HUNTING QUAILS AND FINDING COONS. 



E. M. DORSEY. 



Various coon stories in recent numbers of 

 Recreation have recalled vividly to my 

 mind an experience in Boone county, Mis- 

 souri, in 1872. 



Our party left the farmhouse, where we 

 had been quartered over night that we 

 might be early on the shooting ground, at 

 4 o'clock one November morning. We were 

 equipped with shot guns, several pointers 

 and setters followed us, and we purposed 

 shooting quails if we could rind any. 



Before going far we discovered that our 

 force had been augmented by a volunteer in 

 the shape of a venerable and sleepy looking 

 long eared hound of giant frame. His 

 name, as we learned later, was Sing, and 

 he was the dearest possession and constant 

 companion of the youngest scion of the 

 household we had just left. We wasted 

 much good argument in trying to convince 

 Sing that a hound could but be de trop 

 in the company of bird dogs and bird hun- 

 ters. A resort to sticks and stones proved 

 equally futile. We must have succeeded, 

 however, in wounding Sing's pride, and he 

 evidently decided to show us that he was 

 worth a whole bunch of bird dogs. 



He dashed off into the brush and before 

 we had fairly resumed our march, was 

 heard giving tongue in lively fashion. Ap- 

 parently he had treed something. Then the 

 crowd, of course, had to go to see what 

 that old fool dog had found. 



At the scene of action, Sing was doing 

 stunts around an old dead oak. The tree 

 was about 5 feet in diameter. At 30 feet 

 from the ground it parted into 3 great limbs, 

 all broken off at 10 or 15 feet from the 

 trunk. One of the party insisted he had 

 seen, as we came up, a coon go into the end 

 of one of those branches. It was so dark 

 at the time that we inclined to question the 

 statement. That made trouble. The of- 

 fended individual swore he would not go 

 another step until his veracity had been 

 demonstrated. Finally one of the boys was 

 sent to the farmhouse for axes. All the 

 while old Sing was dancing about the tree 

 like a crazy Indian, yelping incessantly. 



When the messenger returned, with him 

 came the old man of the farm and his 2 

 sons, tall, spare, longlegged chaps, each tot- 

 ing an ax. After a good look at the tree, 

 the farmer struck his ax into a log, sat 

 down beside it and drawlec 



"We-e-11, Sing sez ther's coons up thar, 

 an' I'll bet my Sunday clothes thar is, but 

 I don't feel no call to tackle that air dry 

 snag. I ain't lookin' fer hard labor." 



The deadlock was broken by Rube, the 

 proud owner of Sing, who discovered a tall 

 young red oak a few yards higher up the 



hill. Instantly he formed a plan of attack. 

 The young tree was felled, and dropped into 

 the forks of the snag. Then Rube peeled 

 off his jacket and shinned up the red oak 

 of the dead tree. The first branch he exam- 

 ined was solid to the core. On reaching the 

 end of the second he gave a whoop of tri- 

 umph. 



"Ther's a hole here big enough to hold a 

 carload o' coons," he cried: "But, they're 

 'way down an' we'll have to smoke 'em out. 



Close examination revealed a thin place 

 in the trunk, near the ground. A few blows 

 with an ax opened it up, and a smudge fire 

 was started in the hole. 



Rube mounted to the top of the branch 

 and hung there, one foot resting on a knot 

 and one leg hooked over the limb. Every 

 little while he would draw himself up, look 

 down the hole and yell, "More fire ! More 

 fire !" 



It was then broad light, and all eyes were, 

 of course, fixed on Rube and his perform- 

 ances. Presently 2 heads appeared simul- 

 taneously above the hole in the branch, 

 Rube's and a coon's. As the latter braced 

 himself for a saving rush, Rube dropped 

 back, hanging by his legs and left arm. The 

 coon emerged, snarling defiance, and in- 

 stantly received amidship an upper cut from 

 Rube's right fist, that sent the poor beast 

 flying into the air. Rube had on a great 

 dirt-colored felt hat with a wide, drooping 

 brim. Before the poor coon had fairly start- 

 ed on his flight groundward, Rube had 

 clapped that hat over the hole in the limb 

 and was yelling: 



"Thar he comes ! Go fer him, Sing, go 

 fer him ! Sing's got him ! Sing's got him ! 

 Far'well. Mr. Coon!" 



Sing despatched the coon even as his mas- 

 ter spoke, and looking upward, howled for 

 more. Look out below !" cried Rube, lift- 

 ing his hat from the hole as one would raise 

 the lid of a teapot. Out boiled another 

 coon, received a body blow and sped swiftly 

 to Sing's welcoming jaws. Again Rube on 

 his airy perch chanted the death song. 



"Sing's got him ! Sing's get him ! Far'- 

 well, Mr. Coon!" 



This performance continued until 5 coons 

 had been despatched by the wireless method 

 to Sing's mouth, and thence to their long 

 home. That exhausted the population of 

 the hole, and though Sing velped his desire 

 for further employment, his work and his 

 master's song of victory came to an end. 



The crowd enjoyed the affair immensely, 

 and vowed it knocked quail shooting silly. 

 Thereafter thev often called on Rube and 

 Sing to furnish sport. They did not re- 

 quire them to give bonds for faithful per- 

 formance of contract, either, 

 J89 



