His own mount began to run as he spoke. Scotty’s pony snorted, threw back his head and started into a gallop. The low branches whipped across his face; there was the constant swish and slap of flying leaves, a constant warding off of branch after branch as the horses thundered through the draw. It was grown thick with scrub oaks and scraggly pines and junipers, with here and there a locust-leaved mesquite, its pods strewing the soil. Then ahead came a roar and the flap of big wings as some large bird rose out of the thicket. “Thar goes one--watch sharp, now!” yelled Jake, hauling up his horse on its haunches. Scotty jerked on his curb and dropped the reins as he raised the .405, peering eagerly under the low trees. Rapid footfalls sounded in the leaves all about them and the _Pee! Pee!_ of wild turkey chicks slipping through the underbrush. Their hurtling charge had scared the flock out of their natural silent caution. Suddenly a long bronze bird, running like the wind, his red legs and shining feathers flashing in the sun, darted across an opening. Scotty drew the bead on him, swung well ahead and pressed trigger. The bellow of his heavy weapon split the air under the trees, and out of the smoke they saw the gobbler struggling on the sand, his huge wings fluttering wildly. “Some shootin’, son!--seventy paces or I’m a hoss thief!” roared Jake. “Thar goes another!--Atter him!--Ride like a buster!” The ponies leaped into gallop as a large bird twisted and dodged through the underbrush, for all the world like a scared hen. They wheeled and spun about, following his erratic dives, now and then catching sight of him. “Tricky as a Mex. gambler’s deck, kid!” gasped Red Jake, picking his horse up like a cat to wheel him halfway around. “Thar he goes! Ride him up!--_Hi! Hi! Hi!_” Their combined onset was too much for that particular turk, who took to wing forthwith. Scotty raised his rifle but hesitated. The bird was big as a barrel, but still mighty easy to miss on the wing, with a rifle! Red Jake spurred after him at top speed, whipped out his revolver and fanned shot after shot up into the air at him. At the third report the turkey collapsed and came down into the brush with a sounding thump. “That’s Arizona shootin’ for ye, son!” grinned Jake, reining up his pony to punch out empty shells with the rammer of his frontier Colt. “Down in this free an’ enlightened commoonity we learns to cut our teeth on a six-gun, son. For A B C’s we has the short an’ easy road to the right hip; and when we gits so’s we kin hit ’em in the air from a gallopin’ cayuse we’s outer high school,” he grinned, stopping to roll a cigarette with thumb and forefinger and lighting it deftly by snapping the match on his finger nail.