It is always nice to find a landowner that will let a stranger to go out and hunt. That is until you realize that they let EVERY stranger hunt and God know what is going on out there.
"They tree-up all over these parts" the kindly man says, puffing on his corn cob pipe. "But ifin ye slew foot on down to yonder conttonwoods, them ridgerunners'll be a peckin away 'for tomorrow's sunrise hits the bottom of 'ol Festus Hollar. Rekon that's where I'd be, were I wantin me a turkey dinner."
shaman, I am let down that you did not add anything to my new dialogue. Sigh...
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