The Cherry Wood Gobbler Part 3

“I done tol’ you, Mista Will, that Ad’mral, he ain’t no ordinary turkey bird.”

Jonas, Will and Greg were standing in the church parking lot on Sunday afternoon, the day after Will’s extraordinary encounter. Will had contacted Jonas and arranged the meeting, so he could tell about his strange experience.

“I agree with you Jonas, he’s different, all right, but that incident yesterday in the cemetery was just a simple coincidence. Nothing more.”

“Either way, you shoulda’ pulled dat trigga, Mista Will. You ain’t gon’ get many chances like dat, and Mista Hardy, heda’ been right proud if you shot him right here where he laid to rest.”

“I couldn’t do it,” Will said. “Not like that. I couldn’t shoot him on the edge of this property. I couldn’t send a load of No. 5s into all these tombstones. That would be downright disrespectful. Anyway, it’s over and done with now. Tomorrow’s a new day.”

“You right ’bout dat, Mista Will. But I declare dat bird know where Mista Hardy buried. I believe it with all my heart. But dat don’t make no nevamind now.”

“Why’s that?” Greg asked.

“Cause we got bigga fishes to fry, that’s why,” Jonas said. “Looks like we got us some sho’ nuff serious competition now. I saw Miz Hardy this mawnin’ ’fore today’s service, and she done give two of Mista Hardy’s closest friends permission to hunt da’ Ad’mral on her land. You got to kill him quick Mista Will, ’fore they muddy da water.”

“Are they that good?” Greg asked.

“Yessur, Mista Greg, they dat good, and Miz Hardy say dey all worked up about killin’ da’ Ad’mral. Dey aware how much Mista Hardy wanted to shoot dat bird and now dey plannin’ to bushwhack him dey own selves. Dey know you after him over heah on yo’ land and they gon’ do ever’thin’ dey can to keep him from comin’ over heah an’ shoot him ’fore you do.”

“Who are they?” Will asked. “I wonder if we know them.”

“I don’ think so, Mista Will,” Jonas said. “Da’ one ya’ really got to worry ’bout named Sammy. Sammy Kline.”

“Don’t know that we’ve ever heard of him,” Will said.

He looked at Greg.

“Name doesn’t ring a bell with me either,” Greg said, shrugging his shoulders.

“What’s so special about this Sammy fellow?” Will said.

“Da main thing is, he ain’t no fella,” Jonas said. “He a she, and she’s a turkey hunting machine.”

“What?’ Greg asked. “You mean Sammy is a woman?”

“Dat’s right, her real name Samantha but ever’body call her Sammy. She a fiery redhead, and she got some kind a’ temper, I’ll tell you that much, but she a good turkey hunter alright. She always kills more gobblers than anybody else over on Mista Hardy’s farm. She plenty tough an’ she neber give up.”

“She got a husband name Randy, and dey always hunt together on weekends. He a big ol’ fella. Mista Hardy, he teach ’em both how to call in a big tom, but she da best caller I eber heah next to Mista Hardy. She know how to tan’lize them big toms. She do all da work, an’ that hus’ban, why he just follows her around like a little puppy dog on a leash. Once in a while she lets him shoot one.”

Will and Greg looked at each other and smiled.

“Dey ain’t no question ‘bout who wear da pants in dat family,” Jonas added. “She da queen of da turkey woods ‘roun these-here parts!”

“Sounds like we have our work cut out for us,” Greg said.

“You jus’said a mouthful, and then some, Mista Greg,” Jonas said. “What we need is a sho’nuff d’version.”

“What kind of diversion?” Will asked.

“Ta’ tell da truth, Mista Will, da best kind I know of is when an ol’ coon or a ’possum tricks da hounds and gets ’em off an off on da wrong trail.”

“What do you have in mind?” Will asked, smiling broadly.

Jonas turned to Greg.

“Mista Greg, Mista Will here say you da’ best caller in yo’ group. Can you mouth gobble?”

“He can set the woods on fire with his gobble,” Will said. “And his hen calls give me chills. Show the man what you can do.”

