Issue link: https://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/742011
36 • S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S great rate. Looking again in the direction of the turkeys, I saw the last two or three trot slowly into cover. They undoubtedly were not seriously alarmed and would most likely resume feeding in a half-hour. There I lay, close as possible and in a moment the train thundered overhead with a tremendous clatter. Though I knew I was perfectly secure, I fairly shuddered as the first couple of pairs of wheels passed so close to my head. Heavens! What a jar and row it made! Would it never draw its frightful length across that culvert? At last, when I was almost deafened, a blessed pause in the uproar brought relief. A hollow plunk- plunk of the last pair of wheels announced the complete passage of the conductor's red van, and I made a move to rise. There was a faint, squeaking, grinding noise, a squirt of ice-cold water, then a frightful crash and splash, and I gave an involuntary imitation of a young man falling through a glass skylight and fetching up in a well. The vibration of the train had loosened the ice from the walls of the culvert, and the whole business broke into fragments, and I was in it! I didn't wait to touch bottom, but pawed and sputtered and floundered round with the bits of board and the roots and the grass and the ice, and clambered out just as quick as the Lord would allow. Then I swore at the train, and at the turkeys and the culvert and the ice, and the water and the smart Aleck who planned the ambush. Then, in spite of chattering teeth and trembling limbs, I laughed—I had to laugh. But the worst of it was that I had to go in again . . . clean under water for a horrible quarter-minute to recover the rifle by locating it with my foot, for no consideration would have induced me to leave it there. Then I clambered out once more and, groaning and shivering and shedding water every jump, ran and walked and staggered the best way I could to the farmhouse, where I had a hot drink and a sleep in thick blankets while my clothes were thoroughly dried. That was finally accomplished late in the afternoon, but whether or not it's possible to drive a ball through five turkeys in line, I guess I'll never know. n Note: "How I Lost My Thanksgiving Turkey" originally appeared in the November 1891 issue of Outing. "Don't shoot, I think it's BEN!" by john troy – courtesy skyhorse publishing My mind was almost made up to shoot at once, for the rails were now clicking merrily, when, like a saving clause, the thought occurred to me that they heard trains passing many times every day, and would probably merely retreat into the woods for a short distance and return when all became still. They had certainly been disturbed in this fashion more than once before. These reflections were rather comforting, and I resolved to just lay low where I was and let the train thunder above my head. I was perfectly safe and could get my five birds just as well as not when they came back. I took a peep eastward, and there, sure enough, was my train coming along at a