A WILD TURKEY HUNT—THE TRIP TO MUD CREEK—THE TURKEY ROOST—THE SHOOTING BEGINS—COUNTING THE NUMBER KILLED—JOE SELLS TURKEYS
When Mr. Tucker, Joe, and Rob arrived at Errolstrath, it was just one o'clock. The family had kept dinner waiting, and everything was ready to put on the table by the time the horses were fed and the hounds' wounds rubbed with witch-hazel. Mrs. Thompson used to prepare this remedy herself, and she considered it the best thing in the world for injuries.
At dinner the boys and the old trapper entertained the family with an account of the morning's hunt, telling them how splendidly both Bluey and Brutus had behaved in company with such thoroughbreds as Custer's hounds, and especially with General Sheridan's famous Cinch, who was supposed to be the finest animal of his kind in the country.
They all adjourned to the broad veranda after dinner was over, excepting the girls who had to clear up the things. Mr. Tucker said that Colonel Keogh had told him that some of the officers' families who had just come from the East to Fort Harker were very desirous for wild turkey, which they had not yet tasted.
"He wanted me to ask you, Joe, if you cannot soon get them a few. I know that this is the very best time to hunt them, so let you, and Rob, and me go to that roost on Mud Creek this evening. It's full moon to-night, and we shall never have a better chance."
"All right," promptly spoke up both of the boys. "We'll have to take our ponies," said Joe, "for it's fully six miles. I was down there the other afternoon, and I should think that hundreds roost there."
"What time ought we to leave here?" inquired Rob. "You know that my month to herd and milk the cows is not out yet, and I want to do my work before I go; not that father would not do it willingly for me in a case of this kind, but I don't care to bother him; he has enough to do with the other stock."
"Oh!" said Joe, "we need not get away from here until long after supper. The birds won't come to their roost until it is nearly dark, and as we always have supper at six, and can ride down to Mud Creek easily in an hour, you will have ample time to do your chores, Rob, without hurrying a bit."
"Tell us something about the wild turkey, Mr. Tucker," said Rob. "You know all the habits of our beasts and birds."
"Well, Rob," said the old trapper, "the wild turkey is one of the indigenous birds of America. He once flourished from the most remote eastern boundary of the United States to every part of the far West. Now, through the wantonness of man, he is rapidly disappearing, as is nearly all of our large game. There are still plenty here in Kansas. The wild turkey makes his haunts in the timber, and being gregarious birds they keep together in large flocks, and roost in the same place for years, if not disturbed. All of our domestic turkeys have come from the wild stock, but the wild ones are still larger than the tame ones in many instances. I have shot them in nearly every place in the country where I have hunted. They are stupid in refusing to leave their roosts at night when shot at. They persistently fly back again to the same trees, when they could just as easily fly away out of danger. In such times they are almost as foolish as the sage hen, which in my opinion is the most stupid bird that flies. You can shoot at them until you hit them, if it takes a week; they won't move."