The Bamberg herald. [volume] (Bamberg, S.C.) 1891-1972, 1915-07-01
The Night Rider of Cypress Swamp.

1t was sunset, and each little pool,
in it's setting of rushes, shone like
molten gold in the western glow, and
the tall, straight trunks of the sweet
gum and cypress went amber yellow.
AS the dusk gathered, and the dark
shadows fell, where the growth was
thickest, the small dwellers of the
swamp, who sleep through the day,
were stretching themselves, and get
ting ready for their nightly wander
ings. The owl was already abroad.
and, on silent wing, was skimming
low. over tangled thicked and grassy
knoll, on a still hunt for belated
bird, or venturesome field mouse.
The frogs, down among the lily pads,
were tuning up for their evening
concert. Like bow, drawn slowly
across the strings of violin, some
big green fellow, throws his throaty
call over the blackening waters. to
be answered by deep toned voice
from another pond back in the
swamp. Snugly coiled, in a furry
ball, at the bottom of the hollow, in
a big gum tree, the raccoon opened
first one eye and then the other, as If
the effort to open both at the same
time, was too much for him. Stand
ing on his hind feet, and reaching
high as possible with his hands like
paws, he gaps lazily and treats him
self to the luxury of good, old fasn-
ion stretch. Wide awake now, he
scuttles up to the opening and sits for
quite while thinking. He is debat-
ing in his mind which would be best
to forage around among the cane
brakes and ponds for his usual sup
per of snails. grubs, berries, lily
roots and, possibly nest of small
young birds or to make night OF it,
and visit that farm house mile or
two down the creek and try for one
of those fat Rhode Island Reds, that
he watched one day as they were
feeding around the door step. AS he
sat there, pondering over the risks
he would have to take. his paws fold
ed comically' over his stomach-there
foated over the stiffness of the
swamp, the faint. far-away crow Of
a cock. That distant call, brought
to his memory other moonlight
nights. when he had revealed in the
taste of fresh, warm blood. as he
feasted to his fill on the delicate
flesh of high bred pullet. That call,
settled any doubt he might have had.
Climbing down on level ground, he
went shamblng down the trail, with
that curious sidelong gait of his,
headed straight for the cabin in the
clearing. There was nothing care
less in his going-he was ever on
the alert for possible dangers-keep-
ing near the beaten trail-seldom
taking advantage Of cross cuts, that
promised an easier path. He even
took the trouble and time, to cross
and recross the creek several times
in order to throw off his tracks any
enemy that might be trailing him.
Sometimes, when the trees grew
thick he took the precaution of doing
a part of his hike above, ground run
ming along branches from tree to
tree. thus leaving no tell tale scent
that could be followed-a cunning
trick. bred in his bones. by long gen.
erations of hunted ancestors. So
firmly decided was he on chicken for
supper, that he let pass several fair
" good chances of catching more
than one of the. small swamp dwell
ers. The big blue black muscadines
were a sore temptation to tarry, but
as he passed them by he registered
mental resolve to return to this spot
in case the raid on the farm yard
failed to materialize. Reaching the
edge of the swamp. where rambling
rail fence separated the cornfield
from the cane brake. he stopped and
listened. There was no sound or
sent to arouse his suspicion. There
! was nothing but the corn standing
rank and tall in the moonlight-no
sound except now and then, the
drowsy chirp of cricket in the
grass. Hungrier now than when he
awoke at sunset, with watering
chops. he eyed the ears of corn. that
he knew we're fairly bursting with
milky grains. Deciding to lunch, be-
fore tackling the big event of the
evening he gathered the fattest ear
in sight. and retreated to the little
sream he could hear trickling among
the reeds. The coon can eat his food