In its downward plunge, the huge limbs stripped the branches from the smaller trees. A log-sized one knifed through the top of a water oak. Splintered limbs flew skyward and rained out over the bottoms. With a cyclone roar, the big tree crashed to the ground, and then silence settled over the bottoms.
Out of the broken, twisted, tangled mass streaked a brown furry ball. I turned my dogs loose and started screaming at the top of my voice, 'Get him, Dan, get him.'
In his eagerness, Old Dan ran head on into a bur oak tree. He sat down and with his deep voice told the river bottoms that he had been hurt.
It was Little Ann who caught the coon. I heard the ringtail squall when she grabbed him. Scared half to death, I snatched up a club and ran to help her.
The coon was all over her. He climbed up on her head, growling, slashing, ripping, and tearing. Yelping with pain, she shook him off and he streaked for the river. I thought surely he was going to get away. At the very edge of the river's bank, she caught him again.
I was trying hard to get in a lick with my club but couldn't for fear of hitting Little Ann. Through the tears in my eyes I saw the red blurry form of Old Dan sail into the fight. He was a mad hound. His anger at the bur oak tree was taken out on the coon.
They stretched Old Ringy out between them and pinned him to the ground. It was savage and brutal. I could hear the dying squalls of the coon and the deep growls of Old Dan. In a short time it was all over.
With sorrow in my heart, I stood and watched while my dogs worried the lifeless body. Little Ann was satisfied first. I had to scold Old Dan to make him stop.
Carrying the coon by a hind leg, I walked back to the big tree for my ax. Before leaving for home, I stood and looked at the fallen sycamore. I should have felt proud over the job I had done, but for some reason I couldn't. I knew I would miss the giant of the bottoms, for it had played a wonderful part in my life. I thought of the hours I had whiled away staring at its beauty and how hard it had been finding the right name for it.
'I'm sorry,' I said. 'I didn't want to cut you down, but I had to. I hope you can understand.'
I was a proud boy as I walked along in the twilight of the evening. I felt so good even my sore hands had stopped hurting. What boy wouldn't have been proud? Hadn't my little hounds treed and killed their first coon? Along about then I decided I was a full-fledged coon hunter.
Nearing our house, I saw the whole family had come out on the porch. My sisters came running, staring wide-eyed at the dead coon.
Laughing, Papa said, 'Well, I see you got him.'
'I sure did, Papa,' I said. I held the coon up for all to see. Mama took one look at the lifeless body and winced.
'Billy,' she said, 'when I heard that big tree fall, it scared me half to death. I didn't know but what it had fallen on you.'
'Aw, Mama,' I said, 'I was safe. Why, I backed way off to one side. It couldn't have fallen on me.'
Mama just shook her head. 'I don't know,' she said. 'Some times I wonder if all mothers have to go through this.'
'Come on,' Papa said, 'I'll help you skin it.'
While we were tacking the hide on the smokehouse wall, I asked Papa if he had noticed any wind blowing that evening.
He thought a bit and said, 'No, I don't believe I did. I've been out all day and I'm pretty sure I haven't noticed any wind. Why did you ask?'
'Oh, I don't know, Papa,' I said, 'but I thought something strange happened down in the bottoms this afternoon.'
'I'm afraid I don't understand,' said Papa. 'What do you mean, 'something strange happened'?'
I told him about how my hands had gotten so sore I couldn't chop any more, and how I had asked for strength to finish the job.
'Well, what's so strange about that?' he asked.
'I don't know,' I said, 'but I didn't chop the big tree down. The wind blew it over.'
