own. Now we
got to do some real callin'.' I felt how tense, how cautious he was.
When he called again there was some little difference, I don't know
what, unless it was his call sounded more like a real turkey. They
answered. They were gathering in front of us, and I made sure were
coming into the glade. Edd stopped calling. Then he whispered: 'Ready
now. Look out!'... Sure I was looking all right. This was my first
experience calling turkeys and I simply shook all over. Suddenly I
saw a turkey head stick up over the log. Then!--up hopped a beautiful
gobbler. He walked along the log, looked and peered, and stretched his
neck. Sure he was suspicious. Edd gave me a hunch, which I took to be
a warning to shoot quick. That was a hard place for me. I wanted to
watch the gobbler. I wanted to see the others. We could hear them all
over the glade. But this was my chance. Quickly I rose and took a peg
at him. A cloud of feathers puffed off him. He gave a great bounce,
flapping his wings. I heard a roaring whirr of other turkeys. With my
eye on my gobbler I seemed to see the air full of big, black, flying
things. My gobbler came down, bounced up again, got going--when with
the second barrel I knocked him cold. Then I stood there watching the
flock whirring every way into the forest. Must have been thirty-five
or forty of them, all gobblers. It was a great sight. And right here I
declared myself--wild turkey is the game for me."

Romer manifestly listened to this narrative with mingled feelings of
delight and despair. "Uncle Rome, wild turkey's the game for me, too
... and by Gosh! I'll fix those boots of mine!"

That morning we were scheduled for another bear hunt, on which I had
decided to go down under the rim with Edd and George. Lee had his
doubts about my horse, and desired me to take his, or at least one
of the others. Now his horse was too spirited for me to ride after
hounds, and I did not want to take one of the others, so I was
compelled to ride my own. At the last moment Lee had been disappointed
in getting a mustang he particularly wanted for me, and so it had
fallen about that my horse was the poorest in the outfit, which to put
it mildly was pretty poor. I had made the best of the matter so far,
and hoped to continue doing so.

We rode up the east slope of Beaver Dam Canyon, through the forest,
and out along the rim for five or six miles, way on the other side of
the promontory where I had gotten lost. Here Haugh