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Mid America Buckskinners Info Page

Billy "No Crumbs" and the Mouse Attack

Missouri Iowa Nebraska Kansas

No, it's not skinning bucks............ Developed and maintained by JP Finn

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Billy "No-Crumbs" and the Mouse Attack

The setting:
2 am, in a north Florida cattle pasture is a British Infantry Rev War bell back tent.

The Characters:
Billy (our hero)
The Mouse (the villain)

Billy camps with us at the Southeastern. This year he borrowed the new tent, both to maintain a little privacy and to see if it was the style of tent he was looking for. (A week in a tent is a good way to check it out)
Everyone brings too much stuff to a Rendezvous. The little tent was filled. Then, during the last of the week, his Parents and Kids stopped by for the day to see what it was that he was up to. They thoughtfully left a "Care Package" in the tent. Kids being what they are, sampled some of the goods - peanut butter crackers, in this case, and when leaving, left the opened package under some gear. (That's his story and he's sticking to it)

The Story:

Storm clouds whipped across the sky. The wind tugged at the silent and dark tents, pulling and pushing the canvas, looking for a loose piece to flap and pop in the night. It hummed in the guy ropes and worried at the little green flag that snapped like a bullwhip in protest.. Suddenly, the moon beamed through a rip in the heavens, lighting the field like a silent flash of lightening.. Seconds later the light was snuffed out as the driven clouds closed the momentary opening, pitching the camp into an even blacker darkness than before.
Scratch, scratch.
Billy sat bolt upright. He had become accustomed to the sound of the wind. This was a different sound!
Scratch, scratch.
"Opossum! It must be a 'possum in the tent to make that much racket!" Billy thought, as he tried to peer through the darkness.
He reached out for the period correct BIC lighter. Half way to the box at the foot of the pallet he froze. "And what if I grab a handful of 'possum, instead?"
There he sat, stretched out, frozen, peering into the darkness.
Scratch, scratch.
He grabbed at the box top, feeling the lighter and his 'hawk handle. "Ah-Ha!" he thought. Feverishly he spun the fire wheel, to no avail. Childproof!
Scratch, scratch.
Laying the hatchet on his legs, he worked the little lever, grabbed the hawk, raised it high, and struck a flame.
"Eeek!" roared the cracker-stuffed mouse.
"Ahhhhhh!" squeaked the 'hawk wielding buckskinner.
With a flip of his tail, the vicious rodent dashed under the tent flap into the impending storm.
Billy lit the candle lantern. Keeping the 'hawk close, he investigated the previous location of his vanished foe. Discovering the cracker crumbs, he gathered every trace of eatable goods and placed them in the plastic storage box at the foot of the bed. That finished, he lay back down, holding the tomahawk close, and tried to fall back asleep.
The wind blew through the camp, tugging at the silent and dark tents, and the lit one, pulling and pushing the canvas, looking for a loose piece to flap and pop in the night.

Billy "No-Crumbs" may have a rebuttal to this tale, but let it be known that he is very careful of exposed foodstuffs near his camp now-a-days.


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Billy's Rebuttal

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If you want to plaver, do so. Hey, jp!