|P.W. has a dream
It was one 'a them nights back in August when it seemed like the sun never went down. Hotter'n blazes, and I wad'n sleepin' too good, jis' rollin' and sweatin' tryin' t' git my ol' brush pile cooled off enough t' rest. Th' moon come up, shinin' big an' meller 'long after midnight, and I commenced t' doze off.
Jist about th' time I was easin' off t' sleep I h'yeard this gre't big clatter off th'ough th' thicket, an' seen light a'shinin' on what looked t' me jis' like a big pond 'a water. I knowed they wad'n no lake aroun' there when I laid down, but this was plum' real, so I takened notice, t' figger out what was happ'nin'. I knowed right off th' racket was a purty good-sized diesel motor runnin', jis' goin' "Oooodn! Oooodn! Blam! Blam! Blam!" an' somebody hollerin' sump'n but I couldn' tell what they was sayin'. Nex' thing I knowed, I was pokin' th'ough th' saplin's lookin' at a gre't big Husky loader, swingin' around and 'round, bangin' and smokin', makin' the terrib'list commotion you ever h'yeard
Well, this was the derndest sight I ever seen, 'cause 'stead a' grapples, this here Husky had a big ol' spool 'a rope right there under the cab, run out t' th' end 'a th' boom, and it was swingin' back'ards 'n forwards, slingin' that rope out over that pond 'a water an' draggin' it back . . . I rubbed my eyes and says t' myself, "Now what in the hell is that thing a'doin'?"
I got up as clost as I could, and I seen it was ol' Richard Broomfield 'a runnin' that loader-of-a-thing, gruntin' and growlin' pullin' them levers, and sayin' "I'll catch one a' you yet, if it's th' last thing I do!"
Fin'ly it dawned on me somehow 'a nother - Richard was fishin' with that Husky, th'owin' that line out an' draggin' it back, gunnin' that diesel an' stirrin' up th' water.
Well sir, about that time I 'roused up and re'lized I was dreamin', but it seemed so real, my kneecaps was shakin' an' I was sweatin' an' tredmblin'.
Two 'r three days after that I was rootin' around over at Dodson an' I h'yeard ol' Richard tellin' somebody he had done an' bought out th' Black Lake Lodge, an' had it set up fer a sure 'nough huntin' an' fishin' resort over there in th' cypress brakes. Then I knowed why I was gittin' them mixed metter-fores in that crazy dream I had. It made sense, I reck'n, considerin' that Richard sells them Huskys at his equipment yard at Dodson, an' runs a loggin' job, an' now, he'll be pushin' fishin' at his new place over on Black Lake.
He's gittin' mighty di-verse, They aint' much that's more differ'nt than loggin' and fishin', 'less it was t' be loggin' and makin' money.