(This is part of the Growing Up In Utah's Dixie series, by LaVarr B. Webb)

 

Meat was a rare commodity in Dixie during the depression

years of the 1930's, so rabbit and quail hunting

were done out of necessity as much as it was for sport.

Rabbit suppers as a form of entertainment were as popular

as molasses candy pulls.

 

As one hunted the gullies and sage brush flats around

Virgin, it was always possible to kick up a rabbit or a covey

of quail. I found quail, however, almost impossible to bag

with a 22 rifle. They made very small targets, and were

constantly on the move. Once in a while one would see a

tasseled cock sitting on a rock or a fence post, but he was

very difficult to approach because he was on the high perch

as an observer, a sentinel. He was there for the visual

command that the high perch gave him of all the surrounding

area, and as soon as the hunter began to get within

range, he would hop or glide to the ground, alert his covey,

and all would run in short bursts, fly in short bursts, from

cover to cover until they were well out of sight and range.

 

Rabbits, though, made larger targets, especially jacks.

They also had the foolish habit of halting, periodically, in

flight, stopping sometimes right out in the open, stopping

to gaze in pop-eyed wonder at the intruding hunter.

 

Rabbits fell victims to my marksmanship regularly, as

I hunted, generally alone, walking the sage brush flats and

the gullies, skirting the fields and orchards, watching for

the bobbing white puff of the cottontail, or the long legged,

zig zag bounce of the jack.

 

I received my first twenty-two for Christmas, 1933,

when I was almost twelve years old. The following spring,

sometime in April or May, I was hunting near some fields

just west of the town of Virgin, and just north of the river.

I shot at a rabbit that was between me and one of the

fields. I missed, and the rabbit disappeared into the thick

brush. So, I continued on my way, walking slowly, always

alert for another shot.

 

About an hour later, I saw Leslie Wilcox, the town

marshal walking toward me. I stopped and waited after I

saw him wave at me. When he came up to me, he said,

"Jiggs," everyone in town, other than my mother, called

me Jiggs, "I'm going to have to take your gun." Of course,

I asked, "Why."

 

"Because," he said, "You shot Lisha Lee's hat off."

 

"Oh, no," I cried, 'I haven't been near Lisha Lee's place."

 

So, he explained that Elisha Lee had been watering

hay in the field near where I had been hunting.

Now Elisha Lee was an old man then. He was a son of

John D. Lee and somewhat of a relation of mine. I say

"somewhat" because John D. Lee had quite a few wives

and many children, and one of his daughters was my great

grandmother and Elisha's half sister.

 

Elisha, with his long white beard and hair, looked like a

prophet or patriarch, and according to the marshal, I had

shot his hat off! The marshal went on to say, "Lisha," who

was ordinarily very calm, "got real excited and upset when,

suddenly, his hat was blown right off his head."

 

Elisha had described to the marshal how he heard a

shot, and how his hat went flying, and how when he picked

it up, it had two holes in it - one where the bullet went in,

and the other where the bullet went out.

 

"Now," Marshal Wilcox added, "Lisha Lee is mad. In

fact, he wants me to arrest you, and you may spend some

time in the county jail. I saw his hat. That bullet missed

the top of his head by about one half of an inch."

 

I remember that I was very thankful that Lisha wore a

high crowned hat, but that didn't help much because the

marshal still took my gun away from me as he did he

muttered something like "Irresponsible kids shouldn't be

allowed to carry guns."

 

So, I lost my gun, one of the few things that was

really mine, and one of the few things that I loved. I sat

down on a rock and tried to figure what to do. I had shot

at a rabbit. I hadn't shot at Lisha Lee's hat. Therefore, I

reasoned, it had been an accident, but, I also reasoned,

how do you convince an upset man and a big, rawboned,

stubborn marshal, and, some angry parents, mine, that it

really was an accident. I didn't want to go home. I didn't

want to face Lisha Lee, my parents, or anyone else in town

but I had to, and I did.

 

To Elisha, I was a menace, to the marshal I was irresponsible,

to my parents, I was a problem, but to the other

kids in town, I was a bit of a hero. They got a big kick out

of knocking each others' hats off and saying, "Jiggs just

put a hole through it."

 

Oh, yes, a few weeks later, after a lecture, I did get

my gun back.