My friend General "Red" Jackson, of Bellemeade, in the pleasant
mid-county of Tennessee, once did a feat which casts into the shade
even the feats of the men of the lariat. General Jackson, who afterwards
became one of the ablest and most renowned of the Confederate cavalry
leaders, was at the time a young officer in the Mounted Rifle Regiment,
now known as the 3rd United States Cavalry. It was some years before
the Civil War, and the regiment was on duty in the Southwest, then the
debatable land of Comanche and Apache. While on a scout after hostile
Indians, the troops in their march roused a large grisly which sped off
across the plain in front of them. Strict orders had been issued against
firing at game, because of the nearness of the Indians. Young Jackson
was a man of great strength, a keen swordsman, who always kept the
finest edge on his blade, and he was on a swift and mettled Kentucky
horse, which luckily had but one eye. Riding at full speed he soon
overtook the quarry. As the horse hoofs sounded nearer, the grim bear
ceased its flight, and whirling round stood at bay, raising itself on
its hind-legs and threatening its pursuer with bared fangs and spread
claws.
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