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A True Tale of Old Cut’n Shoot

by Robin Montgomery
                 
It was the winter of 1946.  While war had ended overseas, within the brush and brambles of Cut’n Shoot another kind of war, the war of nature, continued to rage.  The king of this war was the panther or as the natives called it, “the pan’er”.  One young lad who had had many run-ins with these feline rulers of the forest was affectionately called by his closest friends,“Cousin Armadillo.”
                 
Cousin Armadillo led an adventurous life. Among his feats was an expertise in handling dogs. One day, bored with an assembly in Conroe’s Travis Jr. High, he let loose his favorite dog to run and howl over the whole
auditorium, causing a breakup of the meeting. Afterwards, with considerable tenderness, Armadillo retrieved the dog, treating it to a fine meal.

In the winter of 1946, Cousin Armadillo was a member of undoubtedly the best basketball team ever to grace
the halls of Travis Jr. High; the team won 32 straight official games. The sole loss came in an unofficial practice game, against a high school team!  Many colorful characters filled the team’s roster, such as “Caveman” and “Wiggle-tail”. Also from the Cut’n Shoot area was Don Granger and Campbell “Wildman” Woodman. Wildman would go on to become the progenitor of the awesome Cut’n Shoot boxing dynasty which produced the great Roy Harris. But in the winter of 1946, Wildman was content to play basketball and strum his guitar for the entertainment of his teammates. 
                  
The coach of this closely knit crew was J.T. Montgomery, later to become principal of first Travis Jr. High then of Conroe High School.  J.T. also had a nickname, “Monkey”.  Parenthetically, the football coach was
called“’Possum”. On many occasions, the team would gather at J.T.’s home after a practice, to visit and to dream up pranks to play. 
                 
On a particular night, J.T. spun a web about an awful “pan'er” which was prowling around the environs of the home of Cousin Armadillo. All the guys chuckled, seeing what was coming. As Armadillo started to leave, he was, so all thought, trembling, apprehensive of riding his horse home through the dark forest. 
                 
As soon as Armadillo left, J.T. and the guys made for the forest ahead of the horseman. As Armadillo rode by them, from the deep thicket Wildman bellowed a scream that only a panther could imitate. Spooked, Cousin Armadillo’s horse dashed down the trail, with Armadillo gasping for air. 
                 
Enjoying the moment, the team ambled toward J.T.’s car, laughing profusely. Suddenly, however, a shot rang out followed by the sound of a horse galloping through the forest. Quickly, J.T. rushed his team into the car. I was along, then  seven years old.  J.T., my father, pushed me to the floor board as he pressed the gas amidst the sound of another shot. Though Cousin Armadillo would later deny any part of this, the next day a cow was found dead in the road at the very spot from where our car departed. In the cow’s head rested a bullet, of the type used by Cousin Armadillo.

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