Chet Ray, Bo Brady, and myself were all hunting around Cabool, Missouri during the week of April 25. On the last morning of our hunt, I drove our Suzuki Samurai to a distant woods road that led out a beautiful ridge where Chet had killed a turkey the morning before.

At daylight I heard a few turkeys but they were all two ridges over. I decided to get in the truck and drive over to the next road before any one else did. I started the truck and the thing caught on fire and went dead. I grabbed all of the gear I could manage and stashed it in the woods. The turkeys were still gobbling. I frantically ran out to the main road to flag someone down. Finally a nice man stopped to assist me. By this time black smoke was rolling off of the truck.

We drove to the nearest town and got the fire department. The firemen followed us back to the burning truck and proceeded to extinguish the flames. One turkey was still gobbling. Knowing that there was nothing left for me to do with the truck, I opted to go after the gobbler. 

I dropped off the ridge and started to the turkey. He was gobbling on his own every so often so I had no trouble going to him. Once within one hundred yards of him I made my set up. I gave him three soft, rapid yelps and he cut me off with a gobble. A few minutes passed and I heard him drumming. He strutted all the way to me and I shot him at 28 steps. I ran to him and instantly gasped when I saw those spurs. When I got back, the fire men were still there!!