Sunday school at the Post Oak
By A. Ray Lee
On an early January hunt, I led a group of men and placed them on a seldom-used stand line. The hunt master had cautioned me concerning the boundary of the club’s property. An old fence was to be my reference. We were to take our stands with it at our backs but at no point were we to cross it into the adjacent woods. It turned out to be a dismal and disappointing hunt. Only once or twice did I hear the dogs in the distance but there was not a single shot fired.
As I began to retrieve my standers I heard the sound of footfalls rushing through the dry leaves beyond the fence. I turned to look as two angry men charged menacingly toward me with rifles over their forearms pointed in my direction. I recognized one of them as a disgruntled former club member who had left the club because of some real or imagined grievance. He had the reputation of being a hot-headed bully. Some weeks before at gunpoint he had made a citizen’s arrest of an individual who had trespassed a few feet onto his property.
Nearby he had planted a game plot and built a substantial shooting house overlooking the field which was leased by the day to individuals who were willing to pay a high price to hunt in comfort. Apparently, his client had either seen me or heard me walk the fence line and had gone to complain and vent his displeasure.
As the property owner shifted his rifle more in line with me he demanded to know what I was doing on his property. Lifting my shotgun in his direction in response to his bullying posture to let him know I would not be intimidated, I replied to him in a firm but even voice, giving him my name and credentials as a club member of the Post Oak hunting club, and requested that he identify himself although I already knew his name and reputation. Reluctantly he told me who he was. Then I replied that I knew where the property line was and had at no time crossed it.
Not wishing to escalate the confrontation I turned and purposely walked away leaving him and his frustrated hunter behind. Not once did I look back until reaching the next man on the line. When I did not hear or see anyone following me I breathed a big sigh of relief.
I reported the incident to our hunt master, a man who stood over six feet tall and carried two hundred and forty pounds on his large frame. “Don’t worry about it,” he replied, “I’ll take care of the matter.”
When we gathered some days later for another hunt he gave me a report. “Preacher,” he said, “I saw Vaughn at church last week. When the service was over he and I had a private Sunday school. He will not bother you again.”