A Wild-Turkey Hunt.

“Come on!” cried Basil, putting the spur to his horse, and riding forward. “Come on! It isn’t so bad a case after all—a good fat turkey for dinner, eh? Come on!”

“Stay, brother,” said Lucien, “how are we to get near them? They are out on the open ground—there is no cover.”

“We don’t want cover. We can ‘run’ them as we were about to do had they been buffaloes.”

“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed François; “run a turkey! Why it will fly off at once. What nonsense you talk, brother!”

“I tell you, no,” replied Basil. “It is not nonsense—it can be done—I have often heard so from the trappers,—now let us try it ourselves.”

“Agreed, then,” said François and Lucien at once; and all three rode forward together.

When they had got near enough to distinguish the forms of the birds, they saw they were two old “gobblers” and a hen. The gobblers were strutting about with their tails spread like fans, and their wings trailing along the grass. Every now and then they uttered their loud “gobble—obble—obble,” and by their attitude and actions it was evidently an affair of rivalry likely to end in a battle. The female stalked over the grass, in a quiet but coquettish way—no doubt fully aware of the warm interest she was exciting in the breasts of the belligerent gobblers. She was much smaller than either of these, and far less brilliant in plumage. The males appeared very bright indeed—almost equal to a pair of peacocks—and as their glossy backs glanced in the sun with metallic lustre, our hunters thought they had never before seen such beautiful birds.

Taken up with their own quarrel, they would no doubt have allowed the hunters to get within shooting distance of them. The female, however, was upon the alert; and seeing these draw near, she raised her head with a loud “tweet!” which attracted the attention of her companions. In a moment their spread tails closed and came to the ground, their wings were shut up, and their long necks stretched into the air. Their forms underwent a complete change, and they now stood erect upon the prairie, Each of them full five feet in height!

“Beautiful creatures!” exclaimed Lucien.

“Yes,” muttered Basil. “They will not give us much longer time though. We had best make a dash. Take you the hen, Luce, your horse is the slowest. Now for it. For-ward!”

All three spurred their horses, and dashed forward together, Marengo leading the chase. In a moment they were within a hundred yards or so of the turkeys. The latter, thus suddenly set upon, ran a few paces, and then rose into the air, with a loud flapping of their wings. They took different directions, confused by being sprung in such haste. Each of the boys had selected the one he intended pursuing; and upon that one alone his eyes became fixed. Basil and François followed the gobblers, while Lucien rode at a quiet gallop after the hen.

Marengo, of course, took part in the chase, joining in with Lucien—whether because he deemed the hen to be “sweeter meat,” or that she was likely to be the easiest caught of the three.

She did not fly far before coming to the ground again; when she ran with all her might for the nearest clump of timber. Hither Lucien followed, Marengo leading the way, and occasionally uttering a sonorous yelp as he ran. As Lucien entered the timber, he saw the dog standing by the root of a large oak. He had “treed” the turkey, and was looking upward with glancing eyes, barking and wagging his tail. Lucien rode cautiously under the tree, where he perceived the turkey crouching among the moss, upon one of its highest branches. His rifle was up to his shoulder in a moment; and after the crack, the bird was heard tumbling and fluttering through the leaves. Marengo sprang upon it as it came to the ground; but his master, leaping from his horse, scolded him off, and took up the game which was found to be quite dead.

Lucien now remounted: and, as he rode out into the open ground, he could see Basil far off upon the prairies. He was going at full gallop; and the gobbler with outspread wings was seen some distance ahead of him, running like an ostrich! Both Basil and gobbler soon disappeared to his view—lost behind one of the timber islets. Lucien looked for François. The latter was nowhere to be seen—having pursued his gobbler in a direction where the groves were more thickly studded over the prairie. Thinking it would be of no use to follow either of them, Lucien rode slowly back to where Jeanette had been left upon the edge of the forest. Here he dismounted, and sat down to await the return of his brothers.

Basil’s chase proved a longer one than he had expected. He had chosen the biggest of the birds; and, no doubt, the strongest and toughest. His gobbler, at the first flight, made a clear stretch of nearly a mile; and, when he alighted again, ran like a scared cat. But Basil was not to be discouraged; and, keeping the spurs well to his horse, soon gained upon him. The turkey again took to his wings, dropping down another half mile in the advance. Again Basil galloped up; and once more the old cock rose into the air—this time flying only about a hundred yards before he alighted. Basil was soon up to him with his fleet horse; but the gobbler was now unable to fly any farther. He could run, however, at a good rate; and where there was an uphill in the prairie he ran faster than the horse. Downhill, the latter gained upon him; and thus they went, until the bird began to double and circle about, showing all the symptoms of weariness. Several times the horse ran over him, the turkey on these occasions turning and taking the back-track.
A Wild-Turkey Hunt

The chase was prolonged for a considerable time. The bird, at length, became completely exhausted; and squatting down, thrust his head and long neck among the weeds, like the ostrich, thinking himself thus hidden from his pursuer. Basil now drew his horse’s rein, raised his long rifle, and the next moment a bullet passed through the gobbler, and stretched him dead upon the grass.

Basil then dismounted; and, taking up the turkey, tied its legs to the cantle of his saddle. This required all Basil’s strength, for the bird was one of the largest size—a forty-pounder.

As soon as the hunter had made all fast, he leaped back into his saddle, and commenced riding—Where? Ay, that was the question which he asked himself before his horse had advanced three lengths of his body—where was he going? All at once the thought came into his mind that he was lost! Groves of timber were on all sides of him. They were like each other; or, if they differed, he had not in his wild gallop noted that difference, and it could not serve to direct him now. He had not the slightest idea of the point whence he had come, and therefore knew not in what direction to go. He saw and felt that he was lost!

My young reader, you cannot conceive the thoughts that come over one who is lost upon the prairies. Such a situation has appalled the stoutest hearts ere now. Strong men have trembled at feeling themselves thus alone in the wilderness; and well might they, for they knew that the consequence has often been death. The shipwrecked mariner in his open boat is scarcely worse off than the lost traveller upon the prairie-sea; and many, under the circumstances, have gone mad! Fancy then the feelings of the boy Basil.

I have already said, he was a cool and courageous lad. He was so, and proved it now. He did not lose presence of mind. He reined in his horse, and surveyed the prairie around him with an intelligent eye. It was all to no purpose. He saw nothing that would give him a clue to the spot where he had separated from his brothers. He shouted aloud, but there was neither echo nor answer. He fired off his rifle, and listened—thinking Lucien or François might reply by a similar signal; but no such signal gratified his ear. He reloaded, and sat for a while in his saddle, buried in thought.

“Ha! I have it!” he exclaimed, suddenly raising himself in his stirrups, “Why was I so stupid? Come, Black Hawk! we are not lost yet!”

Basil had not been all his life a hunter for nothing; and although he had but little experience upon the prairies, his wood craft now stood him in stead. The thought which had so suddenly occurred to him was a good one, the only one that could with certainty save him. He had resolved to return upon his own tracks.

He wheeled his horse; and, with eyes bent upon the ground, rode slowly along. The turf was firm, and the hoof-marks were not deep; but Basil had a hunter’s eye, and could follow the track of a fawn. In a few minutes he arrived on the spot where he had killed the turkey. The blood and feathers upon the grass made him sure of this. Here he halted a moment, until he could determine the direction in which he had approached this spot. That was at length resolved to his satisfaction; and he rode ............