Two Davy Crockett Stories
Davy Crockett is a popular American folk hero. He was a real person, but today we remember him for the funny stories about him instead of for the exciting things he did. He liked to tell stories about himself. For a long time he was a congressman. In Congress, too, he liked to tell funny stories about himself before he began to talk about serious things. These stories are like many others he told.
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Two or three times a year I see the badman of the Ohio River, the boatman Mike Fink. We are friendly enemies. Once Mike sent me a letter. In the letter he invited me to a shooting match. He can shoot well, but I can shoot better. However, I lost this match. When I had time, I visited Mike Fink at his home. I got my gun ready for shooting. " You shoot first," said Mike. " All right," I said, and I shot at a cat a hundred and fifty yards away. The shot took the hair from its head, but the cat didn't move. It didn't know its hair was gone. " Not bad," said Mike. Then the cat began to wash its head. When it found its hair was gone, it turned its back and ran. That was a lucky cat, because now Mike Fink was looking for something to shoot at. When his gun was ready to shoot, he shot at a chicken. That chicken was at the end of the earth. When Mike's gun was empty, the chicken had only one feather on its back. "That's good shooting," I said politely, and then I shot off the last feather. That made me very happy, but Mike didn't say, "Very good! " this time. Instead he looked for another place to shoot. The chicken was hiding now, but Mike saw his wife instead. She went to the river three times a day to get water. Mike saw her walking up from the river with a pitcher of water in her hands. In her hair was a small comb, and shot away half of it. "Be still," Mike called to her. "Davy Crockett wants to shoot next." Mrs. Fink stood very still. "Try to shoot away the other half of the comb," said Mike. No, no, Mike," I said. "I'm too polite to shoot at a woman. You win the match, Mike."
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One time I was out with my gun. I was at a place called Great Gap when I saw a raccoon up in a tree. When I pointed my gun at him, he put up one paw and asked, "Is your name Crockett?" "That's right," I said. "My name is Davy Crockett." "Then you don't have to shoot," said the raccoon, "because I'm coming down. I know I can't hide from you, even if I run to the ends of the earth." He walked down the tree to me and stood still. I didn't move, and he said finally, "Here I am. Why don't you shoot me?" I couldn't shoot that raccoon. I patted him on the head and said, "I'll shoot myself before I shoot at a hair off your head. I never heard a better compliment." "I'm glad you think that," said the raccoon. "Now I'll go away. I believe you,, but I don't want to be here when you change your mind."
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Two or three times a year I see the badman of the Ohio River, the boatman Mike Fink. We are friendly enemies. Once Mike sent me a letter. In the letter he invited me to a shooting match. He can shoot well, but I can shoot better. However, I lost this match. When I had time, I visited Mike Fink at his home. I got my gun ready for shooting. " You shoot first," said Mike. " All right," I said, and I shot at a cat a hundred and fifty yards away. The shot took the hair from its head, but the cat didn't move. It didn't know its hair was gone. " Not bad," said Mike. Then the cat began to wash its head. When it found its hair was gone, it turned its back and ran. That was a lucky cat, because now Mike Fink was looking for something to shoot at. When his gun was ready to shoot, he shot at a chicken. That chicken was at the end of the earth. When Mike's gun was empty, the chicken had only one feather on its back. "That's good shooting," I said politely, and then I shot off the last feather. That made me very happy, but Mike didn't say, "Very good! " this time. Instead he looked for another place to shoot. The chicken was hiding now, but Mike saw his wife instead. She went to the river three times a day to get water. Mike saw her walking up from the river with a pitcher of water in her hands. In her hair was a small comb, and shot away half of it. "Be still," Mike called to her. "Davy Crockett wants to shoot next." Mrs. Fink stood very still. "Try to shoot away the other half of the comb," said Mike. No, no, Mike," I said. "I'm too polite to shoot at a woman. You win the match, Mike."
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One time I was out with my gun. I was at a place called Great Gap when I saw a raccoon up in a tree. When I pointed my gun at him, he put up one paw and asked, "Is your name Crockett?" "That's right," I said. "My name is Davy Crockett." "Then you don't have to shoot," said the raccoon, "because I'm coming down. I know I can't hide from you, even if I run to the ends of the earth." He walked down the tree to me and stood still. I didn't move, and he said finally, "Here I am. Why don't you shoot me?" I couldn't shoot that raccoon. I patted him on the head and said, "I'll shoot myself before I shoot at a hair off your head. I never heard a better compliment." "I'm glad you think that," said the raccoon. "Now I'll go away. I believe you,, but I don't want to be here when you change your mind."
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