Stories like this sometimes make me wish for the good old days. Friend of mine years ago told me about his uncle, who, along with a younger companion, drove to either Nebraska or South Dakota to coon hunt. This was probably around 1960. His uncle was a big man, but was getting older and had some type of infirmity, possibly a bad hip, so he couldn't walk much. This was back in the days of good fur prices.
They secured permission to hunt a large property, parking on a public road. They let the dogs out, and they treed some distance from the road. His uncle told the younger guy with him to go kill the coon and fetch the dogs and he would wait at the truck.
Shortly after he left, a pickup came roaring down the gravel road and slid to a halt behind his truck. The guy rolled down his window, but didn't get out, so his uncle walked up to his door and asked if he could help him. The guy started in telling him that so and so owned the land on the right side of the road and didn't allow hunting. My friend's uncle says that's not a problem, because we're not hunting there, but instead on the other side of the road. The local guy just kept on mouthing about you can't hunt here and the uncle again explained that they were not hunting there and that as soon as his buddy got back to the truck with the coon and dogs, they would be on their way.
Well, the guy just kept running his mouth and my friend's uncle, I think his name was Dave, finally told him he needed to leave and not come back, or he was going to have a problem.
The guy turned around and left, but soon came flying back down the road and once again stopped behind Dave's truck, and this time had a passenger. Dave walked up to the driver's side window and the guy proceeded to tell him that his passenger was so and so, that he owned the land on the right side of the road and that he didn't want them hunting there. The supposed landowner never said a word. Dave, once again, explained the situation, but the idiot behind the wheel just kept running his mouth. Dave told the guy that he could see he was a coon hunter because of the dog box in his truck, and wanted to show him one of his dogs that was still in his truck.
Dave stepped back, and when the guy opened the door and stepped out, Dave caught him with a left hook, his head between fist and door frame, dropping him to the ground, out cold.
The passenger began fumbling around underneath the seat as if trying to retrieve a weapon, so Dave went to his truck and grabbed a tire tool out of the bed. When the guy began to step out of the truck, Dave caught him with a glancing blow to the side of the head, tearing his ear mostly off, but he began yelling, so Dave whacked him again, rendering him unconscious.
About that time, his hunting buddy came out of the woods carrying the coon with the dogs in tow. Dave told him to not ask any questions, just load up the dogs and get in the truck. They headed for Missouri, stopping only to get gas.
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