by Grey, Zane
Then ensued a terrible crashing, buffeting, roaring mTlTe. The turkeys burst into united action. A dozen or more launched themselves marvellously into the air, and flew as swiftly as quail, only with tremendous flapping of wings, right at Jim. But most of the flock ran.
Jim shot at this one and that one. He could not get the bead on them. How they ran! Curly was yelling and shooting. Bud was shooting and yelling.
Turkeys darted right between them, here, there, everywhere. Jim kept working the lever of the rifle, aiming and firing. Then the uproar ceased. Jim stood holding a hot rifle, looking bewildered, while his two companions held their sides.
"Dog-gone!" gasped Curly, as soon as he could speak. "They shore stampeded us. Boss, aboot how many did you knock?"
"Gosh! I never touched a feather, that I could see. Oh, it was wonderful!... But why in the dickens didn't you prepare me for such a charge?"
"Boss, I know turkeys orful well, but I didn't hey this bunch figgered," said Bud, "Didn't you plug one?"
Jim shook his head sorrowfully. "I'm as bum a hunter--as--as everything else."
"How many times did you shoot?"
"I don't know... The gun's empty."
"Gee whiz! So 'tis. It had ten shells in the magazine, one in the barrel.
Countin' thet stump thet wus a turkey, you've shot eleven times."
"Good Lord! I must have. But didn't you boys shoot a lot, too?"
"I picked out a buster an' lambasted him," replied Bud. laconically.
"Boss, I shore hated to break in on you," added Curly. "But I seen you was shootin' over their haids an' between their laigs, so I jest had to pulverize one fer supper. You ought to hey heahed him hit the ground.
Sounded like a bull."
Bud walked across logs and grass and picked up a beautiful hen turkey.
Curly went somewhat farther in the opposite direction and picked up a gobbler that dragged head and wings on the ground. Both cowboys returned, with much pride and sang-froid, to lay their quarry at Jim's feet.
"Plumb centre, mine," said Bud.
"Boss, I always hit turkeys in the neck," said Curly. "You see thet shot doesn't spoil any meat. I always pick out a turk either runnin' towards me or away from me, straight. You cain't hit one of them runnm' crossways or even quarterin'."
"It was a great shot, Curly," replied Jim, admiringly. The big gobbler was a rare specimen of the finest game bird, glistening, purple and black, bronze-flecked and white, with plenty of red-brown. And heavy--Jim could hardly lift him.
"Boss, your shootin' can be improved on a little," said Curly, seriously.
"If we'd got holed up by the Cibeque bunch, as might have happened, or by thet Hash Knife outfit, which is shore goin' to come off an' be wuss, wal, I'd hate to have my life dependin' on you."
"So would I, Curly," replied Jim, very sober and self-accusing.
"Wal, let's mozey back to camp. You practise all day, shootin', an' we'll try again tomorrow."
Upon returning to camp the excitement of the hunt was dispelled by an astonishing fact. Boyd Flick had ridden into camp with the ransom money. which he was glad indeed to get rid of, and he and the other three members of the Cibeque were packing to leave.
"Traft, it wasn't no deal of mine," said Flick, frankly. "But I don't need to tell you thet. Jocelyn had us all buffaloed. I'm glad Slinger croaked him an' thet the Cibeque is done fer."
They had breakfast with Jim's party, bade them and Slinger good-bye, and rode away into the forest, manifestly glad to get off so easily with whole skins.
Some time after they had gone and camp life had resumed normality, Molly called Jim, "You come heah." She led him around the cabin, out of sight of the others. Jim's instant perturbation subsided when he saw that she was smiling, though her gold-black eyes were full of fire.
"The sons-of-guns! Devils!" she exclaimed.
"Who?"
