deer. Where the turkeys had recently been scratching,
many times we dismounted and led our horses--but either the turkeys were
too wary for us, or else we had been deceived as to the freshness of the
sign. Several successive shots on our right caused us to hurry out of
the timber in the direction of the reports. Halting in the edge of the
timber, we watched the strip of prairie between us and the next cover to
the south. Soon a flock of fully a hundred wild turkeys came running out
of the encinal on the opposite side and started across to our ridge.
Keeping under cover, we rode to intercept them, never losing sight of
the covey. They were running fast; but when they were nearly halfway
across the opening, there was another shot and they took flight, sailing
into cover ahead of us, well out of range. But one gobbler was so fat
that he was unable to fly over a hundred yards and was still in the
open. We rode to cut him off. On sighting us, he attempted to rise; but
his pounds were against him, and when we crossed his course he was so
winded that our horses ran all around him. After we had both shot a few
times, missing him, he squatted in some tall grass and stuck his head
under a tuft. Dismounting, Dan sprang on to him like a fox, and he was
ours. We wrung his neck, and agreed to report that we had shot him
through the head, thus concealing, in the absence of bullet wounds, our
poor marksmanship.

When we reached the camp shortly before dark, we found the others had
already arrived, ours making the sixth turkey in the evening's bag. We
had drawn ours on killing it, as had the others, and after supper Uncle
Lance superintended the stuffing of the two largest birds. While this
was in progress, others made a stiff mortar, and we coated each turkey
with about three inches of the waxy play, feathers and all. Opening our
camp-fire, we placed the turkeys together, covered them with ashes and
built a heaping fire over and around them. A number of haunts had been
located by the others, but as we expected to make an early hunt in the
morning, we decided not to visit any of the roosts that night. After
Uncle Lance had regaled us with hunting stories of an early day, the
discussion innocently turned to my recent elopement. By this time the
scars had healed fairly well, and I took the chaffing in all good humor.
Tully told a personal experience, which, if it was the truth, argued
that in time I might become as indifferent to my recent