Fire Bell Boys

The fire bell rang. The bunk house emptied out and the Summerlin boys were the first to the barn. There was no fire. In the barn,there was a horrid noise that sounded like two giant rats fighting in a sack. The boys drew their guns. “Let’s go in, “shouted Jack! “Don’t corner something that you know is meaner than you, “shouted John, “Stay here!” They braced themselves. The barn doors burst open. It was a bear, no ordinary bear, a prehistoric 15 foot 7 inch bear. John started to warn his brothers, “Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear…or a fool from any direction,” shouted little Joe! The Summerlin boys started shooting and kept shooting, till the bullets ran out. The bear didn’t care. “We’re going to die” cried John and fell to his knees to pray. “We’re going to die” agreed Joe, falling to his knees. Just then Jack looked over his shoulder, “It’s a twister, here comes a twister! Run! Everyone ran, even the bear.


Report to David Co. Sheriff's Dept

Report to Davidson Co. Sheriff’s Dept.

Submitted by George Furman of Furman’s Fantastic-Fantastic Photographic.

There is a proper way for  gentlemen to enter a Nashville Saloon at an advanced hour. I did not behave in that fashion. Weary of my labors in the photo studio - life is long and full of blisters - I felt a longing for the company of a fancy woman. I traveled the Buffalo Valley Road to Nashville.  Arriving in the city past midnight, I carelessly entered a shanty Irish saloon on 2nd Avenue. It was the wrong time.

Sitting at a table to the right of a wooden Indian was the sorry fellow who hornswoggled me out of an embarrassing sum of coin. His companion, a woman whom gentlemen need no longer be at pains to respect, spied me promptly. She rose and smashed a good bottle of George Dickel whiskey to a jagged edge. The man (whose name the good country lawyer & Judge William F Roberson Esq. - advises me to refrain from mentioning) stood to level insults and a pistol.

The man was influenced by Mr. Dickel’s oil of gladness and I know not what he said, but I knew what he meant. I drew my peacekeepers, checked my corners before advancing on the man. I noted two shaggy fellows ready to bushwhack me. I dispatched them directly. The hornswoggling son of a bitch took my distraction as an opportunity, fired a shot and rearranged my hair – I believe angels smile upon me.

I responded with two rounds to his chest and one to the brow – he died before raising the dust on the floor. The strumpet disappeared in the smoke of the gunfire but made her presence known. A blind stab in the dark with the jagged bottle and now I bear the scar. She disappeared and was not dealt with.