(Jan. 28, 1909)
The two boys had just finished their day at the little one-room schoolhouse. With a six-inch snow, the evening was blue, and cold, with heavy flurries.
Was there any better time to walk the bottom ground along Hog Creek in search of cottontail? Will didn’t think so, and the boys began their hunt.
Will’s grandpa, Jacob Miller, formerly a Confederate Scout, was a taskmaster on gun safety – he preached it often. Obeying his teaching, Tommy always followed closely behind Will as they hunted. This evening was no exception, and it wasn’t long before Will spotted a cottontail.
Taking a fine bead on the furry critter, the crack of the Single Shot Stevens echoed through the valley. With the “all clear!,” little Tommy ran ahead, grabbed the prize and hollered, “head shot!” Will so much enjoyed watching the excitement of his little brother on a hunt, and he looked forward to the day that he too would carry a rifle.
The two boys continued their snowy trek southward, Tommy carrying the cottontail, rattling continuously – about what, Will did not know. Suddenly, Will noticed a fresh track. “Hmm, whats this?,” he thought to himself, as he knelt down to examine.
Coming along behind, Tommy leaned over Will’s shoulder, and yelled, “Thunder in the outhouse! Look at the size of that dog track!”
With a troubled look on his face, Will placed the palm of his hand over the track. He quickly stood up, and, while looking in every direction, gave the quiet command, “Hush, Tommy!”
Not calling his little brother by his famed “PeeWee,” was seriously out of the norm. Tommy paled and kept his silence.
Only the week before, their grandpa, a faithful reader of the Paxton Herald, read that wolves had been spotted in the area, and had killed several head of sheep. The Patriarch warned the family in a serious tone, “Just as the Bible warns us about the devil, roaming about seeking whom he may devour, these wolves are in the area, pay attention!”
Many in the family secretly felt the old man was being overly cautious, and Will could see it in their faces – even his own parents. But, Will would heed his grandfather’s words, “pay attention.” Although Will had never personally seen a wolf track, he knew for certain, that the paw that made that track was bigger than the paw of their Shepherd dog, Ben, and Ben was the biggest dog in the whole community! So much so, that everyone in the neighborhood, called him “Big Ben.”
Glancing gravely at his brother, Will bid Tommy in low tones, “Keep quiet, and let’s make for the house!”
But, even moving swiftly, the boys did not make it far, when a long howl pierced the night air! A howl that sent shivers up Will’s spine! Turning quickly, and looking due north, he saw several wolves about a half mile out, running straight toward the boys.
No time to waste! Snatching the cottontail from Tommy, he threw it up the trail. Then, grabbing his kid brother, he ran to the nearest tree with strict instruction: “Get up this tree, and be quick about it!”
Will gave him a boost, and the eight-year-old boy scurried up the elm tree like a scared raccoon. Will hollered again, “Hug that top branch with both arms, and don’t let go – no matter what!”
With a homemade, bull hide sling on his Crack-Shot, Will shouldered the rifle, and rapidly followed Tommy up the tree – barely in time! Three snarling black wolves circled the tree, lunging upwards; then sniffing the ground, they located and tore into the dead cottontail!
Tommy began to cry loudly, and Will’s mind was in a whirl. Could wolves climb a tree? With no thought for himself, Will asked the question in his mind: Will I lose a little brother to vicious wolves? Not on my watch! Not if I can help it!
Carefully reaching in his coat pocket, Will retrieved three rounds of .22, and placed them in-between his lips. A tactic he had witnessed from his grandpa the year before. But could he, a frightened 11-year-old, pull it off while in a tree?
Dropping the block on the Stevens, hands shaking, he placed one cartridge in the barrel, and locked it shut! Would a .22 caliber kill a wolf?
Once more, he remembered the old Scout’s words, “A man can take a bear with a .22 rifle, just hold your ground, and put it where it counts!”
Steadying his breathing, Will tried to take aim on the head of one of the wolves – but they would not be still! Finally, a wolf paused, and looked right up at Will with his steely gray eyes – the little Crack-Shot rang!
One yelp, and the wolf hit the ground!
Then the boys watched in bewilderment as the other two wolves began attacking the dead one! Will grabbed another cartridge from between his lips, and placed it in the rifle. Crack! Another wolf yelped, and began thrashing upon the ground. With that, the remaining wolf, vacated the area in a hard run north, and was soon out of sight.
Trembling, the boys stayed in the tree for a couple of more minutes, then descended. Will looked upon the scene in amazement; his heart still pounding. What had just happened?! Two dead wolves, and two safe boys! Why? Because he listened to his grandpa!
Grandpa! The old soldier who many in the family thought was overreacting concerning the wolves.
Suddenly, Will recalled the story of Mr. Derry O’Brien warning of the Great Potato Famine that was coming to Ireland; they didn’t believe him either. Will stood pondering the similarities of the two men.
Yet, little did he know (no, how could he?), that the day would arrive, when men such as his grandfather and Mr. O’Brien, would cease to exist. Watchful men who loved, and cared, enough to warn (Acts 20:31).
Yes, what was coming to America, had happened before. But this time the numbers would be staggering, and Will Miller would live to see it.
A breed of man was disappearing. And what comes after? Legions of men within the Church who wouldn’t recognize a wolf if they saw it. “For I know this, that after my departing, shall grievous wolves, enter in among you, not sparing the flock.” (Acts 20:29)
Lord Willing, until next time.
Michael Everett Jones is a Texas County native, old fashioned historian and purveyor of traditional Christian values. Email ozarksgrandpajones@gmail.com.