weaker side to retreat. It then became a question of
running or being rocked to death. After these battles we were all
usually in very bad condition, having received very hard knocks on
sundry and various parts of our anatomy, but for all that we have never
bore malice toward each other. We were careful to keep these escapades
from the knowledge of our elders. In this way we were quite successful
until one time we had a boy nearly killed, then we thought the old folks
would whip us all to death. This incident ended the rock battles. But we
soon had something else doing to furnish ourselves fun and excitement.

[Illustration: I Hunt Rabbits in My Shirt Tail]

About this time we planned a rabbit hunt, after the small cotton tail
rabbits, which were plentiful in the surrounding country. Getting all
the boys together and securing the track hounds of the neighborhood we
were off. It was not long before the dogs caught track of something and
away they went with all the boys behind. Now at that time it was not
customary for us boys of the plantation to wear shoes and pants, the
principal reason being that we did not have either shoes or pants to
wear. So you can perhaps imagine the sight presented by a score or more
of boys of all ages chasing behind the hounds, with our shirt tails
flying through bushes, thorns and brambles, up hill and down hill, many
of us bleeding like stabbed pigs, but we were too much interested to pay
any attention to a little blood. We wanted the rabbits, and everything
else was of secondary importance, even the calls of the younger boys who
got tired and fell behind. Onward we went over rocks, through fields,
over fences, until we could hear the dogs no more, then tired out we had
to stop. I told the boys to sit down, that I thought the dogs would come
this way again. It was not long before I thought I heard something and
told the boys to hush and have their rocks ready to kill the rabbit. It
never occurred to me that it would be anything but a rabbit. The bay of
the dogs came nearer, then over the fence jumped a big red fox right in
front of me. He stopped and we looked in each others eyes. It was hard
to tell which of us was the most surprised, however, I was the first to
run away, and run I did. I ran like a black tailed deer. Many times I
thought I felt him nibble at my shirt tails, and his eyes grew in my
imagination as large as wagon wheels and Mr. Fox, himself, seemed to
grow as big as an elep