414 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Sept, ii, 1909. 
which had caused the wound. It was a flat, 
three-cornered piece, and had passed entirely 
through the turkey's heart, splitting that organ 
in halves as evenly as a knife could have done. 
Think of its flying a mile, and sitting in a tree 
all that time, with its heart split in two! 
“We will go easy now, our turkey ought to 
be near about here. If it rises again, try to 
break a wing; it would carry ten pounds of 
shot in its body and never show it.” 
Straight in the direction we were traveling 
we found the turkey at the foot of a large tree, 
or rather saw it as it was rising, for it was 
beating its way heavily up when I saw it. Side 
on, I was fortunate enough to smash a wing 
with the first barrel, and considerably shot up 
and disfigured, but yet a fine bird, it was ours. 
“And now tell me, George, how you walked 
straight to this turkey twice, knowing only 
the general direction it had taken?” said I. 
“Well, I can't just exactly explain it,” said 
he. “Case of ‘good eye,’ as the boys say in 
baseball, I reckon. But Walter can show you 
some real woodcraft if you follow him. He can 
follow a jacksnipe a mile through thick timber 
and locate it every time.” 
We found the other boys awaiting us at the 
rendezvous, with a turkey, and after a bite of 
lunch started on the return trip. 
Spreading out about one hundred yards 
apart, so as to cover a wide stretch, we crept 
quietly along watching for game signs. Soon 
a whistle from Walter brought us together, and 
we found he had struck a trail leading in the 
direction we were going. Back-tracking a 
short distance, the boys reported five turkeys 
in the gang, and the tracks fresh. They said 
the birds had been feeding in a direction to 
cross in front of us, but had probably heard our 
approach and turned. 
It was agreed that Walter keep the trail and 
the others take positions out to the right and 
left, keeping him in sight; all to go quietly 
and the first coming in range to try a shot. The 
snow was soft and deep and the going hard. 
The long tramp had about used me up, and I 
was beginning to feel more interest in the 
home trail than any other, but for something 
like five miles I plowed my way, seeing noth¬ 
ing, but frequently encouraged by observing 
Walter creeping along in a manner to indicate 
that he was close on the game. 
Finally, away out on the other side, George’s 
rifle cracked and I dropped in the snow, watch¬ 
ing the openings in the direction of the shot: 
One turkey came my way, passing swiftly over 
the treetops, looking like an overgrown par¬ 
tridge with a broom stick for a neck. The 
distance was hopeless, but knowing it to be the 
last chance, I fired both barrels, to no effect. 
George had killed and we now had three 
turkeys, and I was glad to the point of thank¬ 
fulness, when, after some discussion, it was de¬ 
cided, as George said, “to call it a day, and 
quit.” 
The next hunt was less strenuous. We took 
a tent and spent two days in the woods. The 
weather was beautiful, cold, but clear. 
The first night in camp the boys essayed to 
teach me to call with a wing-bone turkey-call. 
I practiced until my mouth was sore, and 
finally accomplished the difficult feat, or at 
least succeeded in producing a sound that 
George said, “would probably not scare a 
turkey to death.” We were up and out at 
break of day next morning, and after hunting 
hard for an hour or more without success, I 
sat down at the foot of a tree and proceeded to 
put in practice my new accomplishment. 
The first attempt—with the beginner’s luck 
—was a great success, and I was thrown into 
a fever of excitement by hearing my call 
answered at once by a turkey nearby. Had I 
known then what I learned later, I would have 
kept perfectly still after getting an answer and 
probably bagged the turkey, but fearing that it 
might not have heard distinctly, and perhaps 
would take the wrong direction, I proceeded, 
though shaking with excitement, to call again. 
My luck did not hold. The raucous croak that 
wailed out through my hollowed hands was 
enough to frighten away a famished tiger, and 
I was not surprised to hear the beating of 
wings as the turkey took flight from a nearby 
thicket. 
I hunted some time longer without success 
and then concluded to try the call again, more 
for practice than with the 1 hope of luring game. 
I did fairly well, and after two or three calls, 
thought I detected a far-off answer. Con¬ 
trolling my nervousness as best I could, I kept 
on calling and finally had an answer nearby. 
Then for what seemed a long time I called and 
listened, straining my eyes to catch sight of the 
turkey I believed near. 
“Well,” suddenly spoke a voice immediately 
behind me, causing me to release the tension 
of my muscles and almost leap my length. It 
was Walter. “Here! I’m no turkey,” he called 
quickly as I faced him with gun at ready; “I’m 
sorry I startled you so. It was I answering 
your call, and when I saw you thought it a 
turkey, concluded to come in on you from the 
rear.” 