Greg shrugged, cupped his hands around his mouth, reared back and brought forth a long reverberating blast deep from his throat that echoed across the churchyard and into the adjoining woods…. “Gob-agob-agob-agob-el-el-el-l-l-e-e…”

Jonas grinned broadly. “Dat jus’ what we need, Mista Greg! Jus’ what we need. You pass da’ test. Here’s what we do….”

• • • • •     

Will took a deep breath.

“Okay, here goes nothing,” he whispered.

Clutching the cherry wood box, he made four clucks that grew progressively louder with each sliding stoke. The raspy tone was perfect. He waited tensely. No response.   

He had parked his truck out by the gate instead of the usual spot near the campsite because the strip of woods between the parking area on his lease and Cherry Woody Cemetery was only about 150 yards wide and maybe 250 yards from the edge of the cemetery. He did not want to chance spooking any turkeys with his vehicle. Except for the previous Saturday, when he had experienced the amazing encounter with the Admiral, this was only the second time he had ever been in this patch of woods. He’d had no reason to hunt here in the past. But now everything was different. He was set up about 100 yards from the edge of the cemetery. He waited expectantly like a finely tuned Navy Seal ready to jump into the fire and undertake the most important mission of his life.

Everything depended on timing, hope and luck. There were so many variables, so many things that could go wrong with Jonas’s plan. But time being of the essence, and after discussing it thoroughly with Greg, they both decided to give it a shot. Who knows? Will thought. This crazy plan might actually work.

Will began thinking about some of the things that Jonas had said: “The Ad’mral been spending mo’ time on yo’ property lately than he has on Mista Hardy’s. So all you gotta do is use Miss Ir’sist’ble on him, and he won’t have a chance. It’ll be as easy as shootin’ a jake off his roost.”

Will smiled—and wondered how many jakes old Jonas had shot off the roost.

Yet Jonas was right. The Admiral had been spending more time on his property lately, and at least they had that going for them.

Will made a series of louder clucks and waited. The woods remained silent.

He had been sitting in this spot since 4 a.m. He had watched the horizon begin to lighten up behind the black pines with a dull red glow. It grew brighter and brighter and finally he could see. He had pre-scouted this spot during the week and felt very good about his setup.

But the rest of this crazy plan? What was he thinking? Had he been foolish to go along with it? The last thing he wanted was any trouble with his neighbors. After all, he truly felt that the infamous Mrs. “Sammy” Kline and her husband Randy had as much right to hunt the Admiral as he did. But Greg and Jonas had felt totally different.

“All’s fair in love and war,” Greg had said. “And sometimes your battle tactics have to be a little deceiving. You gotta throw off the opposition. To the victor go the spoils!”

And Jonas honestly believed that Will and no one else had been ordained by Mr. Matthews to shoot the Admiral. So here he was; 30 minutes after daylight and conditions seemed perfect on this perfect spring day, at least on his end. He wondered what was happening on the other battle front….

• • • • •     

“It almost time, Mista Greg,” Jonas whispered.

“Yep, I just hope we’re in the right place,” Greg whispered. “Are you sure Mrs. Kline and her husband are gonna be out here today? How do we know they haven’t been hunting during the week?”

“They never hunt during the week, Mista Greg. Miz Sammy work at the hospital deliverin’ babies. But she be out hee today ’cause it Satr’dee. She and her husband don’t ever miss a Satr’ee durin’ gob’ler season.”

“I hope you’re right,” Greg whispered.

Things had gone wrong from the start. Jonas knew the Matthews property like the back of his hand, but the night had been unusually dark. Dark clouds covered the stars and the moon, and the going had been very difficult. Jonas insisted on turning off their flashlights for the last half a mile, and he had gotten lost trying to get to the ridge just across from the bottom where he knew the Klines frequently began their Saturday morning hunts. He and Greg had come in from the back side of the Matthews property and walked nearly a mile toward the ridge. They had wandered around in the dark for over an hour, picking their way through dense briars, but now Jonas was fairly certain they were in the right place. They had been sitting near the top of a dark pine ridge for about an hour and a half before a faint glow in the eastern sky hinted of daylight. Greg had his doubts about being in the right spot. All he could do was go along with Jonas’s infamous Saturday morning “diversion” and hope for the best.

