Forest and Stream 
Vol. LXXXI. February 21, 1914 No. 8 
Coon Hunting in the Mississippi Valley 
A FTER a hearty supper, we called up “Unc 
Tom" for an all-night hunt for br’er 
coon. We had elected to go first to the 
“new ground” on the border of a great magnolia 
forest, where the raccoons were frequent visit¬ 
ors in their foraging trips to the cornfield, which 
was bordered by the stately magnolia—one of 
Dame Nature’s generous contributions to enhance 
the beauty of the Southland. The 
dark evergreen bay with its festoons 
of gray moss, and its pure white fra¬ 
grant bell-shaped flowers, stands 
majestically as a conspicuous attrac¬ 
tion to the forests of western Miss¬ 
issippi. 
“Unc Tom" was a “celebrated” 
coon hunter, and when he came up 
with his stove-pipe held ungracefully 
in one hand, while with the other he 
was trying to remove from his mouth 
the signs of a fat pork supper, we 
knew that time would soon be called 
for the rough country hike. We had 
as a guest.a tenderfoot from New 
Orleans who wished ardently to be 
initiated. He was, before the next 
sunrise. I think he slept for a week 
continuously after that hunt, but he 
still talks about it if I chance to meet 
him in the Crescent City. 
“Is y’all ready now, boss?” asked 
Unc Tom. “Ah wondah whar dat 
ole dawg done gone off to, heah-heah- 
heah ! Ah reckon she settin’ dar on 
de fash haff in de kitchen lookin up 
de chimbly fo’ hants. Dess las’ few 
times ah had her out she didn't do 
much ’sides tree hants. She sho’ 
ain’t gwine ter fine no coons in dat 
chimbly. Say, Doug White, you run 
dat dawg out de kitchen, boy.” 
Pretty soon the great coon dog— 
the heroine of many hard fought bat¬ 
tles—came out, wagging her tail in 
evident pleasure at the prospects of 
Another good fight. For I think she 
treed hants only by way of teasing 
Unc Tom for a little diversion, as 
she knew from his talk that he believed religious¬ 
ly in hants, hoodoos, “goses,” etc. At any rate, 
she was ready for either coons or hants. 
She was the finest specimen of a coon dog that 
I ever read of, or saw hunt—a genuine mongrel 
with enough bull-terrier blood in her to make an 
indomitable fighter. When she got a hold on 
“br’er coon’s” windpipe, the finish was within 
close range. 
We hiked half a mile to the “new ground,” and 
Unc Tom hied “Mary” toward the edge of the 
By R. H. McNair 
Photo by Cora June Sheppard 
forest, while we sat down to await developments. 
In about ten minutes the dog gave tongue, and 
the music became pretty lively. Unc Tom re¬ 
sponded with “Ah knowed ’twuz er coon in the 
aige ob dat woods,” and when one of the party 
suggested the possibility of its being a hant, the 
old man became indignant and replied, “No, boss, 
dat dawg don’t nuvver bark dat er way at er 
Three Possum With One Gun. 
hant. Ah know dats er coon, er big bos coon, 
caze ah done seed’d his tracks down through the 
magnolia wood.” 
Mary ran, with musical echoes floating back 
toward us through the still night air, and in a 
very short time Unc Tom announced dramati¬ 
cally, “She done treed, boss.” Away we went to¬ 
ward where the dog was baying, at the root of a 
magnolia tree which stood on the side of a little 
ridge, and but a few steps off a shallow runnel 
of muddy water that wended its, course through 
the forest. Br’er coon usually made it convenient 
to climb a tree that stood in easy jumping dis¬ 
tance from a pool of water, for there is where 
he seemed able to make his best fight. Unc Tom 
first made several bonfires. When our tender¬ 
foot guest asked what he wanted a fire for, he 
replied, “Why! boss, de fiah will keep off de 
hants, and den hit will hep folks ter see de fight 
when de racktion done sho nuff be¬ 
gin.” Then the old man looked 
around for Douglas, the climber, and 
found him with a bright fire brand 
in one hand, circling around the tree, 
with his big eyes trying to pierce the 
darkness of the green foliage. 
“Come on heah, boy, whut you 
progin’ round up dar for? You know 
dat coon ain’ gwine let you shine his 
eyes, nigger. Come on down heah, 
and pull off dem brogans an’ go up 
dis tree. We-all is got ter ketch 
bout three coons an’er possum ’fore 
sun-up.” 
Douglas could climb like a 
monkey, and a good stout grape¬ 
vine was as convenient for his pur¬ 
pose as the trunk of a tree. Up he 
went; and when he was about half 
way to the top of the tree, he 
shouted, “Lawdy mussy, Unc Tom, 
heah he is all wrapped up in de moss 
and scrooched up ’ginst dis big limb F 
“Make him jump, boy, make him 
jump!” replied Unc Tom. “We-all 
ain’t got time to fool wid dat ole 
varmint. Ole Mahey is er waitin’ 
fer him down heah.” 
Douglas gave the coon a jab with 
a stick. The animal growled and 
sprang into the air. Mary sat on 
her haunches a few feet from the 
ditch, intently looking up into the 
dark magnolia foliage. She seemed 
to see the coon the moment he 
sprang from the limb; for she was 
under him in a flash, just as a good 
fielder gets under a fly on the base¬ 
ball ground. When the coon came 
down he landed on “dat li’l gyp,” and she nailed 
him in the side of the neck, reaching always for 
the windpipe. The coon was a big “ole boe,” 
and he dragged the dog into the ditch. By that time 
the two reserves got into the mix-up, and such 
a coon fight as it was! The young dogs 
yelped several times, but kept at it. “Ole Mahy” 
did not manifest any inconvenience other 
than a -muffled growl which indicated that 
her mouth was too full for utterance; for we knew 
neither the sound of yelp nor whine from her 
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