Second kill…almost One sweltering summer, during another campout at the same ranch a little north of Houston I and another scout (whose name will remain anonymous to protect the stupid), were snooping around in the woods. It was hot. If you have never been in Texas along the Gulf Coast during July and August, there is no way to accurately convey the miserable, stifling humidity and heat suffered by all during that time of the season. I say there was no breeze. I say I was thirsty. I say I was short of temper all in an attempt to minimize the foolishness that I was about to commit brought on by circumstance. As was usual, I was armed with machete and bow. Never having quite managed to buy a quiver, I held two arrows in the same hand as the bow. We were looking for animal tracks around a cattle pond. For those of you not familiar with such a “pond”, in Texas a cow pond is a hole dug with a back hoe tractor to catch rain water for the bovine population to drink during the aforementioned hot, dry summers. As such, a berm is mounded up around the perimeter of the hole to act as a retainer for the hoped-for water. One might be lead to ask “Doesn’t the water just soak into the ground?” but then you would have revealed that you had never been properly introduced to calitche clay. This dark brown to red substance is completely impervious to the penetration of water, shovels, post hole diggers and pick axes. No honey, it don’t soak in. My partner already had a long and storied reputation for being a pest (polite for jerk). He continually goaded those much bigger and stronger into pounding on his head and we all wondered if he was somehow one of the less mentally capable among us. At any rate, he took it into his mind on this day that throwing rocks at me and watching me dodge them could be great sport. He began tossing stones at me. I was able to dodge three or four and began to become more than a little vexed at his behavior. I warned him that were he to hurt me, the consequences would be dire. I think the exact wording was something along the lines of “I’m going to kick your ass if you hit me!” Remember, I was carrying my bow. He merely laughed, stooped over, picked up a few more stones and hurled two at once. Never being known for an inordinate amount of speed or grace, I was only able to dodge one of the projectiles and was struck on the point of my left ankle with the other. My immediate response was, shall we say, red. Through the tears in my eyes I vaguely remember cursing loudly that I was going to kill the !@#$. My tormentor disappeared into the surrounding woods still laughing. I nocked an arrow, went to the top of the berm around the cow pond and waited for the instigator to pop up to see what was happening. Within minutes, he indeed came up directly across the pond from me at about thirty yards. Without thinking, I snap shot at the so-and-so. As soon as I had loosed the arrow, I thought to myself “Oh my God!” I saw my aim was true (one of the best shots in my life, I might add) and the shaft was hurtling to its target as if guided by radar. My quarry’s eyes grew to the size of saucers as he saw the incoming was headed straight for his chest. He opened his mouth to speak and stepped backward, pitching off of the berm and onto his back. The arrow whizzed right through where he had been standing only a second before. I then heard a timid voice coming from a now well protected position behind the dirt saying “Man, you tried to kill me!” and then “Don’t shoot…OK?” By this time I was sitting on the ground, thanking God, shaking at the thought of what might have been and how fortunate we both were. From that day on, my assailant never picked on me again. That was my first experience with a target “ducking the string”. I am so grateful he did. I like to think I have gotten much better control of my temper since then. I guess this is what is meant by “Adult Supervision Required”. Konrad 12/17/2011
