When I stepped off the train at Grady and looked across at Tom 
Morris, saloon, there I saw the familiar face of old Hugh Dennis 
and others. This sent a thrill through me which I couldn’t express, but 
it wasn’t bad, and one “nigger” bawled out, “Yonder is Mr. 
Zanders, the trapper.” This attracted the attention of the bunch. 
Hello, Lad, ’ ’ came a familiar voice, 11 Come over and give an account 
of yourself.’ I walked over the railroad and across a muddy street 
to Tom Morriss’ saloon. Morris set up the drinks for the house and 
said, “Boys, we must celebrate today because we have the lad back 
with us again, and I see that he still has his scalp.” I guess Tom knew 
that I would blow a few dollars and this is why he was so liberal. T 
gave the history of my adventure, and in short treated the bunch 
several times and walked out to the Shrell farm, where I found my 
friend, Andrew Climan, and his niggers all intact. This being Sep¬ 
tember, cotton was being picked. The negroes expressed their welcome 
in many ways. Uncle Adam said: “I sees the Indians didn’t get your 
scalp, and I sees you have got a beard on your face now. You don’t 
look like that young boy who was picking cotton here two years ago.” 
I proceeded to look over my old trapping ground, but unon investi¬ 
gation, I found that the last winter’s trapping had thinned the animals. 
I rode over to Bayou Matholamen which run iust at the foot of the 
hills and over above the overflow of the Mississippi. The bayou headed 
near Pine Bluff, and flowed through Drew and DeShay Counties, an 
ideal stream on which to trap. There were many small creeks from 
the hills which led into it, and in manv places there were large Cypress 
brakes on each side of the bayou. While T was scouting this territory, 
I met a small fellow, weight about 130, by the name of George Robin¬ 
son. Robinson had heard of my trapping, and wanted to learn to trap. 
We made an agreement at once. I knew that I would need boats of 
some kind to trap on this bayou, and a couple of small tents to camp 
in. This T purchased when I returned to the Shrell farm, and I told 
the “niggers” that I was going to leave them. They set up a big howl, 
and said: “You had better stay here, or you will catch your death of 
cold, and die with pneumonia living in dem tents.” I hired Uncle 
Adam to take his old team of mules and move my outfit to Bayou 
Matholamen, and we had to travel over a very bad road which 
meandered through the swamp where mud holes were so deep that the 
poor old mules could hardly pull the wagon. We had to cross several 
bridges that cross ravines, and small bayous which were made of round 
poles. As Uncle Adam drove his mules on one of these pole bridges, 
the approach being bad, the wagon stuck, and as Uncle Adam laid the 
whip to his mules, the poles slipped and one of them fell, the hind 
legs going through the bridge. We released the other mule, and led 
him off the bridge and began to plan how to remove the other one. 
He would struggle and the poles would spread more until it was an 
evident fact that the mule would drop through the bridge, at which 
time Uncle Adam was calling on the Lord in many ways. I saw thefe 
was no way excepting to let the mule fall to the ground which was 
about ten feet. I told Uncle Adam I would pull out the poles and let 
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