“She an’ her husband always hunt da same bottom in the mornin’ before daylight cause they’s always a gobbler or two roostin’ near the top of da ridge,” Jonas whispered. “They like to owl hoot, and when we hear them start hootin’ we gon’ make Miz Sammy think da Ad’mral’s roostin’ over here. All you gotta do is gobble like da Ad’mral an’ our little d’version oughta work like a charm. She an’ her husband bound to start callin’ and workin’ their way over toward us, and the closer they get to us, the farther they gon’ be from da cemetery. So all the Ad’mral have to do is mosey over past da cemetery to look fo’ a few hens, and Mista Will should be waitin’ in da wings.”

The woods were beginning to lighten up.

“I hope you’re right,” Greg said. “They ought to be hooting by now, but I’m not hearing anything. I have a bad feeling about this. What if we get caught? I’m trespassing on Mr. Matthews’ property.”

“No you ain’t trespassin’, Mista Greg,” Jonas said. “You with me. You my guest, an’ I got all the permission we need. Anyhow, we ain’t totin’ no guns. We jus’ walkin’ in da woods enjoyin’ da’ spring mornin’.”

Fifteen minutes went by. Off to their left, they heard a turkey gobble in the distance.

“They ought to be calling or hooting by now if they’re in the woods,” Greg said again. “I don’t think they’re in the bottom. They must have gone someplace else. Looks like Will is on his own now.”

Jonas didn’t respond.

• • • • •     

Greg’s intuition was correct. Sammy and Randy Kline had not gone to their usual spot. They too had gotten into the woods very early on Saturday morning. However, as soon as they got out of their truck they heard a roosting gobbler call out several times over in a patch of woods near the edge of the property that adjoined the church and the cemetery. This changed their plans completely and put them into a panic. They knew that if the roosting gobbler happened to be the Admiral, he might well go over to Doc Warner’s place after fly-down instead of remaining on the property they had permission to hunt. And they weren’t about to let that happen.

The couple decided to wait by their truck until daylight and try to call the bird away from the edge of the property as soon as he had flown down. They knew the Admiral frequently went over to the Warner property, and they knew some of the Turkey Haven hunters knew about him, but they had no idea that Jonas, Will and Greg had been plotting so feverishly to kill him. Jonas had remained very tight-lipped about what was going on.

As daylight approached, Sammy started owl hooting, and she got a resounding response. She knew immediately that she was listening to the fabled gobbler that Hardy Matthews had been after for so long.

“Looks like this is going to be a piece of cake!” she whispered confidently to her husband after they heard the thundering gobble. “Let’s move a little closer and set up. As soon as he flies down, we’ll double-team him. If everything goes right, he’ll come right to Mama!”

Sammy’s owl hooting had been too far from the ridge where Jonas and Greg were set up for them to hear, so all they could do was sit, wait and hope.

• • • • •     

Will heard the roosting gobbler as well, but the sound was too far away to tell much. He knew it had probably come from the Matthews property, but he had no idea that the gobble had come from the Admiral.

I hope things are working out for Greg and Jonas, he thought.

With the coming of daylight, Will called lightly every 10 minutes or so. He never heard another turkey. About 45 minutes after good light, he heard a vehicle drive up on the gravel and park near the cemetery. That’s strange, he thought, for somebody to be visiting the cemetery this early. A few minutes later, he heard a loud commotion. It sounded like someone yelling and screaming. Now his curiosity was aroused. Thinking whoever it was might be in some kind of trouble, he gathered his gear and quietly walked toward the cemetery. The commotion was still going on. Staying just inside the tree line, he trained his binoculars on a large, heavy-set man dressed in camo running around in the field next to the Matthews boundary screaming and waving his arms like a wild man. What in the world is going on? He wondered. What’s that crazy fool doing? He couldn’t be… No …that would be too off-the-wall to even think about.

Will wondered if the man was making all that commotion to keep any gobblers from crossing over to his property. Could he be Randy Kline, Sammy’s husband, trying to keep any turkeys from coming over on his property? No way, he thought. That would be insane.

After a few minutes, the man walked back toward the cemetery where his truck was parked. Will considered walking out and confronting him. After all, Jonas had said that Randy was a big man, and this man certainly fit that description. But Will decided to stay hidden in the woods. The man got in the truck and drove off in the direction of the Matthews property.

