The Cross Timbers (13 page)

“I haven't seen one like it for years,” Father said with
considerable enthusiasm. “It's just the kind of gun I always wanted when I was younger. Of course if you boys want to keep the shotgun we won't trade, but I wanted to tell you about it.”

Both George and I were intrigued by the idea of getting a different gun. The locks of the old shotgun were getting a bit weak so that it sometimes snapped, usually at the most critical time. We assured Father that a trade would be all right with us.

The next day Mr. Chandler brought the rifle down to camp and as we examined it our enthusiasm grew. It was considerably longer than the old musket and had a “full stock,” that is, reaching nearly to the end of the long octagonal barrel. It also had set triggers, and the mountings on the shoulder plate and elsewhere were of polished brass. It looked brand new, although it must have been made soon after percussion caps came in to replace the earlier flintlock guns. The exact caliber we never knew, but a bullet mold that came with it indicated that it was about .25.

Mr. Chandler suggested at first that he should have about $2.50 “to boot,” in Cross Timbers lingo. Father in reply questioned whether either gun was worth that much; at last Chandler agreed to an even trade. George was much pleased with the exchange and was very proud of his new gun, which at least attracted the attention and interest of everyone who saw it.

Soon after this transaction had been completed we packed our possessions in the wagon and returned to Tom and Lucy's place. A few weeks later, when we gained possession of our own home, almost my first act was to resurrect the old musket from the attic bedroom. I set to work polishing it up, as it apparently had not been touched since we left home.

From that time until we left the Cross Timbers home nearly
three years later the old musket was my gun, while the long squirrel rifle was George's personal property. We bought bars of lead to be melted and moulded into bullets. Because these were carried in a small leather pouch George gave me the horn in which we had been accustomed to carrying shot. I used this for powder and made myself a new horn for shot, using a small saw to cut off the ends smoothly, patiently scraping with pieces of glass, and whittling with my knife.

With a gun each, George and I continued to hunt together when neither of us had to be at work. George with his long rifle specialized on squirrels, jack rabbits, and cotton tails, while I with the old scattergun watched with eager eyes for coveys of quail or doves, plovers, and larks. Eventually I became fairly good at handling the old musket and would sometimes knock down a running rabbit.

If George happened to be busy I often hunted alone; even from the first, neither my father nor anyone else ever questioned my ability to hunt alone with complete safety to myself, some other person, or livestock. I was ten years old, “going on eleven,” and was considered old enough to take care of myself.

Sometimes if I came near a road passers-by seeing my small figure lugging the long gun seemed surprised and started joshing me a bit. Usually they would yell something like this: “Hey kid! Ain't that gun too big for ye?” “Whadda you expect to kill? You don't need to load a gun that long, time you get in range you kin just punch 'em to death!” I paid no attention to such good-natured razzing for “words could not hurt me.”

I wish it were possible for me to say truthfully that we met with some surprising adventure in our hunting but we did not.
While I recall seeing one wolf, he was far away and getting farther every second. The game which we bagged consisted only of rabbits, squirrels, quails, plovers, doves, larks, an occasional prairie chicken or duck, and sometimes an opposum. A few foxes and raccoons were in these woods but we never saw one, for they slept in a den or hollow tree by day and came out to seek food only at night.

Yet, hunting was fun and had for George and me many “fringe benefits.” Not only was it good, healthful exercise to tramp the woods, fields, and prairies carrying a heavy gun but it taught me, at least, at a very early age how to handle a gun with safety to myself and others. Constant watching for game sharpened our eyes and ears and made us close observers of the plant life. We came to know the common names of all the trees, shrubs, vines, flowers, and types of grass in that part of the Cross Timbers.

Moreover, we learned much of the habits and lifeways not only of the game we sought, but of all wild creatures of the woodlands. Perhaps we did not “learn of every bird its language,” as did little Hiawatha, but we did learn to recognize the songs and cries of virtually all birds of this part of the Cross Timbers. We also came to learn the type of nest that each built and the number and color of the eggs.

