UNCLE EZRA'S LION HUNT

BY N. H. CROWELL

T was a warm evening at the store and Lish Trego had his collar off

as

he told the boys about his justly celebrated mountain lion experience in the wilds. of Arkansaw. He was working gradually up to the hair-raising climax when Uncle Ezra Boggs sauntered in and quietly assumed a seat on a nail-keg that closely overlooked the smoked halibut. The heated narrator looked a bit taken back for a brief interval, but the evident unconcern that lay in deep wrinkles on Uncle Ezra's face disarmed suspicion and he drew a deep breath and proceeded.

"As I was jest about to ree-mark, that lion was a-congratulatin' 'imself that he had escaped me. Bein' crowded up into that holler log made him think he'd pulled the wool over me in great shape, but thar hain't no lion safe when they're dealin' with Lish Trego-no, sir! I jest run my arm up into that log an' ketched 'im by th' tail. I purty nigh pulled that log inside out gettin' th' critter loose, but bimeby I made it. Then I took a little run, draggin' th' lion behind, an' all of a sudden I stopped an' snapped Mr. Lion same as you would a cowhide whip. It fixed him-yep-broke his neck in two places. Eh? Strong? Sure-I was tollable strong in them days -tollable strong!"

Mr. Trego paused to relight his pipe and ponder over the days when he was "tollable strong." Presently the smoked halibut rustled, and the voice of Uncle Ezra spoke up.

"I ain't gainsayin' you, Lish," said he, "in remarkin' that you was not only strong

for your age, but you was onusual courageous for your size. Lots of men couldn't begin to do what you done with that lion. That's a fact. But handlin' one of them ordinary garden variety of lion ain't much compared to facin' one of th' real maneatin', bone-crunchin' African monsters like me 'n' Bill Fikes did.

"You get in front of a big, hairy, bloodsuckin' animile like we did an' th' chances are two to one your toenails 'll turn around an' begin growin' right into ye-yes sir."

Uncle Ezra paused a moment to pick a halibut bone from between his two remaining teeth and a barely discernible rustle of unrest passed over his hearers. At length the deep tones of Josh Bascom broke upon the stillness.

"Ez, you ain't a-goin' to tell us that you have hunted lion-th' ginooine circus brand o' lion, I mean?"

Uncle Ezra affixed his keen eye upon the inquirer and calmly masticated a fresh helping of halibut for a moment. Then he swallowed luxuriously and resumed:

"No, Josh, I don't have no recollection of sayin' I hunted lion. Seems to me I said I'd faced 'em. The fact is, nigh as I can make out at this distance, this lion was huntin' Bill an' me a blame sight more 'n we was lookin' for him. An' he come so tarnation clost to findin' us that th' fun was all wore off in patches. How it come about was this way:

"We'd been out squirrel-huntin' one day an' was comin' home crost-lots in th' middle of th' afternoon feelin' kind-a tired an' thirsty-same's a feller will, ye know, when he's walked twenty mile more or less. We'd got about a mile from town an' Bill was jest sayin' he'd give four dollars for the bare smell of a beer cork when we heard th' terriblest yell imaginable, an' th' next second old man Schlottzenfasser came sailin' over a five-foot hedge and lit in th' middle of the road.

"He was a little under an eighth of a

second gettin' his legs together again an' he come tearin' down our way like a German comet that's been delayed by a washout. Bill grabbed 'im an' we finally got 'im stopped. After we'd let 'im blow an' froth a bit ol' Schlottzie says he has just missed bein' et by a lion"

"A lion!' says Bill, lookin' over at me sorter insignificant an' winkin'.

"Dot's id!' says Schlottzie, 'Id iss a reckular lion mitt chellow eyes unt a tassle on der ondher end. Vhen I came away he vas eading der bump!'

Then

"Well, Bill snickered some at that an' tapped his forehead. But I took a sniff at Schlottzie's breath to see if he'd been usin' a new brand an' had miscalculated. Bill says me 'n him would go back an' shoo th' lion off th' place for th' sake of accommodation. Bill patted 'im on th' back an' told 'im to be brave like we was an' that he'd jest like to see th' livin' lion that could scare either of us.

