for trout and redfish and so Old Spot had a rest 
for a time. After the run of mullet the next 
fall and fishing was dull we commenced thinking 
of some way to get spending money for our 
fireworks for Christmas and other necessary lux¬ 
uries and naturally Old Spot came up in our 
minds and we went after him again, generally 
the four of us together, hunting in couples, but 
each one of the other three had made a sneak 
off and hunted him alone, hoping to get all of 
the glory for himself. 
One night early in December I concluded I 
must have a lone chance after him myself and 
made preparations and saw that Jo-dog was safe 
at home. He and I crossed the river and were 
legging it across the three mile marsh before 
four o’clock the next morning. There was no 
wind but frost was in the air; no doubt they 
were having snow in that north country I had 
never seen and wondered about so much. Once 
in a while I heard a big swamp owl call “Whoo 
whoo ah hoo—whoo whoo ah whoo ah.” A big 
blue heron flew up as we skirted a pond and I 
could hear a bunch of mallards, “greenheads" we 
called them, quacking in the marsh creek not 
far off. Other things seemed still. 
I always enjoyed hunting and tramping the 
This Is Meleagris Gallopavo at His Best, but 
Not “Ole Spot.” 
woods alone, or with a good sensible dog—One 
that knew when to be quiet and when to hunt— 
and Jo-dog was the very best of that sort I ever 
knew. If I sat on a log in the woods watching 
for a bunch of turkeys to come along or on a 
runway for deer, all I had to do was to tap him 
with the toe of my shoe and point “down” and 
he was quiet enough and no fear of his going 
off on a side hunt. If he then winded a deer 
or a turkey before I saw them he would move 
his tail gently and half rise up in front and look 
at me. If I saw the game first I gave him two 
of three quick taps and he watched me to see 
whereaway was the hunt. 
He was seemingly no breed at all; just a med¬ 
ium sized brindle dog. We had him from a 
Greek sponger who put in out of a storm once 
and who said, “He good dog; he catcha deer” 
which was not literally true, but he could follow 
a trail through mud and water without a sound 
and rarely failed to find the game if it was on 
the ground. When it came to turkeys he seemed 
to delight in hunting them and so long as they 
kept afoot he was steady, but let one take wing 
in the more open woods and he was off like a 
streak, to see it alight, and expected one to 
keep up or follow and find. 
Jo and I reached our hunting ground just 
as the first streaks of light came up in the east 
away over the cabbage palmettos, bays and pines 
of gum swamp. I built a little fire behind some 
scrub palmetto and we stretched out to await 
developments. Two or three times I thought 
Jo winded game but it must have been too 
faint for him to feel sure, as he remained 
stretched out by the blaze. Just as I had noticed 
the first sunlight topping the tallest pines and 
scattering what little fog was afloat, Jo almost 
jumped to his feet and his tail swung with most 
unusual force. I found him, head twisted far 
to rear, gazing upward, and I reached for my 
gun that leaned against a pine sapling. Before 
I had it in hand, out went a grand old gobbler 
from the top of a thick pine about forty yards 
in the hammock from where we were stretched. 
657 
The very hasty and uncertain glimpse I had 
of him was not enough to be sure it was Old 
Spot, but I did know it was a grand big bird 
and I concluded to follow up and do my best 
to nail him. 
I could only get the general direction of the 
flight on account of the heavy growth of palmetto 
and trailing moss intervening, but from exper¬ 
ience I felt sure he would not go over two hun¬ 
dred yards and would probably alight in a big 
pine; so, letting Jo-dog lead, we hurried along 
for one hundred yards and then I steadied him 
with a touch and we commenced hunting in earn¬ 
est. I say we, for Jo hunted with nose and 
eyes and knew well enough how and where to 
look. 
We had thus traveled fifty to seventy-five 
yards and came to a lot of scrub palmetto 
through which it would be folly to push as I was 
sure the turkey was not far ahead and the rattle of 
the leaves would be too much for his nerves. 
I thought once of sending the dog on direct 
while I circled, a trick I had taught him and 
found to work well under some conditions, but 
this time I took him with me around the scrub 
and I had not gone twenty steps when out went 
Old Spot! I saw him plainly enough now— 
from a tremendous pine draped with a heavy 
curtain of gray moss just beyond the bunch of 
scrub and on the opposite side from the one 
we had taken and too far off for a shot. 
This time his course lay towards the edge of 
the bayou. If he cleared it I felt sure my 
chances would be poor for it was far to other 
trees across the marsh, and they were too scat¬ 
tered to allow my stalking him. The grass was 
too high and thick for Jo to work well for 
my success, hence I decided it was all up unless 
I could find him in a tree near the edge of 
the timber. 
Our route after the gobbler would bring us 
to the edge of the open marsh in about one 
hundred yards, so when we had almost reached 
the last large timber I motioned for Jo to go 
on up the edge and cautioned him to go slow 
and watch close! I then circled back into the 
woods and made up to strike the marsh again 
about seventy-five yards above where I had left 
the dog as I came out towards the open I used 
all the art I knew to hunt carefully and all the 
while keep an eye out for Jo-dog. He was 
neither large nor of a color to show up readily 
and I hoped he would not be on the move, else 
he had not found the game. 
I was now coming to the last big pines in 
that vicinity and decided if something didn’t 
happen mighty quick it wouldn’t happen that 
morning; then I wondered if I did see the turkey 
in a medium-sized live oak that spread far out 
on one side, a lot of moss trailing and swaying 
gently in the fresh air. For a few minutes I 
could not determine whether it was a bird or 
not, as a smaller branch cut him off from a 
fair view and the moss came down between. 
Finally as I fairly drove my eyes through the 
moss I felt sure I saw a quick motion that 
must mean a turkey, and shifting my ground a 
little I had him in good sight but fully sixty 
yards off. 
My old gun was pretty good I knew, but I 
couldn’t dare risk so long a shot. I found by 
going back ten or fifteen yards I would get 
(Continued on page 679.) 