Finally, I think that hunting taught us to love and respect the wild creatures of the forest and to have humanity toward them. We hunted for food. All birds or animals that could not be eaten were perfectly safe from our guns. In addition, we always did our best to stop any boy who wanted to bang away at any bird in sight, even a cardinal, bluebird, sparrow, blue jay,
mockingbird, scissor tail, woodpecker, or anything else. Such birds we always did our best to protect.

We tried to be sure of our game before shooting, and if we wounded a bird we would spend hours searching for it, instead of going on to let it die by inches. Upon one occasion I found a mud hen with an injured wing. I took it home, bound up its broken wing, put it in a coop, and fed and watered it twice a day. In a week or ten days the injured wing was healed, and when the hen was able to fly we took it to a large stock pond and released it.

We never hunted on Sunday, but Saturday afternoon often found us in the woods with the old musket and long rifle, especially in the winter. On the whole, I have always felt that my hours devoted to hunting were well spent and taught me much that was very useful in my later life.

8. Disciples of St. Peter and Izaak Walton

My father never seemed to take much interest in hunting but sometimes boasted a little on his ability as a fisherman. He seldom went fishing with us but upon those rare occasions when he did he usually made good on his claims to being something of an expert in the art of angling. At least he usually caught more fish than any of the rest of us.

Fishing for George and me was confined to the streams within walking distance of home. This meant only three: Marshall Branch, the upper part of which was hardly a mile to the north; Henrietta Creek, a much larger stream about three miles to the west of our home; and Bear Creek, which had its source near Keller and flowed eastward, presumably into the Trinity River.

Marshall Branch and Henrietta Creek ran north into a much larger stream called Denton Creek. We were told that it and the county and town of Denton were named for himself by an early pioneer settler of that area. It was also said that he had three daughters, Henrietta, Elizabeth, and the baby girl, little Harriet, and that he named the three southern tributaries of Denton Creek for them. If so, he erred in naming the westernmost of the three tributaries “Little Harriet Creek,” for it is the biggest of the three!

While George and I hunted in summer as well as winter, as there were no closed seasons, we usually preferred fishing during the spring and summer months, though we sometimes took the gun or guns with us even when going fishing. Always there was the possibility that we might see some ducks, plovers, rabbits, or some other game.

Marshall Branch, being the nearest fishing stream, was visited far more often than Henrietta Creek; I do not recall ever fishing in Bear Creek, but George did at least a few times with some boys of his own age. We seldom fished more than four or five times a summer in Henrietta Creek and always spent the entire day, taking a lunch with us.

Our fishing tackle was very simple. All we ever had was a long willow pole with a line, hook, sinker of lead, and a large cork, usually from a pickle bottle, for a “bobber.” We punched a hole in the middle of the cork, through which the line ran, and then moved the cork up or down depending upon the depth of the water. We had seen reels but never dreamed of using one; and flies, plugs, spinners, spoons, snell hooks, leaders, minnow buckets, landing nets, creels, casting rods, fly rods, and all the other gadgets that fishermen use now, we had never seen.

If we needed a stringer we made one by tying one end of a yard-length of line around the middle of a green stick the size of a lead pencil. The other end of the line we tied close to one end of a short green stick that was sharpened to a point at its other end so that it could be easily passed through the gills and out of the mouth of any fish caught. The sharpened stick could then be pushed into the ground near the edge of the water to serve as an anchor to all fish we had landed.

For bait we used earthworms, sometimes called redworms or fishworms. Lacking these we used grasshoppers, crickets, grub-worms, liver, or the flesh of a bird or rabbit which we had shot. Some persons asserted that small balls of dough or a bit of red flannel might be used as bait for catching certain kinds of fish.

