10 
FOREST AND STREAM 
January, 1919 
its trailing vines and carved boles hung 
with orchids, the sight was like some 
tropic opera scene. It would not have 
surprised us one bit to see a group of 
dancing fairies come swinging through 
the fronded avenues to the music of wild 
drums, and the trampling of elephants 
or tigers. Imagination runs wild in the 
midst of such romantic surroundings and 
the impossible becomes the expacted. 
As it was, however, the game was 
much more prosaic, we were to practice 
on rabbits in the early part of the night. 
And let me say right here, that though 
I am fairly familiar with Molly Cotton- 
tail, I never saw her quite so alluringly 
lit up as that night. In the first place 
those out of line of the beam could see 
nothing. Here and there sparkled tiny 
green lights like glow worms or fireflies. 
But always the guide, grunting, “Spi- 
ders,” passed on. Till at last he paused, 
— and pointed out a rabbit, — two pinkish 
green glimmers, that lay still and glowed. 
“Aim right between them,” said he, 
passing the twenty-two rifle. And in 
sheer faith I aimed and pulled. 
Up in the air bounded a rabbit, to fall 
again with a thump. The first shot 
chanced to be a success, as indeed all the 
rest were ; for rarely was the target more 
than fifteen feet away, though in some 
cases it was just a drifting shadow paus- 
ing for an instant e’er it melted among 
the palmettos and was lost to view 
in the darkness whence it came. 
After a few trials I found I could 
actually see the rabbit itself. Some- 
times head on, when the two eyes 
were visible, surrounded by a halo 
of soft fluff, as the light picked up 
Molly sitting there in the thin 
grass. Sometimes it was only one 
eye, with the shadow bunnie sitting 
back to us with its head turned to 
watch. Again, it was a lengthwise 
target, Molly stretched out like a 
cat, with her hind feet out straight 
behind her, ears cocked, and nose 
twitching as she calmly watched 
the light. At every shot of the 
rifle, it seemed as if Molly just 
sneezed violently, jammed her nose 
down, and bounced in the air, so 
swiftly did those little bullets do 
their work. 
So, seeking out the little meadows 
or clearings among pine and palm, 
where only dry buffalo grass grew 
sparsely, we worked our way to the 
edge of the forests, and the line of 
prairie. And always as we went, 
the twinkling eyes, Molly sitting in 
her form, or hopping like a shadow 
among the deserted orange groves. 
Soon we had enough for our 
needs, so after that it was sheer 
fun to see how close we could get 
before Molly jumped. Ofter we 
could get within five feet, but at 
the least noise, you saw a fleeting 
shadow of fluffy fur bounding away 
with magic silence, the white spot 
jumping and bobbing away across 
the clearings, as you unconsciously 
followed the course by the gleam of 
the headlight. Perhaps the lady 
rabbit thoroughly enjoyed her short 
career in the limelight. 
I T was at this time that the old trapper 
headed us for the “Coon” grounds. 
^ Out on the prairie were little shallow 
swamps, most of them scarcely a foot 
deep at the worst, and many of them 
mere damp spots where frogs and other 
swamp creatures gathered. Also there 
was a peculiar land crab, different ffom 
our fiddler, because this was not salt 
water. They burrowed in the sand and 
cast up a ridge of white under-layer 
sand for all the world like a big worm 
cast on the golf course. And all about 
these ponds were regular paths filled 
with coon tracks. 
It was these ponds we circled, shining 
the lights through the sparse grass and 
, reeds ; and it was here we picked up our 
first ’coon. Also, let me say right here, 
’coon shining is a different proposition 
from luring Molly Cottontail. Mr. Coon, 
even here in the wilds, is exceedingly all 
there. We would pick up a pair of eyes, 
and you could at once tell the difference 
by the color. The ’coon eyes were green, 
decidedly electric green, and were either 
farther apart or seemed so, than the 
bunny’s. Also, when you shined a ’coon 
it did not follow that you got the hide — 
not by a long shot. Just one glimpse, 
and then they faded out into nothingness 
— a faint splash, or quiet “Plop” in the 
mud as the case might be, and Mr. Coon 
was off and out of danger. 
The dogs work easily in the open clearings 
cut at least l got a good sight of one, 
sitting up there with a frog in his paws, 
sWabbing it around in the shallow water 
as though he were determined to wash 
its skin off. We could distinctly hear 
him before we shined him. And when the 
beam fell on him, he sat there in an atti- 
tude of mild curiosity and surprise, hold- 
ing on to his frog as though to ask why' 
we disturbed him at his supper. Also, 
this was too long a shot for a twenty- 
two in my hands, so I took the shotgun 
and swung on him just as he jumped. 
He was a medium-sized ’coon with the 
cunning face markings, but his tail was 
not so round and bushy as it seemed in 
the first flare of the beam. 
Several other eyes we picked up, under 
the low brush and palms, always in moist 
ground or on the edge of swamps. But 
this was not at all like rabbit shining. 
Mr. ’Coon seemed, for all Uncle Remus 
says, considerably more wide awake and 
on to his job than Br’er Rabbit. One in- 
stant we got the eyes, shining weirdly 
above the weeds, the next, absolute blank, 
with no sound or rustle to tell us where 
he had gone. It was surprising to a de- 
gree to experience this fact, that the ’coon 
could get away without any of us seeing 
more than a single good shine of his 
iridescent green eyes. 
At last we caught one fair and square 
in the open, on a sand spit at the edge 
of an irrigation ditch. And it 
chanced that some of us were on 
one side and some on the other. 
So Mr. ’Coon ran along the ditch 
and made for a clump of live oak 
and palms. 
After him we raced, as fast as 
one can over a rough prairie in the 
dark, and to his undoing he took to 
the trees. If there was no hole 
there in the massive live oaks, he 
was ours sure, for the clump did 
not cover more than a quarter acre, 
and we had excellent lights. Also, 
we had let the dogs loose the mo- 
ment he took to his legs. 
I WISH it were possible to put 
right here a colored photo of 
that scene. I can only ask you 
to imagine a grove of tall palms 
and live oaks, with clean sand for 
the ground, with tall vines stream- 
ing dowTi from the branches hung 
with orchids just coming to red 
bud. And the massive, gnarled 
oaks with long beards of Spanish 
moss waving in the cool breeze, and 
all of it lit by the search lights of, 
brilliant carbide. Picture the dogs 
leaping frantically at the bole of 
the tallest tree, whose top, stream- 
ing with moss beards, lifted itself 
far above the palms to the star 
spangled sky, and you have the 
scene — all except the ’coon. He 
was somewhere in that bearded 
giant top. But at last we located 
him, not far up either, but peering 
with queer, elflike face, and white 
fangs down on us from the crotch 
where a huge branch swept forth. 
In a moment the lights were all 
focused on him. But before we 
could get the guns to bear, he was 
