They had been up on Cedar Knob Mountain looking around, and there was that bobcat 12 or 14 feet directly below them, lying in the shade on a ledge. Apparently the cat didn't see the boys. They stepped back quickly and planned their strategy. One boy had a pump-gun, the other one a single shot. They planned to advance quietly to the spot above the cat, take good aim and both begin firing. The boy with the single shot gun carried an extra shell in his hand ready to reload as quickly as possible. Then they walked slowly to their vantage point and carried out their mission. By the time the boy with the single shot gun had reloaded and fired his second shell, the other boy had emptied the magazine on his gun--all 15 shells, and the bobcat lay very dead. But they didn't know what it was that they had killed, so they didn't go near it, but ran home for help. We skinned the cat to get his pelt, and would you believe it, we found two bullet holes--and only two--in his head, and none anywhere else. We believe that the boys killed him with their first two shots and missed him completely with all the others. We lived on that farm 17 years, and if we had lived there 50 more, I believe something new would have happened the last day we lived there, as well as each and every week during that time. One fall I got a job helping at the Royston gin. I had my welding torch and all my tools in a closed-in trailer. When I wasn't helping gin cotton I was repairing gin machinery. One Saturday they put me to helping load bales of cotton on trucks to be hauled to the Hamlin Compress. The trucks were large truck and trailer jobs. We stood up one layer of bales on the truck, then we stood up another layer of bales on the first layer. Then we placed another layer lying down on top of those two layers. Now, doing all that purely by main strength and awkwardness took a lot of energy and manpower. By the end of the day I was possessed with a lot of awkwardness, and all my manpower was gone. So I used my head. At the close of work that Saturday, I took all my tools home, and Sunday after church I built an A-frame on the back of my tractor, tall enough to lift bales of cotton three-layers high up on a truck. The tractor motor did all the work. No man ever had to lift another bale of cotton as long as I worked there. The men laughed at me for being so lazy. After that they said, "Give Johnson the hard jobs, he'll make them easy." Along with all our work, we had our share of fun. Clarence Clark was a farmer who lived about a mile from the Royston store, and he loved a good joke as much as or more than the next fellow. And he also liked to play practical jokes on other people. Nor did he seem to mind if one of his jokes backfired right in his face.