Back at camp we found George with a turkey 
and a nice bunch of squirrels, so there was 
meat. That night I got the only turkey I killed 
on the trip, and was treated to a truly wonder¬ 
ful exhibition of woodcraft. 
We were in the heart of the big woods, and 
Walter had gone out in the afternoon, saying 
he would stay until sundown and try to roost 
a gang of turkeys. He came in after dark and 
told me that if I would go with him when the 
moon rose, which would be about nine or ten 
o’clock, he would take me to a fine turkey on 
a big elm tree that I could kill with my shot¬ 
gun. As to distance, he said it was about two 
miles, and in answer to my inquiry as to 
whether he could find the tree again, replied 
with easy confidence, “Why, sure.” 
It was near ten o’clock when we left camp. 
The moon was full and high enough to light 
the way where the timber was not too heavy, 
but as most of our way led through the thickest 
of the woods, I found my safest position to be 
immediately in the rear. Walter carried only 
an old cow bell, which he said was our blind, 
as the wary turkey would both see and hear us. 
but as cattle roamed the woods the 1 year round, 
would be deceived by the sound of the bell and 
let us approach. 
Despite the marvelous skill I knew my com¬ 
panion to possess, I very seriously doubted the 
success of our expedition. To travel two miles 
through that dense forest at night and find a 
certain tree—where all trees looked alike 1 — 
seemed a sheer impossibility. But with all the 
confidence I would have felt in traveling a 
well-defined road, my companion held a straight 
course through the woods, moving as silently 
as a shadow with me at his heels, until I be¬ 
gan to think we had covered more than the 
estimated two miles. He finally stopped, and 
pointing out to the right, said: “The tree is 
off there about two hundred yards, right in 
line with the moon, which is now high enough 
to bring the turkey in line with its light when 
we get in shooting distance. I will now loosen 
up the bell, and ring it softly as we approach 
the tree, which we must do quietly, in a wander¬ 
ing course, with occasional pauses. I will keep 
my hand on your shoulder, and you must watch 
the moon, against which you will see the 
turkey on the highest long limb, on the left 
of a big elm.” jg J 
He now gave the bell a gentle shake, caus¬ 
ing its brassy jangle to float out on the still air. 
“By the way,” he added as we moved on, 
“don’t look for a turkey, for that is not what 
it will look like at all. A small hawk is what 
you would guess it to be, but if you bring 
down what I show you, it will be a turkey and 
a good one. When I press my hand on your 
shoulder and then take it off, you will be in 
position to shoot, and must stop and do so at 
once. I think I can take you in good distance 
but a turkey is too wary, night or day, to take 
any chances with.” 
Slowly we worked along, stopping occasion¬ 
ally and sounding the bell as we moved. Wind¬ 
ing about a little, to the right or left, Walter 
occasionally bending down a bush and letting 
it swing carelessly back, until finally, in the 
general direction we were taking, I saw a large 
branching tree which I rightly guessed held 
the turkey. 
Slowly and carefully we plodded on, Walter 
now occasionally pulling off a bunch of leaves 
from the bushes in imitation of cattle grazing. 
I soon recognized the limb described, and as- 
our nearer approach brought it in the light of 
the moon, strained my eyes for a sight of the 
turkey. Finally as the pressure and immediate 
withdrawal of my companion’s hand warned me 
that I was in position, I saw, sharply outlined 
against the face of the moon, a little bird about ; 
the size of a very early broiling chicken. 
But for the careful explanation and directions' 
of my guide, I should never have thought of 
its being a turkey. Taking quick aim, I fired, 
just as the turkey—evidently suspicious—began 
to stir. At the report of the gun it spread its? 
wings and started in a running flight toward 
the end of the limb, but before it had gotten, 1 
far enough to pitch off in flight, I fired again, 
and down it came, crashing through the limbs 
and striking the ground with a crash that; 
proved conclusively that it was not in the small, 
fry class. jt J" 
“Good shooting, that!” called Walter as he 
picked up the turkey. “A hen,” he added, “and 
about as big as they grow. Let’s hike for bed.’': 
Swinging the big bird over his shoulder, he 
started off and led me as straight back to our 1 
camp as though traveling a beaten trail instead 1 ; 
of a trackless forest. Lewis Hopkins. 
All the game laws of the United States and 
Canada, revised to date and now in force, are 
given in the Game Lazvs in Brief. See adv. 
J 
