In a large grove of cottonwoods just above our camp hundreds upon hundreds of wild turkeys roosted every night. When a turkey hunt was proposed, to take place at night, Fairchild grew so eager and excited to go that he could scarcely control himself. Three men were selected to slip quietly out of camp and at a certain place in the timber have a fire burning when the hunting party got there. One of them came back to serve as guide. Ostensibly he was to lead the hunters to the best and biggest roost, but actually he was to pilot them to the immediate vicinity of the fire. Fairchild was so impatient to start that it was difficult to persuade him to wait until darkness had fallen and the turkeys had settled to roost. I do not believe it would have been possible to find a man who loved practical joking more than did "Bat" Masterson. He was in his glory at that sort of thing, and was forever pulling off something of the kind. "Bat" was one of the three that had gone out to build the fire. He now came to camp, ready to pilot the hunters where they would "sure find a million turkeys"--and the camp-fire. It was arranged that "Bat" should start out, with Fairchild close at his heels, and Myers bringing up the rear. "Bat" cautioned Fairchild to keep both eyes wide open and to move softly, as the turkeys must not be frightened. Rounding a bend of the creek, where the timber was dark and dense, the hunters suddenly found themselves slap-bang against a camp-fire in full blaze. "Bat" motioned to Fairchild to move back into the timber. The three then held a consultation to discover, if possible, who had built the fire. "Bat" was dead sure that it was an Indian camp; he had been dreaming about Indians two or three nights he said, and was now fearful that the worst was at hand. Myers tried to argue that "Bat" was mistaken and rattled, if not actually showing a streak of yellow; anyway, he was willing to bet that Fairchild could whip all the Indians in the Panhandle if given a fair show. Bang! Bang! Bang! Half a dozen shots were fired in the direction of the hunters. The bullets whistled and ripped through the branches close above their heads. Myers took the lead back to camp, yelling bloody murder at every step, to terrify Fairchild. "Bat" came last, gradually dropping behind and firing his six-shooter until Fairchild was confident that the most desperate fight with Indians imaginable was at hand. "Run, Fairchild; run for your life!" shouted Masterson. At a bound Fairchild had passed Myers, and tore into camp like a tornado coming through a forest. He was half a mile ahead of "Bat" and Myers. They had led him far enough away to give him a long, hard run.