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fish out and nearly got drowned before he could swim to the bank with it.
    But when I tried to tell Mama what really happened, she wouldn’t let me. “Now, this is Arliss’s story,” she said. “You let him tell it the way he wants to.”
    I told Mama then, I said: “Mama, that old yeller dog is going to make the biggest liar in Texas out of Little Arliss.”
    But Mama just laughed at me, like she always laughed at Little Arliss’s big windies after she’d gotten off where he couldn’t hear her. She said for me to let Little Arliss alone. She said that if he ever told a bigger whopper than the ones I used to tell, she had yet to hear it.
    Well, I hushed then. If Mama wanted Little Arliss to grow up to be the biggest liar in Texas, I guessed it wasn’t any of my business.
    All of which, I figure, is what led up to Little Arliss’s catching the bear. I think Mama had let him tell so many big yarns about his catching live game that he’d begun to believe them himself.
     
    When it happened, I was down the creek a ways, splitting rails to fix up the yard fence where the bulls had torn it down, I’d been down there since dinner, working in a stand of tall slim post oaks. I’d chop down a tree, trim off the branches as far up as I wanted, then cut away the rest of the top. After that I’d start splitting the log.
    I’d split the log by driving steel wedges into the wood. I’d start at the big end and hammer in a wedge with the back side of my axe. This would start a little split running lengthways of the log. Then I’d take a second wedge and drive it into this split. This would split the log further along and, at the same time, loosen the first wedge. I’d then knock the first wedge loose and move it up in front of the second one.
    Driving one wedge ahead of the other like that, I could finally split a log in two halves. Then I’d go to work on the halves, splitting them apart. That way, from each log, I’d come out with four rails.
    Swinging that chopping axe was sure hard work. The sweat poured off me. My back muscles ached. The axe got so heavy I could hardly swing it. My breath got harder and harder to breathe.
    An hour before sundown, I was worn down to a nub. It seemed like I couldn’t hit another lick. Papa could have lasted till past sundown, but I didn’t see how I could. I shouldered my axe and started toward the cabin, trying to think up some excuse to tell Mama to keep her from knowing I was played clear out.
    That’s when I heard Little Arliss scream.
    Well, Little Arliss was a screamer by nature. He’d scream when he was happy and scream when he was mad and a lot of times he’d scream just to hear himself make a noise. Generally, we paid no more mind to his screaming than we did to the gobble of a wild turkey.
    But this time was different. The second Iheard his screaming, I felt my heart flop clear over. This time I knew Little Arliss was in real trouble.
    I tore out up the trail leading toward the cabin. A minute before, I’d been so tired out with my rail splitting that I couldn’t have struck a trot. But now I raced through the tall trees in that creek bottom, covering ground like a scared wolf.
    Little Arliss’s second scream, when it came, was louder and shriller and more frantic-sounding than the first. Mixed with it was a whimpering crying sound that I knew didn’t come from him. It was a sound I’d heard before and seemed like I ought to know what it was, but right then I couldn’t place it.
    Then, from way off to one side came a sound that I would have recognized anywhere. It was the coughing roar of a charging bear. I’d just heard it once in my life. That was the time Mama had shot and wounded a hog-killing bear and Papa had had to finish it off with a knife to keep it from getting her.
    My heart went to pushing up into my throat, nearly choking off my wind. I strained for everylick of speed I could get out of my running legs. I didn’t know what sort of fix Little Arliss