Uncle Lance had promised Tully and Nancrede a turkey hunt during the holidays, so on our unexpected return it was decided to have it at once.  There had been a heavy mast that year, and in the encinal ridges to the east wild turkeys were reported plentiful.  Accordingly we set out the next afternoon for a camp hunt in some oak cross timbers which grew on the eastern border of our ranch lands.  Taking two pack mules and Tiburcio as cook, a party of eight of us rode away, expecting to remain overnight.  Uncle Lance knew of a fine camping spot about ten miles from the ranch.  When within a few miles of the place, Tiburcio was sent on ahead with the pack mules to make camp.  “Boys, we’ll divide up here,” said Uncle Lance, “and take a little scout through these cross timbers and try and locate some roosts.  The camp will be in those narrows ahead yonder where that burnt timber is to your right.  Keep an eye open for javalina signs; they used to be plentiful through here when there was good mast.  Now, scatter out in pairs, and if you can knock down a gobbler or two we’ll have a turkey bake to-night.”

Dan Happersett knew the camping spot, so I went with him, and together we took a big circle through the encinal, keeping alert for game signs.  Before we had gone far, evidence became plentiful, not only of turkeys, but of peccary and deer.  Where the turkeys had recently been scratching, many times we dismounted and led our horses—­but either the turkeys were too wary for us, or else we had been deceived as to the freshness of the sign.  Several successive shots on our right caused us to hurry out of the timber in the direction of the reports.  Halting in the edge of the timber, we watched the strip of prairie between us and the next cover to the south.  Soon a flock of fully a hundred wild turkeys came running out of the encinal on the opposite side and started across to our ridge.  Keeping under cover, we rode to intercept them, never losing sight of the covey.  They were running fast; but when they were nearly halfway across the opening, there was another shot and they took flight, sailing into cover ahead of us, well out of range.  But one gobbler was so fat that he was unable to fly over a hundred yards and was still in the open.  We rode to cut him off.  On sighting us, he attempted to rise; but his pounds were against him, and when we crossed his course he was so winded that our horses ran all around him.  After we had both shot a few times, missing him, he squatted in some tall grass and stuck his head under a tuft.  Dismounting, Dan sprang on to him like a fox, and he was ours.  We wrung his neck, and agreed to report that we had shot him through the head, thus concealing, in the absence of bullet wounds, our poor marksmanship.