June 28, 1913 
FOREST AND STREAM 
813 
to the tree and found a flask. Needless to say 
what was in it. I connected with it, and in a 
short time could hear myself think. I was sure 
I had been bitten by a snake. When this con¬ 
clusion sank into my brain, I connected with the 
flask again, and as the “kick” became stronger, 
my courage began to return. Doubt and reason 
asserted themselves, and I secured a sharp stick 
and returned to the stream. 
I pulled hard on the line and dug into the 
bottom with the stick. In time I raised the 
enormous head of a bullhead catfish into view. 
He was a monster. I finally got him out on the 
sand and judged his weight to be about eight 
pounds. He was over two feet long. Some fish! 
How on earth could he have concealed himself 
in so shallow water? I must unravel the mys¬ 
tery. I picked up a board out of a pile of drift 
near by and dropped it in the water just above 
the place where I had dug him out, edge down, 
thus damming the current for a moment. In this 
way I got a view of the bare bottom. The fish 
had been buried in the soft mud. There was 
his grave filled with muddy water. .\nd there 
were also the tracks of the steers on the bottom. 
It was all explained. By actual and circumstan¬ 
tial evidence. I figured it all out. The fish had 
been run out of his swimming hole by the steers 
and had tried to make his escape through the 
channel, but had been trod upon by one of them 
and mashed into the mud. the softness of the 
mud probably saving his life. He was lucky 
and so was I. He was starving and I had drop¬ 
ped food into his mouth. I was alone; my 
friend was away. I had caught fish in his ab¬ 
sence; many fish—the sardines and the cat. Who 
was the Jonah? 
I still wanted to get away before my friend 
came in. I dragged my cat up to a bush and cut 
loose from him, leaving line enough for a halter. 
After tying, I dropped him back into the water 
and gathered up my rod and proceeded up the 
creek. 
I returned about two hours later and found 
my friend sitting on one of the roots of the 
tree. He looked disconsolate—down in the 
mouth—all in and ready to go home. I did not 
come upon him suddenly. He was much larger. 
I slipped around and came on him from behind. 
I had a view of the surroundings before I dis¬ 
turbed him. I saw the sardine can lying empty 
on the ground. It looked as if it had been 
scoured. The bottom of it was as bright as a 
new dollar. I was reassured and boldly accosted 
him. 
“What luck?” I asked. 
“Same old seven and six,” said he. 
“What! you didn’t find any more baptizings, 
did you? 
“No, but I didn’t catch any fish, which is 
just as bad or worse. You had any luck?” 
“Yes—a little.” 
“Let’s see what you got?” 
Here he showed a little more interest. We 
went down to the creek and I pulled up my 
bullhead cat. I explained all. He looked sheep¬ 
ish, finally saying, “That’s no fish; that’s a tad¬ 
pole.” And then he went into another disserta¬ 
tion about fish and tadpoles. He said: “The 
tadpole, you know, turns to a frog when he 
reaches a certain stage of life. Sometimes they 
miss this exact stage—pass beyond it—and then 
they must grow up and be tadpoles all the bal¬ 
ance of their lives. It is a freak of nature. 
When this happens we have what the negroes 
call a bullhead cat.” Having delivered himself 
and having, as he thought, turned the Jonah on 
me through superior knowledge, he climbed the 
bluff and was soon complacently sending wreaths 
of smoke curling upward as he seated himself 
on one of the roots. 
I put my fish hack into the stream, gathered 
up my tackle and joined him. I was not feel¬ 
ing very good. What he had said about my fish 
was rankling in my brain. I however had made 
up my mind to take the fish back to town with 
me. As I joined him I asked with suppressed 
quietness, “Did you get your lunch?” He 
nodded and showed a disposition not to be social. 
I was relieved as he had said nothing about the 
sardines. 
I left him and went back up the creek again 
and while I was gone he played a mean trick 
on me. He gave my fish to a darkey, explain¬ 
ing that the thing was not fit to eat, to me, when 
I returned. We had some words about this. I 
expressed myself rather emphatically. The fish 
had been caught in such a remarkable manner 
that if the story were told to others on our re¬ 
turn, we would need evidence to prove it. The 
fish was gone and my most tangible proof was 
gone. I wanted to tell the tale. 1 wanted to 
prove my friend a Jonah when we returned. I 
thought the matter over and wanted to know 
which way the negro went, thinking I would 
follow him up aiul get my fish back. My friend 
didn’t know or his answers were evasive. I 
never recovered my fish. 
I was rather disgusted and proposed that 
we go home. To this he readily assented. We 
didn’t thaw out to each other the whole way 
back, but at one time I nearly exploded with 
laughter and came near giving myself away on 
the sardine joke. He asked me for a tooth pick. 
I gave him one and soon saw him gouging away 
at his teeth. And then he ran his finger in his 
mouth and brought a little fleck or scale out on 
it. It was a little fish scale off of one of the 
steel-back minnows. He turned to me and said: 
“Where did you get those sardines?” 
“I got them from Mr. B.’s grocery. Did 
you notice the brand? They were the ‘steel- 
back’ brand. Mr. B. said they were very fine. 
I don’t like sardines, and I left them all for you. 
How did you like them?” I said all of this very 
rapidly to cover my pent-up laughter. 
“Well,” he answered between picks on his 
teeth, ‘‘they were the rawest tasting sardines I 
ever struck.” I nearly fell out of the rig. 
When we reached home I couldn’t keep my 
e.xperience with the catfish to myself. I related 
the story to others. They went to my friend 
for proof. I had also branded him a Jonah. 
He solemnly and emphatically stated that I had 
had some kind of a dream. That no catfish or 
any other kind of a fish had been caught except 
the minnows. I retaliated with the joke about 
the sardines and made him own up on all when 
we went to the grocer’s for proof. 
The happy man wlio always sings 
And who is free from debt. 
Is he who does not want the things 
He knows he cannot get. 
—Cincinnati Enquirer. 
“I SLIPPED AROUND AND CAME ON HIM FROM BEHIND.” 