Many superstitions were applied to fishing and wide differences of opinion were held as to how and when one could have the best luck in fishing. Fletcher Williams and other boys in the neighborhood would always spit on the bait before putting the hook in the water. Other fishermen thought that the direction from which the wind was blowing influenced one's luck in fishing, and these quoted a little rhyme:

Wind's in the east,

The fish bite the least.

Wind from the south,

Blows the hook from their mouth.

Wind in the west,

The fish bite the best.

Still others declared that the moon had something to do with one's luck in fishing but apparently they could never agree on whether it was better in the light or dark of the moon. Considerable difference of opinion also prevailed as to the time of day when the fish were most likely to be biting, though it was generally conceded that early morning and late afternoon were better than the middle of the day.

My brother George and I had little faith in such ideas but fished any time during the spring and summer months that we were free from work, which was usually Saturday afternoon. As
Marshall Branch was within easy walking distance it was our favorite fishing stream when we had only a half day to fish. It traversed a short-grass prairie region with two or three trees and a few clumps of willows on its banks for a mile or two from its source near the railroad.

We usually dug a can of worms and started fishing on the upper reaches of the stream and fished down it for a couple of miles, since the so-called “fishing holes” became progressively larger and deeper as we got farther downstream. The water was usually a little cloudy, at least compared with the much larger Henrietta Creek.

We had no particular rules to follow in fishing except to set the float or “bobber” on the line high enough to let the hook come within a few inches of the bottom of the pool. If set so high that the hook lay on the bottom crawfish would steal the bait. We never spat on the bait, for that we regarded as a foolish superstition, but we were careful to bait the hook in such a way as to keep the point covered.

Once the baited hook was in the water it was necessary only to watch the cork, and when it went under or started moving across the water to jerk quickly and pull out the fish. Of course you sometimes lost one which you always felt was bigger than the largest one you caught. At least that was what you told your comrade and the folks at home!

We caught plenty of fish in Marshall Branch but they were small. Most of them were perch, bream, sunfish, and catfish so small that we often referred to them as “kitten fish.” Once in a while we might catch one a foot long but the average length was
about seven to nine inches. We often caught as many as forty or more fish in a single afternoon but three-fourths of them would be perch, bream, and sunfish. Rolled in corn meal and fried in deep fat, however, they were quite good eating.

Fishing in Henrietta Creek was more fun, and more of an adventure than in Marshall Branch. It was not only a much larger stream but it was in a limestone area and the water was usually very clear. Also, because it was bordered by large trees it was possible to sit on a rock in the shade and watch comfortably, as well as patiently, your cork floating on the water.

The first fishing trip to Henrietta Creek that I can recall was when by brother Henry visited us before he had joined Mattie's husband in establishing a store at Navajoe. In addition to bringing us a caged prairie dog, a pair of kangaroo rats, and a lot of dried turkey meat, he had in his wagon a “trammel net.” When he proposed that we go fishing our father, George, and I accompanied him to Henrietta Creek.

A trammel net consists of two nets, one with large holes and the other with small holes. After it is stretched across a stream the fishermen go upstream some thirty yards and drive the fish toward the net by wading downstream. The fish go through the large holes and strike the smaller meshed net, which stops them.

The two nets are so close together that the fish cannot turn completely around and are caught between the two when the net is pulled out of the water. We made a good catch that day, hauling up three or four drum, a couple of large bass, and two or three good-sized catfish. The small fish, of course, escape through the holes of the smaller meshed net. The use of trammel nets
and seines is now illegal in most states, but in the late eighties Texas had comparatively few fish-and-game laws that we knew of in our community.

Sometimes my brother George and I would take a neighbor boy or two with us when we went fishing at Henrietta Creek. Upon one occasion John Clark was with us. It was a beautiful June day, and the water was clear as crystal. In many pools we could see bass sixteen to eighteen inches long; but though we dangled a hook baited with worms, grasshoppers, crickets, or a small frog directly in front of them they showed no interest in any kind of bait we might offer.