Having forgotten one of Father’s important lessons, I wasn’t about to ignore another. Before wading into the woods to learn the outcome of the dog versus turkey battle, I quickly pulled another cartridge out of my case and recharged my rifle.

As I rammed home another round, I was treated to the sight of Casey dragging the still-flapping turkey out onto the trail and a rider approaching from the opposite direction leading Midnight by her reins. The panting dog arrived first, her muzzle covered with blood—mostly from the bird but some of her own inflicted by the big tom’s beak and spurs.

A quick examination and a “Good Dog!” was all it took for her to place the bird in my hand and sit—tail wagging madly—as I swung the bird by the neck to finish its misery.

Casey was licking the blood off her paws as the rider arrived with the exclamation, “Good dog indeed, Nathanael! And a good shot as well. Would this horse be yours?”

This was certainly not the way I intended to meet Rev. Thruston this morning, but he was smiling as he handed me the reins and said, “If you’re going to dress that bird for dinner, please be so kind as to save me some wing feathers for quills.”

“Yes sir,” I replied. “I shall do so now if it won’t make us late arriving at the Shenandoah Store.”

He consulted his pocket watch and nodded, “We have time, if you’re as good with a knife as you are with your rifle.”

It took less than five minutes to tether the dog and the horse, tie the bird’s legs to a sapling, cut the carcass, breast it, and wrap the two large breasts, the wings, and tail feathers in a leather sheet and stuff them into my saddlebags. As I remounted and our horses headed south, side-by-side on the path, Rev. Thruston said, “Well done. Your father was right.”

“Right about what, sir?”

“He said you are as well skilled in the woods as any frontiersman twice your age.”

Those were words I never heard from my father so I asked, “May I inquire when my father said this to you?”

“I was with your father on Saturday afternoon at the Casselmans’ home when the Trusted Courier from Massachusetts delivered the sad news about your brother, Joshua. Captain Morgan was there as well. After hearing the Courier’s report, Captain Morgan asked your father if you were ‘of age to fight’ and whether you can read, write, and do numbers. Your father said you were one of the best marksmen he knew and described you as the hunter and woodsman you just showed me to be. He also said you’re big for sixteen and know how to read, write, and do arithmetic.”