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A happy-go-lucky ’coon hunting quartet 
The Old Fashioned "Coon Hunt 
Following the Hounds Thru Woods and Swamps 
at Night Is a Strenuous and Exciting Sport 
By R. M. HENDERSON 
whose most strenuous sport is 
eighteen holes of golf on a sum- 
mer afternoon, or a few games of bowl- 
ing during the long winter evenings, 
an all night ’coon hunt is one of memory 
only, conjured from old experience and 
staged upon the faithful office desk, 
transformed for the moment into a dim 
and mysterious setting of old familiar 
scenes. 
I was born and raised in that hunt- 
er’s paradise, the mammouth hills of 
southern Ohio, where the wandering 
creeks thrived with mink and the dense 
forests furnished den trees for count- 
less ’coon and opossum. My brother 
Sam and I, the youngest of a family of 
nine, hunted and trapped when we were 
small boys going to school, and man- 
aged to have more spending money than 
most country boys, by selling our mink, 
r YO a middle-aged business man, 
-’coon and opossum skins to the wander- 
ing fur buyers. 
During several hard years we sup- 
ported the entire family with our money 
derived from fur sales. 
At the age when most boys were be- 
ginning to tease their parents for air 
rifles, Sam and I were crack shots with 
a regular rifle, and could handle dogs. 
In these hills we learned many tricks 
of hunting and developed a hunting 
spirit which grew year by year, and 
was directly responsible for the plan 
that we made when circumstances 
forced us to leave that region and strike 
out in the world. We resolved to spend 
the first ten days of every hunting sea- 
son in the hills that we had learned to 
know and love so well from boyhood. 
To these trips my thoughts turn in idle 
hours, for, after all, they were the most 
enjoyable moments in my life. 
One trip a few years ago lingers in 
my memory more distinctly than the 
others, perhaps, because of the nu- 
-merous incidents that made our hunt so 
interesting. 
N November thirteenth, two days 
before the hunting season opened, 
we had our Tin Lizzie camp car loaded 
with supplies for a ten-day trip to the 
old hunting ground. At eight o’clock 
in the morning we started due south by 
way of Columbus and Athens, through 
the hills to Bear Wallow, or Big Run, 
as it is sometimes called, located in the 
southeastern part of Meigs County. We 
had two excellent ’coon dogs, Bibby, a 
six-year-old Red Bone, and Red, one of 

her pups that had been trained with 
her. Bibby could follow a trail on a 
fence, or in a creek, seemingly as fast 
as if it was on open ground. When she 
treed a ’coon she would actually talk to 
us in her sign language. 
F the ’coon was in a den she would 
stay close to the butt of the tree; if 
it was on the outside she would stay 
away from the tree and seem to look 
right at it. We could usually shine the 
’coon’s eyes by gauging the flashlight 
from where she would locate herself. 
The young dog was a smart pup, and 
eventually developed into an extra good 
’coon dog. 
Several years before, we had built a 
log cabin in the woods at the foot of 
the hills. It was equipped with a six- 
foot fireplace, several bunks, home- 
made chairs and a table, and was very 
comfortable. 
We reached camp at noon, November 
fourteenth, and after starting a roar- 
ing fire in the fireplace, cleaning up 
the cabin, and getting our gasoline 
stove set up, prepared a good hot din- 
ner. 
By the time the cabin was renovated, 
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