Four hours later, Canon had exhausted every device he knew. The day before he had sat motionless for five hours, save for an occasional call. Scratch had circled him all afternoon. Canon never saw him. Had not seen him these three days. Canon had tried mating calls, battle calls, calls for help. Scratch responded almost every time, but never showed a feather.
Only once on the previous day had Canon sensed a nearness. It was near dusk, probably too late for a decent shot, but Canon had barked out love call after plaintive love call. For no real reason he could think of, Canon felt Scratch was nearby. He had tried to get inside the turkey’s head, had offered the half-frightened love call of a young hen. Scratch had fallen strangely silent, not responding at all.
On this alone, Canon pinned his last hopes. He whined out a call of the frightened young hen, half in love and half afraid. Again, Scratch hesitantly answered twice, then was silent. Canon called his heart out. At sundown, he knew it was useless. There was nothing left to try. Cursing to himself, he headed toward camp. He wouldn’t be happy facing the morning task he set himself.
Shotgun hanging from his shoulder by a sling, Canon trudged through the darkening woods. Half in salute, half in frustration, he chopped a fluttering female call as he walked. Scratch mocked him from a distance with the call of a gobbler ready to mate. Enjoy it, old boy, thought Canon, walking along. In honor of Scratch, he made the box imitate the sound of a young hen terrified by the approach of a horny old male.
Old Scratch heard a sound he had not heard in years and it filled him with excitement. It made him strut, spread his tailfeathers in a magnificent fan. Scratch loved a conquest by siege, and it had been a long time. He used to chase down his ladies and dominate them with his power and style until they became his submissives forever.
Now they all chased him or cooed to him until he called on them. It had been a long time since he went winging away to take a maiden by royal prerogative. Any female that wandered into his territory belonged to him. But they came willingly to him now. All the young hens were of his own brood. It had been a long time since he flew out of his territory to take a new maid.
Frankly, he just didn’t feel up to it any more. And deep down, something told him that he might not be able to handle a strapping young Tom as easily as he had done. So he had contented himself by staying home and protecting his property.
He was content, anyhow, until he heard this new girl who had wandered into his territory and was so afraid of his love. She was running away! How delicious. “Wait, dear,” Scratch called to her. “Don’t be afraid. It will be all right.” Still she ran, calling out her terrified passion.
Scratch ran after her.
Canon couldn’t believe it when he heard Scratch follow him with lovesick calls. He ran a few steps and called again. Much nearer, Scratch answered.
Canon ran a hundred yards, gobbling the call madly, then threw himself quietly as possible behind a clump of bushes at the top of a small rise. He dropped the turkey call and pulled his shotgun around.
Scratch was having the time of his old life. He had chased this new honey to ground. Slowing only a bit, he quickly surveyed the hill where his sweetheart waited, no longer calling, but cowering in heat and fear.
“Ho, ho,” gobbled Scratch. He charged the hill. Canon watched the huge turkey lope straight toward him. He waited until the gobbler was twenty-five yards away, then thumbed back the ears of the muzzleloader’s twin hammers. At the click, Scratch gathered himself to fly. He looked at the long snout suddenly pointing at him from the bushes. “Dammit,” was Old Scratch’s last gobble.
In camp, not two hundred yards away, the professor heard the shotgun blast and smiled. In the woods, Canon slung Old Scratch over his shoulder.
“Don’t worry, old fella,” he said. “You’re not the first horny old goat who got it for chasing the young ones. You won’t be the last.”
When they returned to Lexington next day, the professor began a round of victory celebrations for Canon that continued into and finally merged with those at Christmas and then New Year’s.
The professor took Scratch to a taxidermist and stood over the man for two days until the bird was mounted. Then Canon and Scratch were taken for display to every hunter in Lexington, novice and adept, who had joined the professor on an expedition for Old Scratch. The number included practically all the town’s gentility.
Canon sent a letter detailing the adventure to Mulberry and received in return from Mountain Eagle, who had been educated at white schools, a congratulatory letter and newspaper clippings.
Reporters had come from the Lexington daily paper and even from the Dispatch in Richmond, ninety miles away, to do stories about the hunt. Photographs, the country’s new sensation, were made. Party invitations poured in and Canon was rarely seen without one of a half-dozen of the town’s most beautiful belles on his arm.
The annual Christmas Ball at VMI was considered the fete of the year. Canon had intended to be home for Christmas, but gave in to entreaties to stay from the professor and Mary Anna. He sent presents home and received handsome presents in return.
The gift he most wanted to present was for the professor, and the VMI ball would be the perfect place.
It snowed all night Christmas Eve which added to the festivity at VMI. The ball began in late afternoon. Full dress uniforms of black, gold and gray were highlighted by afternoon frocks of diverse color and then in the evening by gorgeous ball gowns of every hue.
The huge ballroom was done up in school colors and gaily bedecked by bright crepe and pine boughs. An orchestra played traditional songs of the season and interspersed them with light airs for the dances of the day.
Old Scratch, at the professor’s insistence, was perched on a table laden with gifts for the school faculty. Canon had grown tired of telling the story, which suited the professor just fine. He gained relish with each recounting of the tale and was more than happy to take over the telling.
After the roast turkey dinner, which was not diminished by the sight of Scratch overlooking the proceeding, the professor rose at the head table with glass of punch in hand.
“Gentlemen and officers of the school, beautiful ladies, I give you compliments of the season,” he said, and was rewarded with cries of “Hear, hear.” “I also present my compliments to my guest, Mr. Rabbarian Canon of Montgomery, who has rid the countryside of a noble but pernicious creature.
“Word has come to me that this bird,” he pointed to Scratch, “is the world record turkey and I add congratulations to my compliments.”
Canon and his chosen lady for the night sat at the guest table next to the professor’s. “Excuse me, lovey,” Canon said to his date as he rose amidst cheers and applause. He was surprised at the information the professor had withheld and said so, then he thanked his host and acknowledged the hospitality he had received from the people of Lexington. Then he sprang his own surprise when he made a present of the stuffed Scratch to the professor, who flushed at the announcement. But Canon wondered at the sly grin which the professor displayed as he accepted the gift.
That grin was explained toward the end of the evening when the professor called for quiet. The school commandant had just ended a short speech of compliments of the season from the stage and a crafty call for more funding from college patrons.
He announced the last dance of the evening and left the stage when the professor mounted it and called for quiet.
“One good scratch deserves another,” he said, and invited the crowd outside. Canon had no idea what was going on but joined the throng as it moved to the exit indicated by the professor.
Outside there stood a magnificent black Arabian charger, saddled and stamping, reins held by a groom. The horse gleamed blueblack in the silvery