"Why,' says Bill, as we was goin' back with Schlottzenfasser, 'lions is our regular

"We went through the gate jest then an' my pardner jest petrified in his tracks. Schlottzenfasser gave one yell an' turned a back somerset. Right in front of us, leanin' up agin th' pump, was th' outraginest specimen of lion ye'd meet in a month o' washdays. He was rubbin' 'imself agin th' pump kinda slow an' thoughtful an' when he got his eye on us he stopped an' begun switchin' 'is tail back an' forth like he was decidin' which one was th' juiciest.

"He was lookin' sort o' happy like he'd jest made a meal off'n Mrs. Schlottzenfasser or th' hired man an' was makin' up 'is mind which of us would make th' best dessert. Me'n Bill was still lookin' when th' critter stiffened up an' stretched out about ten foot right at us. Then he yawned! Say! It was jest like openin' th' lid on a redlined Saratoga trunk! Bill let out a groan.

"Th' next second th' lion jumped down onto th' grass an' started our way at an easy trot. We woke up then. We found that we was runnin' jest about as fast as th'

up a ways I run slap bang agin Bill an' he kicked me twice afore I could make 'im understand it was me.

"Th' lion came up under th' tree an' looked up at us so sorrowful it nigh broke our hearts, but we stayed up. Then he laid down an' went to sleep, probably figurin' on savin' us for an early breakfast in th' mornin'. From where we was settin' he looked like a moth-eaten cowhide lap robe.

"Bill an' me spread out on limbs as comfortable as we could and then shook hands an' said good-bye so's to be ready if th' worst came to th' worst. Bill choked up an' said he'd beat me out o' seven dollars once in a poker game an' I forgive 'im on th' spot. It affected 'im so he tried to pay it back an' purty nigh fell off 'n his limb. Then he cussed an' said as long as I'd never missed it afore he guessed it could stand as it was.

"We'd been up there nigh an hour when we see some fellers drivin' up in a buggy. We yelled to warn 'em but they kept comin' right along.

"Let 'em get et up, darn 'em!' says Bill, after he'd yelled till he'd sprung 'is voice. "When they'd got up close a leetle sawed-off feller hops out an' skins 'is eye up at us.

"Ah, ha!' he says, 'so you found 'im, did ye?'

"Found who'? says Bill.

"Old Xerx!' says th' feller.

"Don't know nobody of that name,' says Bill, real peevish.

"Th' feller jest laughs an' slaps 'is leg. "I mean th' lion,' he says. "Oh, him,' Bill says. cated him all right! 'im all this time!'

Sure, we lo'Sure, we lo We've been keepin'

"He sorter chuckled an' then went over to where th' lion was an' grabbed a fistful o' lion-hair. Then he kicked th' critter a good one in th' ribs.

"Git up 'ere, you ol' chromo!' says he. 'Move, you disreputable, ol' superannuate or I'll yank th' daylights out o' ye quicker 'n a cat can scratch 'erself!'

"Th' lion got up an' tucked 'is tail under like he was afraid o' gettin' it frostbit. Th' leetle feller dragged 'im acrost an' heaved 'im in at th' back o' th' buggy. By this time me 'n' Bill was so weak we could scarcely hang on, an' Bill says:

"Hey! Ain't that critter dangerous?' "They all laughs like lunatics for a minute then one says:

"He was-about nineteen years ago. Ol' P. T. Barnum pulled the last tooth this lion had back in '59. We feed 'im on softboiled eggs 'cause he can't chew nothin' else. Giddap!'

"We clum down an' gathered in our clothes an' weapons which was strung all th' way back to Schlottzenfasser's place. It turned out there was a one-hoss circus in town that day an' this lion had fell out o' th' cage while they was cleanin' it an' it scairt th' ol' reperbate so he started to run. He run till 'is wind gave out, which was up at Schlottzie's, an' you know th' rest. Bill an' me was so unmentionable thirsty when we pulled-eh? Not at all, JimI'm there, you bet ye!"

