Hunt on Clear Fork
Haskell Free Press, 1 Jun 1889Editor Free Press:
I will endeavor to give you a brief sketch of the ups and downs of the fishing party, composed of R. B. Miller, R. F. Miller, Byron Glasscock, Oscar Martin, Walter Johnson and ye scribe, who went down on the Clear Fork on Tuesday, the 21st, to try their luck.
We started from Haskell about 9 a.m. and traveled without incident until we reached the M O pasture where we ran across three antelope, upon which R. F. Miller, Glasscock and Martin commenced a regular fusilade with their winchesters which seemed to astonish the antelope who looked as if they thought it was only a harmless thunderbolt, or discharge of fire-arms on a joyful occasion, and after looking at the boys until their curiosity seemed satisfied, they turned and ran off, pursued by Miller, Glasscock and Martin who chased one of the poor creatures over rough rocky canyons until the poor thing broke two of its legs, when R. B. Miller unhitched one of the horses from the wagon and ran it to death and brought it to the wagon. Query: who deserves the credit of killing the antelope?
We soon struck camp, lighted a fire and it was not long before the sweet flavor of fried antelope was floating away on the evening breeze, tempting our already sharpened appetites. After supper we were lounging around the camp fire stretched in extenso on our beds contemplating the star studded firmament and vieing with each other in telling hunting and fishing stories, when Miller, the dislocated Oklahoma boomer, began telling the most horrifying snake stories we ever listened to, which caused us all to draw close together near to the speaker and listen with suppressed awe until the tale was finished, when some one suggested that in as much as we had come prepared for snakes, that it would be a good idea to put ourselves in shape to receive all bites without harm. which met with unanimous approval and after the remedy had passed around several times, all fear of snakes vanished from our minds and we all went to sleep laughing in our sleeves, thinking how easily we had circumvented the venomous reptiles. Before going to bed I placed the jug containing the medicine close to my bed and laid down with my face toward the north star and my mind fixed on futurity, dropped off to sleep to wake no more until just at day-break I was aroused by a noise near my bed, and opening my eyes I saw Walter Johnson and R. F. Miller making off with the jug and I saw it no more.
Wednesday passed in catching fish and killing squirrels and just before supper R. A. Mason and S. W. Scott arrived with a fresh supply of medicine and a bag full of biscuits which Mr. Mason said had been cooked by a certain young lady whom S. W. S. and O. M. are very badly smitten, and at supper they vied with each other to see which could eat the greater number of biscuits and succeeded in making it a tie for when the last biscuit had been devoured, they both looked like stuffed toads and during the night, their minds were still on the biscuits and the voice of Scott, echoed by Martin, could be heard in doleful tones using the words of the Psalmist: "Oh Lord! thou hast flagelated me with biscuits; now comfort me with paragoric for I am sick at love"
But notwithstanding the overdose of biscuits, they awoke next morning looking sadder but were wise men.
We passed Thursday morning in fishing and hunting and the evening in seining, i.e. making water hauls with the sein, which required as much work as if we were catching fish by the carload. After working with the seine several hours and being tired out, we drew it ashore and ate supper. After supper while most of us were lying beneath the tall pecan trees on the banks of that pure and limpid stream known as the Clear Fork of the Brazos river, just between daylight and dark, an apparition appeared before us. It was clad in a single garment with a pair of shoes on and one sleeve torn off at the shoulder and was the most woebegone looking creature on God's earth. It stood for a moment before us then disappeared. It was the opinion of us all that it was the Ghost of some forlorn editor.
We were so frightened at this ghastly appearance that we pulled our freight the next morning to that future great city of Haskell where we all arrived all O.K. Friday evening.