Another flew straight out of the glade.  Another ran like an ostrich in the same direction.  I tried to get the sights on him.  In vain!

R.C. and Copple chased these two speeding turkeys, and Haught and I went the other way.  We could find no trace of ours.  And we returned to our horses.

Presently we heard shots.  One—­two—­three—­pause—­then several more.  And finally more, to a total number of fifteen.  I could not stand that and I had to hurry back into the woods.  I saw one old gobbler running wildly around as if lost, but I did not shoot at him because he seemed to be in line with the direction which R.C. and Copple had taken.  I should have run after him until he went some other way.

I could not find the hunters, and returned to our resting place, which they had reached ahead of me.  They had a turkey each, gobblers about two years old Copple said.

R.C. told an interesting story of how he had run in the direction the two turkeys had taken, and suddenly flushed thirty or forty more, some big old gobblers, but mostly young.  They scattered and ran.  He followed as fast as he could, shooting a few times.  Copple could not keep up with him, but evidently had a few shots himself.  R.C. chased most of the flock across several small canyons, till he came to a deep canyon.  Here he hoped to make a killing when the turkeys ran up the far slope.  But they flew across!  And he heard them clucking over there.  He crossed, and went on cautiously.  Once he saw three turkey heads sticking above a log.  Wise old gobblers!  They protected their bodies while they watched for him.  He tried to get sidewise to them but they ran off.  Then he followed until once more he heard clucking.

Here he sat down, just beyond the edge of a canyon, and began to call with his turkey wing.  It thrilled him to hear his calls answered on all sides.  Here was a wonderful opportunity.  He realized that the turkeys were mostly young and scattered, and frightened, and wanted to come together.  He kept calling, and as they neared him on all sides he felt something more than the zest of hunting.  Suddenly Copple began to shoot.  Spang!  Spang!  Spang!  R.C. saw the dust fly under one turkey.  He heard the bullet glance.  The next shot killed a turkey.  Then R.C. yelled that he was no turkey!  Then of that scattering flock he managed to knock over one for himself.

Copple had been deceived by the call of an amateur.  That flattered R.C., but he was keenly disappointed that Copple had spoiled the situation.

During the day the blue sky was covered by thin flying clouds that gradually thickened and darkened.  The wind grew keener and colder, and veered to the southwest.  We all said storm.  There was no sunset Darker clouds rolled up, obliterating the few stars.

We went to bed.  Long after that I heard the swell and roar and crash and lull of the wind in the pines, a sound I had learned to love in Buckskin Forest with Buffalo Jones.  At last I fell asleep.