FISHERMAN'S LUCK

BY HANSELL CRENSHAW

HALF reclining I sat at ease on the

moss-covered ground and leaned comfortably against the giant beech at my back. All around lay the odorous, murmuring forest, and I left off reading the open book in my lap long enough to view the restful scene and inhale the morning air. Some fifty yards away the country road ran through the trees, and from the roadside a path wound toward me, but curved to the left and led to the bank of a stream, a few feet from where I sat. I remember that the placid waters seemed in harmony with the spirit of the day, which was Sunday.

But the sound of voices changed the current of my thoughts. Two little boys were talking as they loitered at the side of the road. The larger one I recognized as Major Todd's son, Timothy, and the other proved to be Timothy's younger brother, known to the community as "Buddie Todd." Tim was a red-headed, freckle-faced boy, and one of the most ardent fishermen in all north Georgia. He wore two garments-shirt and pants. But the shirt was clean and white, and the pants were supported by conspicuous red suspenders with nickel-plated buckles. Both boys were barefoot. I could see

them perfectly from where I sat, but an old stump and some low-hanging branches screened me from their view. Tim looked wistfully toward the eddying bend of the creek. Then I heard him say:

"Do you reckon my minners are 'live, Buddie?"

"What minners?" Buddie asked, scratching one fat foot with the other.

"Them I lef' here in the bucket yestiddy."

"Pa said for us to go on t' preachin'," said Buddie, changing the subject.

"I jes' want to see if they're all 'live," Tim explained. "Come on."

But Buddie was imaginative, and seemed fully alive to the danger of disobeying a stern and pious parent. He glanced over his shoulder toward home. Then he sighted with an imaginary gun at an imaginary rabbit, but remained near the road. Tim raised a perforated bucket out of the water and examined the contents carefully. "Ever' one 'live," he said.

But Buddie was not listening. He was engaged in drawing another bead on that fictitious rabbit. Tim hitched up his suspender with a thumb, and looked from the bucket to the still water. A few dead leaves floated lazily on the surface, and every little while a bass struck at one of the bugs skimming the water. I think I never saw a fishing-hole look so propitious; and Tim must have thought so, too, for he said: "Less try one jes' to see if they would bite."

"Pa said for us to hurry on to preachin'." -Buddie looked apprehensively over his shoulder as he spoke "And I'm goin' on now."

"I ain't goin' to fish none, I tell you," said Tim. "I jes' wants to see if they would bite." He raised a fishing cane and tackle from their hiding place in the grass, and continued: "You run on to preachin', Buddie. I'm comin' in a minute."

Buddie's rotund little figure trotted off in the direction of church, but paused just before fading from view to take one more shot at the hypothetical hare.

Meanwhile Tim dextrously impaled at wriggling minnow on his hook, and paused to listen and look in the direction of the road. Not a sound disturbed the silence, except the flitting of a bird overhead.

Tim seemed reassured and hitched up his suspender preparatory to making a cast. But now a sudden sound caused him to stop! It was the church bell. If that bell had sounded a few seconds sooner, I think this account would not have been written, because nothing short of the fact that the minnow was already on the hook would then have induced Tim to proceed with his test of the possibilities of that propitious pool. Be that as it may, another glance around seemed to demonstrate the safety of the experiment, and Tim dropped his hook gracefully into the middle of the

stream.

The moment the bait touched the water, a black bass struck. With tight line and springing rod Tim played him to and fro, and the next minute the fish lay flopping on the grass. The experiment was now complete. They would bite. And Tim should, of course, have tossed the bass back into the water, and gone on to church. But he didn't. He instantly forgot all about Sunday and everything else, except that fishing-hole. His angling blood was up, if I may use the expression. Feverishly he strung the fish on a forked-stick, and cast in a second minnow. Half-a-minute later another bass was on the string, and the third minnow suspended in the pool.

