go 
FOREST AND STREAM 
[Jan. 19, 1907. 
A HAUNT OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN SHEEP. 
them. Suddenly from above there was a shot, 
then another and quiet. Above me I heard the 
smashing of brush. I crouched down close be¬ 
side the big rock near me. Smash! and a 
wounded sheep tore through the brush just 
over my head and landed on his feet in front 
of me. Away he went—but not far, for I 
dropped him. • We had one. 
I started after the lad and the other sheep. I 
soon saw the boy running, climbing, fairly kill - ' 
ing himself to reach the top of a ledge some 
distance aw.ay. I shouted at him and he mo¬ 
tioned they had gone th^t way. I followed, and 
after a short chase, we found they had evidently 
given us the slip. We returned to our sheep 
and started to drag him down to a good place 
for cleaning him, but had not gone far when we 
found the other sheep lying dead. He had 
climbed and had lost his balance and fallen. 
We cleaned them, ate our lunch and started 
to camp. Did you ever carry a whole sheep and 
your gun and camera down a mountain and 
through timber and streams and over logs? Did 
you ever carry them after a long day’s hunt, 
until you were so weak you were not sure 
whether you would stand or fall the next time 
you put your foot down? Or fall and have the 
sheep land on top of you? • We did all of this. 
We plodded on until we were doing well if we 
could carry our load fifty yards before we be¬ 
came exhausted and fell, but after dark we 
reached camp and cooked and ate the tender, 
juicy steaks by firelight. Then we cooked and 
ate more steaks and the next day we got home 
with a pack horse well loaded with game. 
Arthur said while looking at the game when 
we were eating lunch: “It’s fun while it lasts, 
though it doesn’t last long; but it’s worth it.” 
Joseph Locicley Sherburne. 
THE CAMPER’S FRIEND. 
Pure Milk is' desirable wherever you camp, one or one 
thousand miles from civilization. Borden’s Eagle Brand 
Condensed Milk always opens up perfectly fresh, pure 
and satisfactory. It is the first item thought of by the 
veteran camper.— .4,dk‘. 
Hunting Wild Turkeys. 
In looking over the columns of several 
sporting journals for the last year or two I 
found a number of articles on the wild turkey, 
and the manner of hunting them, all very mis¬ 
leading, as the writers were not skilled in the 
science of woodcraft, and least of all in the true 
method of hunting wild turkeys, which is my 
favorite sport. Our domestic turkey is as un¬ 
like our wild turkey as the thoroughbred racer 
is unlike a sluggish plow horse. He is not de¬ 
rived from the M. gallopavo of the United States, 
but the M. mexicana, a coa’rser, clumsier bird. 
M. gallopavo is as untamable as the Indian. You 
may hatch their eggs under a domestic hen, but 
when grown they forsake civilization and return 
to their gipsy life. The domestic turkey was 
exported from Mexico to Spain, from Spain to 
France, and from France to England, and from 
England to the United States. The wild gobbler 
does not come to maturity until two years old. 
Such has been my experience with those I have 
raised from eggs of wild hens. The wild hens, 
although very tenacious of their nest, take but 
little care in its preparation, and when setting 
are careful in concealing it from the old 
gobblers, who take pleasure in destroying them 
that they may go to laying again. And while 
it might appear paradoxical, yet it is a fact, that 
the more gobblers killed and the fewer left to 
breed from, the more young turkeys are 
hatched. On this account the last Mississippi 
Legislature, of which I was a member of the 
Senate, gave especial attention to our game law 
which forbids the killing of hens at any season, 
but permits the killing of gobblers from Nov. 1 
to May 1 . If the hens are left, there will always 
be gobblers enough for breeding purposes. 
Wild turkeys 'have many peculiarities differ¬ 
ing from tame turkeys, both in shape and habit. 
His color is a brilliant bronze, and his steel-blue 
head with its snow-white cap and the sheen of 
the morning sunlight on his bronze plumage 
presents the most fascinating picture of sylvan 
beauty that ever caused a hunter’s heart to throb 
with joyful anticipation. An old gobbler al¬ 
ways roosts alone, and collects his hens by his 
gobble in the early morning. A flock of wild 
turkeys as they seek their roost scatter about 
in different trees. You never find a flock in 
one tree, and seldom two on the same tree where 
there are plenty of trees around their roosting 
places. They also prefer to roost over a stream 
or pond far from the haunts of men; or oyer 
marshes that keep from their retreats prowling 
wildcats, raccoons or other wild animals that 
might follow their trail, but will riot wade in 
the water where any foot fall will awaken the 
light sleeper. Around- these marshes lie 
moccasins, cottonmouths and other poisonous 
reptiles ready to strike the foot of the intruder. 
There is no bird or beast so watchful or cunning 
as an old gobbler. It is next to impossible to 
stalk him. I never try it. He places no de¬ 
pendence in the sense of smell, if he has any. 
His eyesight is so keen and his hearing so 
acute, he needs no second glance at a suspicious 
object; he takes no chances where danger 
threatens. If a twig snaps or a brush shakes, 
his head is so shaped he can see on every side 
at once, and if a glance does not satisfy him, he 
is off. The glint of a sunbeam on a gun barrel, or 
the slightest movement of a hand to remove a 
pestiferous mosquito sets him going, and he 
may be a mile away before he will gobble or 
strut again. 
The hens separate from the gobblers during 
the winter. In the spring the gobblers battle 
for the mastery, and the master gobbler when 
with other gobblers always keeps in the rear, 
depending on the watchfulness of the younger 
or weaker ones to guard him in his walks. 
Therefore when I call up more than one at a- 
time, I always shoot the hindmost gobbler with 
my first barrel and have another nearer for my 
second,'my aim being to make sure of the chief. 
I use a shotgun and No. 6 shot, and never shoot 
save at the head. A gobbler will fly off with 
a death wound in the body; besides it spoils it 
for the table. 
The first lesson a turkey hunter has to learn 
is how to imitate correctly the call of the hen, 
and not to call too much, for he will find that 
' hens call very little, especially in the spring. 
In the fall and winter, when they are in flocks, 
the best way to hunt them is with a dog. 1 
have found the pointer the best for turkey 
hunting. He runs rapidly . and silently, and 
dashes suddenly into a flock, barking as they 
scatter, then the hunter should go 1 in their 
direction, and when he thinks he is near enough, 
conceal himself and dog where he can sit with 
his back against a tree, and a log or brush in 
front and wait a half hour or until he hears a 
turkey yelp, then do the best calling he can 
until he gets a shot. If he finds the flock col¬ 
lecting to the leadership of an old hen, set the 
dog out and scatter them again, and never allow 
your impatience to get the better of your judg¬ 
ment, but take your position and continue the 
tactic I have advised and you will succeed. 
WILD TURKEYS FEEDING. 
From a Photograph by C. L. Jordan. 
