Another in the series of stories of a fictitious early American swamper and frontiersman from what is today the southeastern part of the state of Georgia, USA. Known as Clifton, he frequent travels the Satilla River and its tributaries and also often hunts and camps within the great Okefenokee swamp. The time period is set as being roughly within the 1820 to 1850 time period. CB
(Reading level: grade 7.1)
“It’s a dog,” Cross Toed John stated defiantly. The argument
had been quietly ongoing for several minutes. Clifton glanced sideways at his
good friend, half smiled and muttered quietly,” You are so so wrong. It’s a
wolf… one of them they call the red wolf.” The sounds of buzzing bees and other
insects was all that broke the silence along the slowly moving darkish waters
of the Satilla. The two had been sitting calmly between two tree trunks which
had fallen down off the nearby crumbling river bank, fishing for their supper.
Their attention had been drawn to something half hidden by the grasses crowding
out the mouth of a distant slough up river about a hundred yards or so. It was
the sudden movement of what appeared to both of them to be some type of dog
like animal hunting among the grasses which had given birth to their good
natured argument.
“Dog,” said John. “Wrong, you too educated Indian… it’s a
red wolf….I’ll clean the fish for supper if it ain’t,” argued Clifton. “You
half blind white man, it’s plain to see that it is a dog,” replied John. “And
I’ll take you up on that offer. Besides, those animals have long since been run
out of this area by all you white people and your dogs!”
“That’s just plain wrong, Jo—,“ the comment stopped in mid-voice
as both men suddenly involuntarily flinched as the water near the concealed
creature suddenly exploded in a cloud of spray and splashing! The violent
attack by the bull alligator exploding upwards out of the shallow waters of the
slough mouth caught the creature by surprise, it’s screech of fear cut off,
barely heard by the watching friends. The alligator caught his prey in his
massive jaws and immediately rolled violently to his right doing two to three
quick revolutions before backing quickly into the deeper waters, the creature
now hanging limply from his jaws partially visible above the surface. “See, it
was a dog,” John said in matter of fact fashion.
“It was not a dog…it had a
bushier tail than a dog does, it was a wolf,” answered Clifton, totally
ignoring the now steady pull on his line as a catfish tried to take his freshly
cut fishing pole off downriver. “Huh!”
exhaled John as his pole now jerked down hard towards the underside of the
nearby tree trunk. Both men now turned their attention to their jerking poles.
Later, relaxing with their backs against a log sitting in
the smoke of their mildly smoking fire, the two friends were still arguing good
naturedly about the strange creature. Their
fishing efforts had yielded several small but very tasty catfish along with a
couple of hand sized red breasted perch. Both were now feeling the relaxing
effects of their full stomachs. “If it was a dog…,”Clifton said,”…not saying it
was….but if it was… whose was it?”
“No idea,” Cross Toed John replied. “Besides, that doesn’t
matter. He could be one of those wild ones we see from time to time.” “Have you
ever seen a bushy tailed dog?” asked Clifton,” I haven’t…all of them are short
haired dogs around here. No one has a bushy haired one anywhere around Teabueville…
they are all short haired ones, cause the bushy haired ones get too hot and go
mad in the summer times, you know that.”
“That is not true! It’s just an
old woman’s tale,” John argued,” I once saw…huh oh….run! “
A few seconds later the two friends, gasping for breath,
paused halfway up the steep river bank. “Where did he come from???” Clifton
almost shouted from the rush of adrenalin now charging through his veins. “I
don’t know but obviously he wasn’t satisfied in just eating that dog,” John gasped
out, the knuckles of his right hand turning whitish as he gripped the large
protruding root of a pine growing higher up on the lip of the bank. Both men
looked down at what had just a few minutes ago been a peaceful campsite, now
occupied by a very large, active, and apparently still very hungry bull
alligator. As they watched, the gator made short work of their remaining fish
left hanging up to dry on a short rack built of cut limbs. Then, as his massive
underside began to register the fact that he was laying across a bed of hot
wood coals, the big gator thrashed around turning his heavy snout towards his
watery refuge. Lifting himself up on his short stubby and powerful legs he
lurched back towards the nearby river waters and slowly splashed his way out of
the shallows settling down into the deeper water.
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The next day, at mid morning, Clifton strode up onto the
sidewalk under the low hanging porch roof of the general store of Teabueville.
The locals sitting around the checkerboard barely registered his arrival. “Anyone
heard any news about a red wolf being seen around here?” he asked. “Anyone
missing a bushy haired dog?” called Cross Toed John as he passed down the side
of the building headed for the Cow House Island trail. “Seems I heard of ole’
Sam missing his bushy tailed squirrel hunting dog…” began Pete.
“Ohhhh….” groaned Clifton as the sound of laughter drifted
back from the rear of the building.
The End
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For more info on red wolves:
You may want to check out this website for more info on the present day Satilla River system:
http://www.garivers.org/other-georgia-rivers/satilla-river.html