Tim's excitement was intense. He continually hitched up his red suspender, and the large cork seemed to hold his gaze like magic. I, too, was watching it so intently that I did not notice the approach of two new comers. But the sound of steps caused Tim to turn, and the next moment he encountered the stern gaze of his stalwart father and the lowering countenance of Brother Pucket. Pucket was a cadaverous primitive Baptist preacher, and he it was who had spied the boy as the two men were walking on to church. He was noted for his sour temper and antipathy toward young people. Major Todd was thick-set, clean-shaven, decisive; and his children stood very much in awe of him. But he had a hidden spark of humor. On this occasion, however, he looked grimly at his son and said with suppressed anger showing in his tone:

"Boy, what does this mean?"

"I'd thrash him within an inch of his life, brother Todd," cried the preacher. "I'll attend to him," Major Todd re

plied, as he jerked a limb from a small tree and advanced upon the guilty fisherman. "Wear him out!" vociferated the preacher.

Major Todd raised the limb to strike the frightened lad, who tremblingly still held the fishing tackle in position. I shuddered for the boy, because the father was of powerful build and wore a determined look. But the blow didn't fall. At the critical moment the limb dropped from Major Todd's hand and at the same instant he shouted:

"Look out there-you're gettin' a bite!" "Brother Todd-" Pucket attempted to remonstrate, "Brother Todd'

But the Major did not hear, for the boy's cork had disappeared with a snap. His rod was nearly double. And the line was sawing patterns in the water. Tim seemed to realize that this was his chance. The Major's enthusiasm was manifest, and I thought I saw where Timothy got some of his passion for fishing. The boy struggled eagerly-the father scarcely able to restrain an impulse to lend a handtill at last a magnificent four-pound bass swept gracefully on to the grass. As the big fish left the water Major Todd let out a keen whoop, but instantly recovered himself. The scene was indeed inspiring. Tim glowed with his exertions. But the Reverend Mr. Pucket's disgust defied representation.

"Brother Todd," said he, shaking a warning finger at that erring pillar of the church, "spare the rod and spoil

But he was interrupted by Major Todd, who turned gravely to Tim and said: "Now, then, take the fish on to the house and hurry on back to church."

"That bass certainly bit at the psychological moment," I said to myself as the trio left the scene. Then I resumed my book in the cool shade of the spreading beech.

THE DUEL IN CUMMINGS

BY ARCHIBALD RUTLEDGE

COLONEL JOCELYN was not without

honor as a prophet in his own country. This was, perhaps, due to the fact that the Colonel was prepared to back any

speculation that he desired to make with the same personal interest that a question involving his personal honor would have occasioned; and his austerity on matters touching the Code was the pride of three counties. It was not surprising, therefore, that, in view of the deference accorded his insight into the future, his remark to the effect that Scipio Lightning would soon get the better of Wash Green should have been widely circulated in Cummings, and the good people of that community awaited the fulfillment of this prophecy with calm and flattering assur

ance.

Scipio and Wash-or, more properly, Scipio Lightning and George Washington Alexander Burnsides Green, a vision of whose future had been granted Colonel Jocelyn-were negroes without visible means of support. For a long time their livelihood had depended on the charity of Cummings; and that Jittle seacoast village was wont to be indulgent toward those who were sufficiently picturesque to contribute to the gaiety of the public. Not infrequently the question of their arrest and imprisonment on various charges was raised; but the possibility of a Cummings without Scipio and Wash, guilty as they were, caused such a hum of disapproval that even the white-haired Justice of the Peace was forced to compromise his conscience in the broader interests of humanity; Scipio and Wash were permitted to remain at large.

Wash Green had the reputation of being a very wily negro; strange stories were told of his ingenuity and cunning. He was middle-aged, squat, and reverent looking. He wore glasses-not that his eyes were weak, but because they added to his sanctified air. With the same appealing force the innumerable patches in his raiment enhanced his piety. His broad face was benign and childlike, and the slyness of his furtive eyes might well have been interpreted as a sainted and bashful meekness. He never lost his equanimity; he could lie with a scriptural accent and could steal chickens and watermelons benevolently. Occasionally he made a little money by holding Doctor Bethune's horses; but his passionate aversion to work was the chief characteristic which marked him as Scipio's soul-mate.