Hello to all.
There hasn't been much going on, on the forum, so I thought I would tell a true story, that I think you will enjoy.
First of all, there is my Uncle Guy , one of my dad's older brothers and my favorite uncle, while growing up. I never heard anyone speak ill of him or my Dad in my entire life. I never heard of him telling a lie. He didn't drink or smoke and I never heard a curse word. He was an avid hunter and also his only fault, that I know of is that, he was a poacher. Of course during the depression that was a way of putting food on the table, but Uncle Guy didn't stop when the depression ended. One thing about Uncle Guy and My Dad was, they might go out in the yard at night naked but you could bet they would be wearing their cowboy style hats. When Oklahoma opened deer season again after a long period of hardly any deer, part of the regulations were you had to wear red headgear and so many square inches of red on your upper body. Uncle guy refused to wear a cap so he went to the store and bought some red cloth and safety pins and covered his hat with the red cloth and used the safety pins to attach it to the edge of the bream.
Next is the Model 92 Winchester 32WCF rifle. My great Grandfather was a doctor during the civil war. He served first as a Confederate and when captured due to his oath he served with the union army the remainder of the war. When he mustered out he headed back west and stopped in Ladonia ,Texas in Fannin County. That was the last railway dropping of station west of the Mississippi . Through later research, I learned that at that time, there was a bar in that little town, that was over 3 city blocks long. All of his life he was a gad about so I'm sure the bar intrigued him. .He had quite a bit of money and was afraid he was going to get robbed in the early 1900' s and bought the Winchester for protection. When he died he left the Winchester and an old Colt Thunder to his Grandsons for them to pass around and share. The Colt got into the hands of the wrong part of the family and disappeared .Uncle Guy kept the rifle most of the time along with my Dad. They wouldn't shoot jacketed bullets in it because they didn't want to wear out the barrel.
Now then, here comes the Lion. My uncle lived at the foot of Bengual Mountain on the west end of what is now the famous Skyline Drive road which runs from here to Mena, Ark. He ran cattle and hogs in the mountains from the back of his house to wherever they wanted to go. When he went to check on his stock he always went by foot and carried the Winchester . One day he was easing along the mountain up on about the third bench and a big male African lion rose up out of a downed pine tree top that was grown up in tall grass. He said it took a step or two towards him and stopped. He said he wasn't for sure what to do, but decided to shoot it. He said he was shaking so bad that he was having trouble holding the rifle right between the lions eyes. Fortunately he missed, and that was probably the first time he ever missed anything. He said the lion just stood there and he backed off and turned and went back the way he came and still shaking. A lot of people laughed at this story although I never did because I trusted my uncle. My oldest son who is the author likes to use local areas around here as settings for his novels. He was doing research here a few years ago and guess what he found. About that time a circus train about 18 miles over the mountain had wrecked and several animals escaped. They rounded all of the animals up except one and guess what it was. That's right a mature male African Lion. So I have no reason to doubt the story that I always believed.
After Uncle Guy got older he quit ranching and made a living by buying farms and ranches, doing a few improvements and selling at a profit. He visited us a lot, despite not living close anymore. One of the best performances in high school basketball that I ever performed was one night when Uncle Guy was there to watch me play. And was I pleased, to hear him brag on me all the way home and for the next couple of days. The last time I saw my Uncle guy was the year I was a Freshman in college and he came down for a visit. It was late winter and he and Dad and I planned to take a fishing and squirrel hunting camping trip down on the rock crusher hole in Jack Fork where they had fished and hunted as young men. We planned everything to a T and were all very excited. Uncle Guy went back home on Sunday afternoon and two weeks later we received a phone call saying he had passed away from a heart attack.
The rifle was eventually handed down to me and about 2 years I gave it to my author son, Brett Cogburn, and it is pictured in his book the real Rooster Cogburn. There was a lot of interesting things that I would like to have included, but I tried to make it as brief as possible.
Mashburn
David a. Cogburn