"Curly an' Bud. All of the bunch. Listen heah. I happened to be near when Bud an' Curly got Lonestar an' Cherry behind the corner of the cabin there. I could tell they were up to some mischief, so I listened. Heah's what Bud said: Fellars, it's so good I near bust waitin' a chanct to tell you. Me an' Curly took Jim huntin' (they always call you Jim behind your back, an' I shore like thet), 'an' soon's it got daylight we seen a gobbler as big as a hill. Jim swore it was a stump. But we made him shoot. Laws! he was funny when thet stump ran off like a wild steer. We located the flock an' sneaked up on them. Say, it couldn't hey worked out any better if we'd had a deal with them gobblers. They got skeered an' come at us. I said to Jim, 'Stand up an' shoot.' He did an' then hell busted loose. Me an' Curly turned loose our artillery an' let go all we had. I even took a peg with my six-gun. Neither of us so much as winged one of them turks. But Jim killed two--them we fetched in. Thet gobbler will weigh thirty-five pounds. Only we seen pronto thet Jim reckoned he'd missed. Never touched a feather, he said, an' was shore down in the mouth. Curly gives me the wink, an' so we hands Jim a deal. Curly an' me only shot one each, an' as a matter of course downed a turk. Curly enlarged on how he always picked one out comin' or goin' straight, an' shot him in the neck. Kin you beat thet, boys? My Gawd!... Wal, Jim swallered the whole deal. He was shore nice aboot it, an' grateful to me an' Curly, an' as humble as pie... My land! nuthin' we ever did tickled us so much!'"
Molly paused a moment breathlessly, her eyes alight. "An' Jim, the devils doubled up like poisoned coyotes, an' howled, an' yowled, an' rolled over on the ground."
Jim surely wanted to howl and yowl himself, but he limited himself to jumping up and down in mingled rage and mirth. Then he vented it in all the language he dared use before Molly.
"Aren't they maddenin'?" she asked. "But Jim, they're strong for you, an'
I cain't help lovin' them."
"Neither can I; only, Molly, I've got to have revenge for that--or die," he declared.
"You bet. An' I'll help you. Heah's an idea, Jim. These two boys cain't hunt wild turkeys. They don't know the least bit aboot it. Now I do.
Slinger taught me. I could call turkeys before I was ten."
"Call? What do you mean by that?"
"I can call them right up to you, so you can knock them over with a stick, almost. I've done it a thousand times."
"But how do you call them?"
"With a turkey-caller. We make that out of a wing bone. But I can call with a hollow weed, too. I'll show you an' teach you. Heah's my plan. You tell Curly an' Bud you think they're not so good, after all, an' you're goin' with me to kill a few turkeys. Then we'll go, several mawnin's an' evenin's, too. I like sundown best. We'll fetch turkeys in. An' after we get a dozen or so you can say to Curly an' Bud: 'Boys, I quit huntin' with you, 'cause when I killed turkeys you lied an' swore you did it.
That mawnin' when you claimed the big gobbler an' hen--all the time I knew. All the time I was shore of your low-down trick!'"
"Great! Wonderful!" exclaimed Jim, beside himself with the joy of such a double prospect. "Molly, darling, run or I'll hug you right here."
She ran, laughing over her shoulder.
Chapter TWENTY-THREE
When Jim dryly remarked to the cowboys that he guessed he would not hunt with them any more, they looked nonplussed and then blank. And he realized that if Molly could live up to her part of the programme, he could crush the tricksters for ever.
That morning, too, Dunn showed a decided turn for the better, and Jim, losing all his misgivings, was happy for Molly. She loved this backwoods brother and had faith in him. Jim generously waived the ambush on the trail and the rooster trick to which Slinger had treated him, and vowed he would share Molly's faith. Long before that he had decided to reward Slinger for saving his life.
The atmosphere of the camp grew merry, with only one drawback now, and that was the failure of Hump Stevens and Uphill Frost to arrive. Jim grasped that the cowboys were concealing anxiety from him, if not more.
To his queries, Curly made evasive answers. But there was a cloud in t
he cowboy's flashing blue eyes, and Jim read its portent. He decided to send Jackson Way and Cherry Winters to Tobe's Well to ascertain if the missing cowboys were there. If they would only come in, or if news arrived that they were safe, Jim felt that he would be happy, and could even face that grim old Westerner who had entrusted him with such responsibility.
There were only two rifles in camp and they belonged to Curly and Bud.
"You boys don't need to go hunting, anyway," said Jim, as he appropriated the rifles and all the shells in sight. "Considering how many thousand turkeys you've killed, Bud, and how many you, Curly, have shot through the neck, running at you, there certainly shouldn't be any excitement left in it for you. So just think of me, going out with Molly, after wild turkeys!"
