The Bessemer indicator., 1894-02-17

Tho turkey is not classed as a bel
tigerant bird, but sometimes he puts
on his war paint and goes forth to
do battle. The ST Louis Globe DEM
ocrat says that j. l.. Foster was out
hunting a few miles back In the
mountains from Nowburg, Mo-. and
turkey was the game he was after.
he had been following a drove for
over two hours, and finally saw them
descend into deep ravine. With
tho instincts of m old sobbler hun
ter. he made hnsty detour and land
cd on tho opposite side OF the ravine,
that way. He had concealed himself
and was waiting patiently when his
attention was attracted by the alarm
cries Of an old gobbler. Looking up
to tho head of tho ravine he saw an
other drove Of turkeys making their
way with great speed down tho steep
declivity into tho hollow where the
others had gone before.
Thinking that there must be some
extraordinary attraction for turkeys
In the wooded bottom, he worked his
way as stealthily as possible down
the steep and rugged descent and
was soon IN a position to command
view Of the hollow and very close to
the first flock of turkeys. lie saw
the second drove rushing at the
others like a brigade OF soldiers
making charge. Tho number was
about equal on each eide when the
light began. The tapping OF wings
and the angry squalls OF the turkeys
could be heard for u quarter OF
milo. Foster watched the fight for
about ten minutes, then walked up
within easy range OF his game and
proceeded to pick the biggest COB
bler and drop him with his rifle. As
the old fellow toppled over the
turkeys on tho opposing side dashed
Mt the dying bird and as long as he
gave kick they telabored him with
wings. feet and beaks.
With the biggest gobbler gone
from the ranks of the turkeys that
made the charge down the hill, they
began to waver and show signs of
refreshing. when Fosters gun again
cracked and the boss gobbler of the
other side turned up his toes and
Kicked in his death agonies This
equalized things once more, and the
battle went on hotter than ever. The
Robblers. which were In the majority,
did most of the hard fighting. while
the old hens sputtered and peeped
and pecked when a good opportunity
offered itself. Tho gobblcfs would
get hold with their'bills, then they
would pull and haul each other about,
occasionally striking out with one
foot, thon wing; sometimes they
would come together with both feet
md make the feathers flutter and
fly.
Foster. not caring to kill any moro
Of tho turkeys, walked boldly out
among the battling birds. who were
SO deeply interested in the fight that
they hardly needed his approach,
and IL was not until he yelled at them
and waved his hands that they took
wing.
alt is really amusing to watch
Hook OF young turkeys when they
encounter their first snow-storm,"
said Foster "1'he old birds don't
mind 1t. but tho youngsters go all to
pieces, and IL you happen in their
vicinity at such time 1t is only
question OF how many OF them you
want to slay. The old turkeys, in
their efforts to quiet the fears OF tho
tenderfeot, go almost frantic them
selves, and then tho whole gang be-
comes easy prey for the hunter Last
winter was plodding along the back
bone OF Calfahan's Bluff. and the day
was so cold could not stand
moment Every few moments
snow squall would swoop down across
the range before u strong northwest
gallo, and it was during one OF these
little billiards. that witnessed
scene that was calculated to make
oven an old professional hunter hi
larious. 1came upon one OF those
deep hollows, or sink holes. as most
people out there call them. The
snow was almost binding, but above
the roar of the storm heard down
in the hollow the frightened yelps OF
turkeys. There appeared to be
thousands of them from the noise
and hustle they were making. Get
ting good position looked down
into the hollow, where it seemed as
If all the turkeys from the hills for
miles around were assembled and
were holding high carnival. They