Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1886-02-04
Anuturu1ts department.

10 BADGERS SHOT AT A CRow.-Jo Badg-
er used to tell good story. 1t may date
back to another "Jo," surnamed Miller. I
am not going to vouch for the originality of
any story that I did not make up myself,
and even then should expect to unearth it
in some old almanac or other joker's ceme-
terry. But Mr.. Badgers story, whether old
or new, always produced it's effect.
10 would gradually insert himself into
crowd of sportsmen engaged in the popu-
lar amusement of proving Auanias to have
been but an unsophisticated bungler in his
business; and, after listening to their ac-
counts of such slaughter wrought among
the birds and beasts as to make one won
der that the entire fauna of the region was
not exterminated, he would begin in that
easy drawl that pertains by right to the ac-
knOwledged raconteur of the corner gro
cery:
''Speaking of shooting, the longest shot
ever made was back in York State, when
I wasn't much more'n boy. I'd been
used to handlin' a gun some, but moth
o. shot. Well, it was Sunday mornin'; I
happened to look at an old dead tree away
off, most as far as I could see anything.
There was only one limb left, and crow
was sittin' on it. It was so far off that
couldn't seen the crow if it hadn't been
black and the old tree SO gray. 1 could
just see twas crow and that's about all.
The old shotgun stood behind the door,
loaded, and l took it up and, just in fun,
pointed it at the crow. I didn't have no
more idea o. hittin' that crow than have
and without thinkin' what was a-doin' l
pulled the trigger, and bang he went"
Here 10 would stoop down as if looking
for another piece of shingle or something
to Whittle on; and after second or so some
impatient auditor would be sure to ask !:
''Well, dye hit 'im?" The surprised
and innocent look on JOS face would be
study, as, with the air of one who had
utterly forgotten that any denouement was
expected, he would slowly answer:
"Hit i'm? Bless your heart! no; didn't
come within mile of "'-Sm Fran
ciscan.
AN OLD SQUIRREL STORY, NEWLY
DREssED.-It wasn't many Saturdays ago
that number of gentlemen standing upon
the street at Greensboro discussed fox-hunt-
ing, bird hunting and kindred sports. Each
one had told story, remarkable in high
degree, when the climax was reached by
one of the gentlemen, who told the follow
ing story:
"Coons" said he with sneer, "You
don'rknow anything about coons in this
country. Why, you ought to 60 to south
west Georgia. lived there once, and my
avorite pastime was coon hunting. Early
one morning started out with my dogs for
hunt. The morning was damp and heavy,
and we hadn't gone far before the dogs
struck trail, and away they went. How
beautiful it was. Through the underbrush
they rushed, crashing, barking, the sounds
coming to us like low music on the open
air. It wasn't many minutes before the
long howl of the leading dog told US that
; he had freed.
"We put out after them, going through
the swamps, and down into a canebrake.
There we come upon the dogs all clustered
about cypress log. They smelled it, and
then all started back as if they didn't know
what was to pay. We drew near and en-
deavored to urge. them on. But they
wouldn't urge. We went up to the log,
and it seemed to be moving. I didn't
know what to make of it. The sides of it
rose and fell as regular as the beat of a
clock. We finally cut into it and there it
was packed with cOons. We killed a hum
dred and forty and Idon't know how many
got away"
"What made the log move" innocently
asked bystander.
'Oh, plain as day. The coons were pack
ed so close that every time they breathed
the log would expand"
There was CHASTITY silence and the
crowd moved away.
''It wasn't good day for coons, either!"
he yelled after them, and putting fresh
chew of tobacco in his mouth he walked
rapidly in the direction of the "Cotton
Bourse" on Wall street, and in moment
more was buying the fleecy staple with
serene and unmoved countenance.-Green
6oro (Ga.) Herald.