That last thrust was almost revenge enough, Jim thought. Still, after a moment's recall of past suffering, he steeled his heart. Supper was had at four o'clock, after which he started off with Molly, scarcely able to contain himself. And after he got out of sight of camp he no longer did.
"Jim. are we goin' huntin' or makin' love?" queried Molly.
"Can't we do both?"
"No. If you keep on huggin' me an' kissin' my ear--how am I to heah turkeys, let alone call them?... If you must make love, let's set right down under this spruce an' do it."
"Oh, Molly Dunn!" cried Jim, in the throes of temptation he knew he must resist. How bewildering she was! Her simplicity sometimes stunned him. He divined that his reward would be infinitely greater if he let her take her own time to respond to him.
They climbed a slope, scaring squirrels, rabbits, and deer on the way, and came out on top of a ridge where the forest made Jim ache with its wildness and beauty. Towering yellow pines and stately silver spruces lorded it over the green-gold aspens and the scarlet maples. The ground was soft with pine needles and moss and decaying wood. Everywhere lay logs and windfalls, which had to be climbed over or avoided. The setting sun lent a glamour to the dry, sweet wilderness. Here were thickets of young pine, impossible to penetrate, and there was a long shade-barred aisle down the forest. They came to an open oak glade, and here Molly pointed to turkey scratches on the ground.
"Fresh tracks. They're after acorns. Now, Jim, when we see turkeys, you shoot pronto," she said.
Jim's four months in the West had been productive of numberless experiences, of late merging upon breath-arresting agitation, but he counted high among them this slipping through the forest, close at the stealthy heels of little Molly Dunn. She was a wood-mouse, as Slinger called her. Not the slightest sound did she make. When Jim cracked a twig or brushed against a bush she admonished him with finger to her red lips and a dark, disapproving glance. Then when Jim nearly fell over a log, she whispered, "You big clodhopper!"
Nevertheless, despite his awkwardness, she led him within sixty yards of a flock of turkeys that appeared to Jim to cover a half-acre in extent.
They were of all sizes, from that of a large chicken to gobblers as large round as a barrel.
Molly cocked her rifle. "Get ready, Mizzourie. When I count three--shoot.
But only once... Ready. One--two--three!"
Both rifles cracked in unison. Jim seemed deafenedby the crash of wings.
The gobbler he had fired at bounced straight up, ten feet, and went lumbering through the woods, hard put to it to get into flight--then he flew as fast as the bullet that had missed him. When he disappeared Jim sought the others. Gone! And also the uproar had ceased. Far off he heard heavy wings crash through foliage. In the middle of the glade lay a dead turkey, feathers ruffled. Jim hurried to fetch it.
"Two-year-old," said Molly, as she surveyed the fine young gobbler. "Jim, that flock's made up of old birds, hens, a lot of two-year-olds an' yearlin's. We're shore lucky. Now come heah."
She led him to a log just on the edge of the glade. "We'll set down heah, an' I'll call."
A few thin bushes partially screened them from the glade. Molly sat down beside Jim, and, slipping a hand under his arm, leaned her head on his shoulder. "Oh, but this's goin' to be fun. I'm just tickled. We'll shore make Bud an' Curly crawl. Now, Jim, the way to do is to wait a little.
Listen!... There. That's a hen squawkin'. An' there's a yearlin' yelpin'."
Jim not only heard these clear sounds out in the forest, but a deep gobble-gobble, farther away. He agreed with Molly about the fun of it; and whatever else it might be to her it was absolute bliss for him to have her so close, to feel her hand squeeze his arm, her head against his shoulder, her hair touching his cheek. And only a half-year back he had been at odds with life!
Molly produced a short thing that looked like a quill to Jim, but which, upon examination, proved to be the small wing bone of a turkey, with a hole through its length.
"Listen, now, you boss of the Diamond," she whispered gaily. "First I'll call the yearlin'."
Sitting up, she put the bone in her mouth, keeping the other end partly covered in the hollow of her hand. Then she sucked air through it, and the result was a perfect imitation of the yelp of the young turkey. It was answered immediately, not once, but several times, and each reply sounded nearer.
"He's shore comin'. Now I'll call that fussy hen out there." And she produced a high-pitched, prolonged squawk, likewise a perfect counterfeit. Answers came from all sides, one of which was a deep gobble.
