"Those are armadillo tracks," says Jim Baker. "And that's a coyote turd."
"Where?"
A stream of well-chewed Red Man tobacco -- a replacement for his three-pack- a-day cigarette habit -- arcs expertly toward a barely visible target about four feet away. "Right there," he says. "Bull's-eye." It is the last day of 1988. In three weeks James Addison Baker III will become America's next Secretary of State.
Baker and a companion are turkey hunting on 1,366 acres of Texas scrubland about 50 miles south of San Antonio, a wild, almost barren part of the U.S. where it is easy to believe that due process is still a bullet. "I call it the Rock Pile Ranch," says Baker, "and that's about all that's on it. Nothing else but some water wells and turkey feeders. Coming here is the closest I get to therapy. I'm not really into material things, but land, well, they're not making any more of it."
"There, over there," says Baker. "That's a hen feather. It's easy to tell hens from gobblers. The gobblers are blacker and have beards. You need any toilet paper, let me know," he says, carefully producing about a dozen neatly folded sheets. "I never come out here without it. Amazing, isn't it, a real challenge."
"Toilet paper."
"No. The Middle East. You think we'll ever be able to get a peace agreement over there?"
"You see that?" says Baker, shifting again. "That's a hog wallow. They love to get down and dirty in it. Beautiful here, isn't it? I bet the contras would love it."
A few more steps, and Baker sees "something promising." With a shotgun cradled in his arm, he bends. Then very carefully, so as not to destroy the evidence, Baker fondles what he confidently identifies as "some very fresh" turkey droppings. "From this morning," he says. "They've been this way not very long ago. Walk quietly, and keep your eyes peeled. It's just like every other game. You master it by creating an edge."
Patience, says Baker. That's how you get a leg up hunting turkeys. And that too, he likes to say, is how you become successful at anything, in or out of politics.
"You know how he kills turkeys?" Barney McHenry, one of Baker's oldest friends, had said. "He pays good money to have someone load his feeders with , corn so he can lure them in. Then he shoots them while they're standing on the ground eating. Some sport."
"Wrong," says Baker. "The thing is getting them in. They're smart as hell. Their eyesight and hearing are incredible, about ten times better than a human's. The trick is in getting them where you want them, on your terms. Then you control the situation, not them. You have the options. Pull the trigger or don't. It doesn't matter once you've got them where you want them. The important thing is knowing that it's in your hands, that you can do whatever you determine is in your interest to do. I don't know, though," he adds after a few seconds.
"You mean we might spook them or get to the feeders after they're gone?"
"No," says Baker, flashing a brief, fleeting smile. "I mean Israel. Because there's now a dialogue with Arafat, there may be many more options open in the future. But creating something productive when Israel is divided internally is going to be real tough. Who knows?