Three long ringing signals from I the driver’s horn, and the hunt was over. I quit my stand and met Dad on the road back of our line. We had both seen a doe that had kept us on our toes for a while, but otherwise, the drive had been uneventful.
We fell quiet and listened. Then Dad asked if I had noticed how it was still possible to see the plowed rows of an old cultivated field where there now were large trees. He often pointed out such bits of local history, and I always enjoyed learning about them. We listened to a hound bothering a cold trail for the second time.
The hound responded to another call from the horn, and Dad broke the silence again.
“During slavery times, most of this swamp was cultivated and there was little thought for timber. The Englishes, Ancrums, Canteys, and Langs were neighbors in these parts. That was when Papa Daws was here.”
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