Horn’s Boyhood His Dog “Shed.” Bennie, the Model Boy Horn Leaves Home for the West.

I was born near Memphis, Scotland County, Missouri, November 21, 1860 a troublesome time, to be sure; and anyone born in Missouri is bound to see trouble so says Bill Nye.

Up to the time I left home I suppose I had more trouble than any man or boy in Missouri. We had Sunday schools and church, and as my mother was a good old-fashioned Campbellite, I was supposed to go to church and Sunday school, as did most of the boys and girls in the neighborhood. I had three brothers and four sisters, and there was not one of them but acted as though he really liked to go to those places. I had nothing particular against going, if it had not been for the ‘coon, turkey, quail, rabbits, prairie chickens, ‘possums, skunks and other game of that kind, with once in a season a fat, corn-fed deer ; and they were all neglected to such an extent by the rest of the family, that it kept me busy most every Sunday, and many nights through the week, to do what I considered right in trying to keep on proper terms with the game.

I would steal out the gun and take the dog and hunt all day Sunday and many a night through the week, knowing full well that whenever I did show up at home I would get a whipping or a scolding from my mother or a regular thumping from father.

My mother was a tall, powerful woman, and she would whip me and cry, and tell me how much good she was trying to do me by breaking me of my Indian ways, so she called them (though I had never seen an Indian, and did not know what their ways were). Then if a skunk or ‘coon or fox came along and carried off one of her chickens during the night, at daylight she would wake me and give me the gun and tell me to take old “Shedrick,” the dog, and go and follow up the varmint and kill it.

For a kid, I must have been a very successful hunter, for when our neighbors would complain of losing a chicken (and that was a serious loss to them), mother would tell them that whenever any varmint bothered her hen-roosts, she just sent out Tom and “Shed.,” and when they came back they always brought the pelt of the varmint with them.

To this day, I believe mother thought the dog was of more importance against varmints than I was. But “Shedrick” and I both understood that I was the better, for I could climb any tree in Missouri, and dig frozen ground with a pick, and follow cold tracks in the mud or snow, and knew more than the dog in a good many ways. Still, I think, even yet, that there never was a better dog. I always thought “Shed.” could whip any dog in Missouri (and at that time I did not know there was any other place than Missouri, except, perhaps, Iowa. I knew of Iowa, because one of our neighbors came from there). But I had many a hard fight myself to keep up the reputation of old “Shed.,” for as he began to get old and wise, I do believe he thought I would always help him. Once in a while Dad would go to an election or public sale or horse race or something, and “Shed.” would go with him and sometimes the dog would get whipped. When he did get whipped he always came home looking pretty badly used up, and after an occurrence of that kind, “Shed.” would not leave me for days.

I recollect a family of boys named Griggs who had what they always claimed was the best ‘coon dog and the best fighter in the world; (Missouri or our neighborhood was the world to them), and now I think he must have been a good dog and no mistake; but at that time I did certainly hate him. Whenever the Griggs boys and I ran together, we had a dog fight, and the termination of the meeting was always a fight between Sam Griggs and myself. I also distinctly recollect that on nearly every occasion “Shed.” and I both went home pretty badly used up. Sam Griggs always said I helped “Shed.” and he would try to keep me from doing so ; then Sam and I would mix. I guess we fought a hundred times and he always quit when he “had his satisfy” for I never did nor could lick him.

The Griggs dog was named “Sandy” (because he was yellow, I suppose), and my argument always was that my dog “Shed.” knew more than “Sandy.” To illustrate, once Sam Griggs was up in a tree to shake off a ‘coon for “Sandy” to kill. A limb of the tree broke and down came Sam, and “Sandy” jumped on him and bit his ear and bit him in the arm and shoulder and used Sam up pretty badly before he could get “Sandy” to understand that he was not a ‘coon or a wild cat. I always claimed that “Shed.” would have had more sense than to jump on me if I had been fool enough to fall out of a tree.

My mother was always anxious to have all the children go to school during the winter months, and I always had to go, or to start anyway; but all the natural influences of the country were against my acquiring much of an education. During the summer we had to work on the farm, and work hard and long hours putting in crops and tending to them. Thus I had little legitimate time to fish and hunt bee trees. So when winter came and the work was all done and the crops all in, I wanted to go and look after the game, but as I was ordered to go to school, I had to go.

The first natural influence of any importance was that the school house was a mile from the house we lived in, and there was always more or less snow on the ground in winter, and on the trail to school I would always be finding fresh rabbit or ‘coon or cat tracks crossing the trail to school. I never could cross a fresh track, for I would see one and the rest of the children would pay no attention to it, so I would follow it a little ways just to see which way it went, and then I would go on a little farther, and then I would say to myself, “I will be late for school and get licked.” Then an overpowering desire to get that rabbit or ‘coon or wild cat, as it happened to be, would overcome me, and I would go back in the orchard behind the house, call the dog and as he would come running to me, the stuff for school was all off, and “Shed.” and I would go hunting. So you see, had the school house been nearer, I could have gotten there a great deal oftener than I did.

I could never keep my mind on my books when I was at school, for if it happened to commence to snow I could not help thinking about how fine it would be to trail ‘coon on the morrow, and I would speculate a good deal more on the skins of the varmints I could catch, and could see far more advantage in having a good string of pelts than in learning to read, write and cipher.

Things were beginning to get rather binding on me about this time any way, as a cousin named Ben Markley came to live with us. He was a son of my mother’s sister, and I guess he was the best boy in the world. Oh, how many hundred times I was whipped or scolded and asked by father, or mother or school teacher, why I did not do as Bennie did.

Ben never forgot to wash or comb his hair. He never swore. He could walk to school and not get his boots muddy. One pair of boots would last him as long as four pairs would me. He never whispered in school; never used tobacco. He never went hunting nor fishing on Sunday, and never wanted to. He never had any fights and he would talk of an evening about what the lesson would be in Sunday school next Sunday. Those were some of his good points, but not all for he was held up as a model of perfection by everybody. Of course my opinion of him was different.

I knew he could not shoot. He could not climb a tree. He did not know a ‘coon track from a cow track. He was afraid of bees when a bee tree was to be robbed. He said ‘coon skins were nasty, and skunks he could not go at all. He did not know how to bait a hook to fish. He could not swim, was afraid of horses, and once he struck old “Shedrick” with a piece of hoop pole. I had known a long time before this that he was a failure, so far as I estimated boys, so when he struck the sharer of my joys and sorrows, I jumped onto him. I was about 13 and he was about 17, but I had him whipped before my mother and the rest of the family could get me off him. Dad was there but he did not try to help the women pull me off, for I do think Ben was a little too good for him.

Well, after that, “Shed.” and I left him alone and he put in a good deal of his spare time leaving us alone. That row with Bennie made me no favorite with the women folks; something that was of little importance to me.

The climax to my home life came the next spring. Some emigrants were going along the road, and behind the wagons were two boys on one horse, bareheaded, and one of them had an old, single-barreled shot gun. They met “Shed.” and me on the road and stopped to talk to us. I remarked that a man who shot game with a shot gun was no good. The oldest one of the boys asked me if I called myself a man, and the answer that I made him caused them both to get off their old mare, and tie her to the fence. The younger and smaller of the two held the gun and the big one and I started to scrap. Things were looking so unfavorable to the boy I was fighting with that the smaller boy laid his gun down on the ground and was going to help his brother. He gave me a kick in the jaw as a preliminary; but he never smiled again. Old...