"Get your gun ready, Jim. Shoot restin' on your knee. Take lots of time.
It's murder, shore, but we have to eat... Look! There's the yearlin'. But don't shoot him... Look! Over heah! A whole bunch--mixed."
Cluck-cluck, put-put, all around him! Then he saw turkeys coming on a run, from this side and that.
"Heah's the gobbler. Knock him, Jim," whispered Molly, as she leaned back away from him. "Wait till he stops. An' after you shoot look sharp, you may get a crack at another."
The gobbler entered the glade, stalked out majestically, and suddenly stood motionless, head up, not forty feet from where Jim sat. He scarcely had to move the rifle. Even as he aimed carefully, quivering as he put pressure on the trigger, he could not help seeing the glossy beauty and superb wildness of that giant bird. He shot, and the turkey appeared to pile up with a great feathery roar.
"Quick," whispered Molly, pointing. "Knock this young gobbler. Heah. He's crazy, standin' still there."
Jim located this one and killed it. The others had vanished.
"Drag in the game, Mizzourie," directed Molly.
Hurrying to comply, Jim lifted the smaller turkey, and then lay hold of the giant gobbler. It was huge, and so heavy that indeed he did have to drag.
"You didn't do so bad, then," said Molly, when he returned. "That big gobbler is an old bird. We don't often fool one like him. Set down now, an' I'll call again."
"But, Molly, surely you can't call them up again?" queried Jim, in amaze.
"Cain't I? The show's just begun. Arch an' I used to call half a day on a big mixed flock like this. But I reckon no more old gobblers will come."
In excitement just as tingling as before Jim listened, and heard, and watched, under precisely the same thrilling circumstances. Molly called to the turkeys and whispered to him. No doubt his delight was infectious.
Presently a string of yearling turkeys came cluck-clucking into the grove, and Jim, out of three shots, got two.
Then again Molly began to call, and confining herself to the yelp of the yearling, she gave it a wailing note. Answers came from near and far, closer and closer. But it was long before Molly lifted a hand to indicate she had espied one.
"I've been callin' too fast an' often," she explained to Jim. "But I was shore so anxious to have you heah an' see them. We'll wait a little."
It turned out she did not need to call again, for a fine hen turkey followed on the heels of a yearling into the glade. Yet they did not come close. Put-put. Put-put-put. Jim made a capital shot on the suspicious hen, but missed the yearling.
"That'll be aboot all we can pack to camp." said Molly. "Heah's a string.
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We'll tie their feet together an' run a stout pole through."
"What a load! Gee! but won't Bud an' Curly be sick?... Molly, this has been just glorious. I always loved to hunt. But there was never any game except rabbits and squirrels, and sometimes a partridge. And to think--all this grand sport with you, Molly!"
"I'm glad, Jim. Shore I never felt so good aboot huntin' before."
"Would you mind kissing me?" he asked.
"Jim, you put such store on my kisses," she replied, wistfully. "I reckon they're not--not so precious as you imagine."
"Yes, they are, Molly."
"I told you once--I--I'd been kissed a lot." she went on, shamefaced, yet brave. "Not that I was willin'... An' now I know what love is I--I wish my lips had been for you alone, Jim."
"No, Molly. You were a child. That you can feel as you do now is enough for me, regarding the past. You are a dear, good girl, and I couldn't begin to tell you how I love and respect you."
She kissed him, then, absorbed with the seriousness of it, rather than the sweetness of surrender.
"I reckon I'll let myself go, pronto, an' eat you up," she said.
Resting often, they packed the string of turkeys down through the forest, across the park, into camp. Somebody whooped, and there stood Bud and Curly, transfixed and staring. Neither came out of his trance until Jim and Molly halted under the cabin shed, breathing fast, and glad to lay down their burden.
"For the land's sake!" ejaculated Bud, which speech, considering his proclivity for profanity, merely attested to his mental aberration.
"Didn't I heah you boys talkin' aboot how Jim couldn't hit the side of a barn?" inquired Molly.
"Wal, I reckon you might of--sumthin' like," replied Curly. "He's a daid-centre shot."
"Ahuh. So it 'pears. But what you mean? At gurls' hearts or turkeys?"
"I reckon both," replied Molly, and she fled.