Whoever you are, looks like my hunting is over for the morning, thanks to you, Will thought. If there were any turkeys around here earlier, they’re probably long gone now.

Will shrugged his shoulders and started walking back toward the tree where he had set up. When he reached it, he stopped.

The morning’s still young, he thought. And I don’t have anything better to do. I might as well sit down and let the woods quiet down a bit. I guess I’ll text Greg and see what’s going on. I’ll wait about 30 minutes and do a little calling.

He quickly typed out a message to his friend: “Anything happening?”

“No action here at all,” came the reply.

“Any sign of our lady friend?” Will queried.

“No sign,” Greg texted back.

Obviously Jonas’s little diversion plan had not worked as intended.

Will had no sooner gotten comfortable on the ground and laid his shotgun across his legs when he heard a disturbance in the woods ahead. Suddenly, three hens came running by him like they had been shot out of a cannon. He instinctively raised his shotgun and got in position to shoot when two gobblers came running by in the footsteps of the hens. One gobbler was so close Will could have reached out and touched him.

What’s going on? Will thought. His heart was pounding. He kept his gun up, hoping another turkey would appear. A minute went by, then five. Nothing. Is there anything else out there, he wondered.

Will was so surprised at the sudden eruption of running turkeys that he couldn’t think clearly. Calm down, he told himself. Take a deep breath and try to think. Three hens came by, then two gobblers… They were both longbeards… What if the two longbeards were …

Suddenly Will got a shot of inspiration. He reached down and clucked softly on Miss Irresistible. The tone was perfect. It sounded like a musical instrument. I know you’re out there, old buddy and you can’t resist… Then he raised his shotgun and waited. All you have to do is follow your friends….

Will waited anxiously. He heard one of the hens clucking softly some distance behind him. A quiet calm had come over him, and he suddenly sensed that the Cherry Wood Cemetery gobbler was approaching. He knew he was going to get a shot, and he knew that nothing in the world could stop him. This was his moment…

The Admiral came slowly through the woods in all his glory, ready to meet his fate, stopping often to look and listen. Forty-five yards, 40 yards, 35 yards, 30 yards…

At 25 yards, the quiet morning woods exploded with the sound of Will’s shotgun, and it was over. The huge bird lay flapping his wings in his death knells.

Will was stunned. What just happened? Is that really him? Is this all a dream? He quickly got up and ran to the flopping bird.    

• • • • •     

While Greg was examining the Cherry Wood Cemetery Gobbler in the back of Will’s truck, Jonas drove up in his old white truck. As soon as he saw the Admiral, he began grinning from ear to ear.

“Lawd a’mercy, Mista Greg, Lawd a’mercy! That ser’ndip’dy sho did shine bright this mawnin!”

Then he and Greg walked over to Mr. Matthews’ gravesite, where Will had been still standing alone.

“You done it Mista Will, you done it. Jus’ like I sez ya’ would… I knew you would do it.”

“Was that Randy screaming and yelling out here a little while ago?” Will asked.

“Must’ve been,” Greg answered. “We never saw them or heard a peep out of them in the woods. Only thing I can figure is they probably heard some birds over on this side and tried to keep ’em from crossing the field.”

“After he left, something sure made those birds cross over to our side,” Will said. “They came by me like they were being chased by old Satan himself!”

“Randy must’ve started walking the edge of the woods over there stirring things up,” Greg said.

Will nodded. Jonas looked down and saw the box call on the ground.

“I think that belongs to you, Jonas,” Will said. “I appreciate you letting me borrow it. It worked like a charm—just like you said it would.”

“You mighty welcome, Mista Will. If you or Mista Greg ever need it again, you know where to find it.”

It had been cloudy all morning long, and now a light rain started to fall. Will remembered the quote from Archibald Rutledge used by the minister at Mr. Matthews’ graveside service nearly three months earlier: “The shadows of rain today will nourish the blossoms of tomorrow.”

“I sure hope Old Tree Stump has a few sons running around on Turkey Haven,” Greg said with a smile.

“He does,” Jonas said assuredly. “An’ they all gon’ blossom and grow into new Ad’mrals that’ll take yo’ breath away!”

The End