The first time I come up with alligators personal-like was on one of them ja’nts with Rance Deese. Rance was grunting the little ’gators out of the caves. Calling ’em—grunting the way they grunt. Here they come, little ’gators, swarming to the top of the pond. Some of ’em comes out of the pond and goes to running ever’ which-a-way. Rance was chooging ’em in a crocus sack. I was grabbing ’em here and yon. I had both hands full. I tried to get ’em all in one hand so I could grab and choog with t’other. Directly here one of them little scapers gets me by the finger and rips it clear open to the bone. I slung him here to yonder. He makes it up across the hill. I was eleven years old, but I had chitlin’s enough to follow him and fall on him and catch him.

Rance hisself learned to be right respectful of alligators before he was done with ’em. I was with him one time at the Big Cypress slough—you know where ’tis. ’Gators like to get where there’s a bunch of cypresses. They dig caves under the roots. Rance was kneeling down by a cave and fishing out little baby alligators about twelve inches long. He wasn’t paying no mind, and directly the old mammy ’gator come to the top of the water and caught Rance across the neck with her tail like it was a cow whip.

You see, a alligator don’t generally set out to bite you. He’ll flip his tail toward his head, and whatever his tail brings in to him, he’ll catch a-holt of. Rance ducked back out of range and the old ’gator sunk.

Rance jammed his hook down, but he couldn’t find her. He said, “She’ll turn up again.”

He eased over into the water and went to wading. The water in the slough caught him just above the waist. There was little ’gators milling around in the water and he went on scooping ’em in. He’d stuff ’em in his shirt. Rance always wore his pants tight, and his shirt stayed down good, and when he waded in amongst ’em thataway, he’d get a shirt full before he come out.

Rance said, “Joog the hook down again, Freddy; see can you find the old un.”

I jooged the hook down.

I said, “I can’t find her, Rance.”

He had his shirt full of little ’gators and he had both hands full.

He said, “I’ll find her.”

He waded around some more, feeling with his foot. Now, I wouldn’t say Rance found the alligator. It’s more like it to say she found him. She heaved up out of the water, and before he could get out of the way she was right on top of him, flipping her tail. She smacked him square across the face with it, and next thing I knowed, Rance had lost his little alligators out of both his hands, and his footing to boot. The old mammy was right in behind him. He slipped and sprawled and made mighty poor headway, and I could see him changing his notions about alligators.