This ones sorta long but could be abridged if needed; (Maybe Stans familiar with this gentleman)
Glover & the Quail;
In a small village sommers in South Georgia around the turn of the last century a young lady named Gloria Glover married a young man named Barry Benton. About 10 months a baby boy was born. He was named Glover Benton. His maternal Grandfather was a Bird Hunter & began carrying Glover along at a very young age. He soon acquired a shotgun of his own & began to shoot quite well for his age. By the time he had turned around 18 he had become a most excellent shot. At about age 21 his Grandfather Glover became unable to hunt anymore so gave grandson Glover his treasured Bird Gun, a 16ga CHE Parker Bros. Glover took to this gun like a duck to water & was soon known all over South Georgia as the best Bird Hunter around.
One Crisp fall day the locals had gathered around the pot-bellied stove at the general store rather early. Glover entered by the front door, walked past the men around the stove without so much as a glance nor spoke a word & went to the back & picked up some 16ga shells & started toward the counter. As he came back by the stove one gentleman spoke up & asked How'd the bird hunting go today Glover. Glover stopped, looked at them then said;
Went out to the big Steven's farm, started up at the north end & hunted all the length of it & didn't raise nary a bird. Was just coming down to the south end in the afternoon where Mr Stevens has the long narrow 20 acre pea patch. It lays long ways along side the Crick on the left with a brushy hillside on the right. Sent ol Sam along the fence row between the pea patch & the hill. Ol Sam has a nose that if ary a quail had walked from the pea patch to the brush or back in the last three days he'd a smelt him. Well he went the full length of that fence row & didn't pick up a thin, went around the eend & started back up the creek side. About three quarters of the way back up that side he suddenly turned his head to right & locked up like a stone Statute. On the crick side of the pea patch there is about a 5 foot bank with a flood plain about 20 yards wide to the crick that is all weedy. Along the crick is an old rock fence that was built way back a'fore the Yankees came through. I parted some brush & looked through toward the crick. Sitting along the top a that rock fence was more Birds than I had ever seen in one place at the same time in all my life. My mouth gaped open & I thought thar must be a hunnerd of them Birds.
I counted them, sho nuff was perzakly a hunnerd of'em. Now yopu all know that I don't cotton to shooting a bird without giving him a sporting chance, but the thought hit me, Glover, you ain't ever in yore life gonna see anything like this agin. They wuz just setting thar in a neat line, beak to tail with no gap teix them. Well I thinks Glover you've got an oz of #8 lead in each barrel so that's about 800 of them little pellets & thar ain't but 100 birds , so I though as to my best way to get the most. What I come up with was I stuck the snout of that little Pakah thru the brush & made sure I had swinging room. I pointed her about 20 feet behind the last bird & swung forward jess as hard as I could with two fingers on the triggers. As the muzzle came to the rear bird I pulled the first trigger, kept swanging & hit the other trigger. When the smoke had cleared & the flopping stopped & I worked my way through the wqeedas & briars over to that rock fence I started picking up birds. You know I kilt 99 of them birds.
The crowd was totally silent for a bit, finally one gentleman spit a stream of amber into an empty Mater Juice can that rang like a dinner bell. Then he looked at Glover & spoke, said Glover Why din't you jest tell us you kilt all hunnerd of them birds. Glover flushed a bright cherry red, his eye flamed with a lok that could kill. Then he got a hold of hisself & looked the gentleman straight in the the Eye, "Surely Luther, Surely you are not insinuating I should take up Lying for one more little ol Bird."
