- He told his stories in a deep and rhythmic southern voice
- that sparkled, sun on water,
- in the language of his eyes
- and idled like the inboard engine of a Lone Star Launch
- muffled by the mist
- of a pine-scented summer sunrise.
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- "Eva heayah about..."he would playfully intone
- then, possessed by his memories, he would continue on
- about the time Jim Kennedy, the grand aristocrat
- of those enshrined in his northwoods pantheon,
- tried to squeeze the fifty-dollar bounty
- out of a timber wolf he wrestled into his boat
- right here in Oneida county
- out toward Olmstead's island on Lake Tomahawk
- until that critter half undressed him,
- clawing at him with its feet
- and he had to throw it overboard.
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