I called R.C. and ran. I got to where I could see
beyond the thicket. An immense flock of turkeys! I yelled. As I tried to
get a bead on a running turkey R.C. joined me. "Chase 'em!" he yelled.
So we dashed through the forest with the turkeys running ahead of us.
Never did they come out clear in the open. I halted to shoot, but just
as I was about to press the trigger, my moving target vanished. This
happened again. No use to shoot at random! I had a third fleeting
chance, but absolutely could not grasp it. Then the big flock of turkeys
eluded us in an impenetrable, brushy ravine.
"By George!" exclaimed R.C. "Can you beat that? They run like streaks. I
couldn't aim. These wild turkeys are great."
I echoed his sentiments. We prowled around for an hour trying to locate
this flock again, but all in vain. "Well," said R.C. finally, as he
wiped his perspiring face, "it's good to see some game anyhow.... Where
are we?"
It developed that our whereabouts was a mystery to me. The sun had
become completely obliterated, a fine rain was falling, the forest had
grown wet and dismal. We had gotten turned around. The matter did not
look serious, however, until we had wandered around for another hour
without finding anything familiar. Then we realized we were lost. This
sort of experience had happened to R.C. and me often; nevertheless we
did not relish it, especially the first day out.
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