Your "Cluck, keow, ku-ku," brings forth at once "Gil-obble-obble-obble. Cluck-v-r r-o-o-o-mi." Hush, hear that? "Cut-o-r-r-r," "Cut, cut keow, keow, keow." What is it? Is some one else calling? No; the sound is too perfect. Hark! how he gobbles and struts with renewed vigor, for it is the siren note of the real hen who has gone to him. You might as well now keep quiet for fifteen or twenty minutes, for he will not answer as long as he is with a hen. As soon as she is out of sight, however, he will listen to you. Here, reader, is the most important lesson to be learned and the most valuable in all turkey lore—patience.
Suddenly there was a "Gil-obble-obble-obble," so near it made me jump, and there within twenty paces of me was the gobbler
Fifteen minutes is usually ample time with the lusty turkey. You keep up the call and tease at proper intervals until sufficient zeal is restored, which can be determined by the vigor of his gobble; then do not call any more, no matter what he does. Keep still and watch his manœuvres, and presently he will begin to gobble and strut with great stress, gyrate, and swerve from side to side, right to left, his big tail, doing everything to fetch the new hen whose voice he hears; but you must not break the spell by any false move. All at once he stops and everything is still again. Maybe another hen has come to his court, maybe not. But do not yelp or cluck; he may be coming to you, for he knows precisely where you are, and if he is not caressing another hen he is surely approaching you. This may take fully an hour, sometimes six.
"Cluck, put, put," there stands a young gobbler within twenty paces to the left: he has approached from the rear. Make no motion. He has not identified you. "Put, put." Keep still. "Put, o-r-r-r-r." He begins to step high, turning to one side, then to the other. "C-r-r-r-r." He pulls out the tip of one wing and places it on the other. Note that. He is going to walk away. "Put, c-r-r-r-r." He is gone; but let him go, and good riddance, for he has created a distrust in the old gobbler's mind that will take some time to remove. You are now compelled to change your place and call again. "Gil-obble-obble-obble." Gracious! he is off to the right and fifty yards nearer. If there is sufficient cover, make a detour of from one hundred and fifty to two hundred yards and get ahead of him; then sit down, give a yelp or two, and end with a cluck. That will reassure him at once, and he will most surely gobble in reply; if so, you sit still. Have your rifle in readiness so that no move be made when he comes into view. Very likely you have waited some time since he gobbled last, and apparently he has quit all strutting. There is another ominous pause, but you are ready for him and on the sharp lookout. You are sorely vexed, but your good judgment keeps you alert while the other hunters have long since gone home.
"Gil-obble-obble-obble." Sh-e-e-e-e. There he is within thirty paces to the right at a half strut. What a bird! See his noble bearing, the bronzed coat, the glint in the keen eye. You can't move now, for he sees you, but he has not made you out. Be still and let him pass behind that big oak, then turn quickly before he comes into view again. Ah! that low green bush has obscured him; he has passed out of sight and does not reappear. Your nerves begin to run like the wheels of a clock with the balance off. Your disappointment is inconsolable. "Gil-obble-obble-obble," nearly one hundred yards on his way. This is discouraging, but the educated turkey hunter never gives up so long as a gobbler will argue with him.
Get up at once and make a rapid detour, taking in two hundred yards; get ahead of him again and on his line of march. Then sit down and call as soon as possible to attract his attention. This done your chances are as good as ever. "Gil-obble-obble-obble." You have estimated well. The gobbler is one hundred yards back yet, which gives you a breathing spell. He begins to rehearse the old rôle of gobbling and strutting, but with greater force, as he has had a long rest. Now give another call and cluck to see where he is; no response, and you are becoming as restless as a raccoon robbing a yellow-jacket's nest, and crazy for just one more call; but I advise not; have patience, and wait. Another call would only cause delay if not other harm. He is the one now to get nervous, for that hen may escape. A crow gives a sudden caw in a neighboring tree, and, "Gil-obble-obble-obble," says the turkey, now only seventy-five yards away. But you are silent. Again comes a long pause, and you think he has detected you and gone. A red tail hawk darts screaming through the timber, and, "Gil-obble-obble-obble cluck v-r-r-r-o-o-m-i," goes your bird thirty yards nearer; then all is silent again. He has made a strenuous effort to draw your call, but you are deaf. Another long pause and you are in a tremor all over. He has quit making any noise, and the stillness is painful for, save a solitary red bird trilling his carol in yon elm, and a gray squirrel nibbling the buds on that slender maple, all is still. Two chameleons are racing on the log behind which you are crouching, and, springing suddenly to the dry leaves, they startle you with the clattering they make, so highly strung are your nerves; but you dare not move.
Why this insufferable silence? The gobbler is coming, but when will he appear? Your rifle is in position, cocked, your eye running along the glistening barrel, but that is all of you which is allowed to move. A distant dead tree falls with a heavy thud that shakes the earth. "Gil-obble-obble-obble," breaks upon your ear and sends a thrill through your nerves, and the timid squirrel wiggling and scampering to his hole in a hollow gum. The sound comes from the oblique left. Your eyes turn slowly that way. Ah! there he stands, half erect, half concealed in the brush. You see the white top of his head, the crimson wattles of his arched neck, the long beard and the glint of his eye, for he is only forty paces away; but do not fire, as the least twig may deflect the ball. He has not made you out, although in plain view, nor will he, unless you make a sudden move.
You have carefully brought the rifle to bear on him. He is meditative and somewhat listless; but note that tail going up: he is going to strut, and that will bring him into an open space. "Cluck v-r-r-r-o-o-o-m-i." There! he is broadside on. See that crease that runs along his neck ending near the butt of the wing? Drop your bead on the butt of the wing opposite where that crease ends. That will kill him every time, as behind lies his heart; while if you aim for the centre of the body the bullet will go through the viscera, making a mess of it, and while a fatal wound, he may get away and be lost to you, for it will not always knock him down. If he stands quartering, aim at the centre of the breast next to you. It will at once be fatal. If the back is presented, which is not once in a hundred times, draw upon the centre of it. Unless turkeys are very plentiful, and you care little about losing a good chance, don't shoot at his head with a rifle.