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In 1967, I was 17 years old and enjoyed going to the family cabin in Montgomery County. Our property backed up to the Sam Houston National Forest and the isolation of its 92,000 acres was perfect for hunting, plinking, spending time with a girlfriend and just generally enjoying a much slower pace and simpler time. There literally was no one around for miles. Crime in the area was almost unheard of and neither my parents or my friends’ parents gave a second thought to the kids spending weekends at the cabin. Our little piece of Utopia was shattered in the early morning hours of what was to have been yet another Saturday in the country.

I and a good friend had met two girls at the Huntsville State Park a week earlier and they invited us to come back the next Saturday. Don and I took my ‘68 Mustang Fastback (390 cid/ 4 speed for my fellow gearheads) to the cabin late Friday afternoon and spent some time in the forest plinking on a stock watering tank. We went back to the cabin, fixed dinner and finally went to bed about midnight. The cabin had a full width screen porch on the front with four double beds and ceiling fans. When the weather cooperated, it was great sleeping! It was cool and I loved falling to sleep hearing the sounds of night in a forest. The only door on the porch was a simple screen door with no lock; only a simple hook we never even bothered to latch.

On this fateful evening, I had been sleeping for about 2 hours or so when I woke up with a strange feeling of foreboding. I had never felt the least bit concerned about sleeping on the unlocked porch, but something just wasn’t right. I reached down slowly just to touch my S&W Model 19 .357 mag. and make sure it was there if I needed it. I didn’t have any specific fear, just a this feeling of dread. Just as I touched the Model 19, I turned my head slowly to the left and saw someone standing inside the porch at the foot of Don’s bed. I can’t describe how this felt. This wasn’t just a man, he was the biggest guy I’d ever seen; well over 6 feet tall, probably closer to 6' 5"!

Still pretending to be asleep, I tried to decide what to do. My grip tightened on the Smith and I slowed raised by arm back to the bed, moving as one would move while sleeping and turning over, etc. The last thing I wanted to do was let this guy realize I was awake or that I had a gun. He was silhouetted against the screen and I couldn’t see if he was armed, but he was far to close to Don and any move I made could cause him to attack Don before he had a chance to shoot.

I decided to take the shot, but I had to make sure it wasn’t Don trying to play a joke by standing on a box or something. I couldn’t raise my head off the pillow to look at Don to verify he was still in bed without giving myself away, so the only thing I thought of was to yell Don’s name and see where he was when he responded. It wasn’t a great plan, but it was all I could muster at the time. There was a risk that he would not merely respond, but would raise up in his bed, but I would still have a good shot, if the guy didn’t jump toward Don. I kept thinking, “this can’t be happening!!� How did this guy find us and how did he get in so silently that we didn’t wake up?

Well, I decided I couldn’t just wait until he attacked, so I made my move. I screamed Don’s name and he hollered a terrified “WHAT!!!?� Oh my God, he was laying down - the guy next to his bed was not Don. I raised up in an instant and fired 3 rounds into his chest. He jerked noticeably, but he didn’t go down!! This really can’t be happing to me!! Don started screaming and rolled onto the floor between the two beds as I fired the last three rounds in the revolver. The guy was still upright but was clearly hit. I jumped from the bed, reloaded using a speedstrip and prepared to hammer him again. It’s funny what you think at times like this. My mind was racing and I remembered that Cleveland “Big Cat� Williams had taken 2 or 3 rounds from a DPS Troopers’ S&W Model 28 and still managed to choke the Trooper into unconsciousness. I thought to myself, Big Cat must be out of prison and standing in my cabin! Head shots, I have to take head shots, but I can’t do it in the dark and turning on the light would let him see everything clearly. I had no choice, I had to take head shots so I reached for the light switch with my left hand aiming with my right. As the light came on, it quickly became obvious that all six 357 rounds had found their mark squarely in the center of a nice, brand spanking new western shirt that Don had hung on the cribbing of the cabin wall. The 6' 5" intruder was actually Don’s long-sleeved western shirt hanging on a hanger with his nicely starched Levi’s hanging below. (When I later asked him why he hung the Levi’s from the waist band rather than folding them over the hanger he told me didn’t want to get a crease in them - well, the Levi’s didn’t get creased, but the shirt sure did!)

Don was still screaming and doing a low crawl under my bed, heading for the inner rooms of the cabin. My knees were still shaking and I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry - tears of joy, that is. As he appeared from under my bed, still practicing his “become one with the floor� drill, I calmly asked him why he didn’t simply hang his clothes in the closet like normal people. At first, he had this quizzical look on his face, then he realized what had happened. He couldn’t believe I had shot his new shirt; it was at that point I considered shooting him - not to kill him mind you, just to take off a toe or something. After the adrenalin dump had worn off, we both laughed ourselves sick. Don even wore the shirt to the State Park that night and when people would ask what happed to the shirt, he dryly said “Charles shot me.�

So what does this have to do with unlocked cabins? Not a thing; I had to have something in the subject line and anything on point would have given away the story’s ending.

Since I’ve posted more than once about target identification, I thought it only fair that I tell this story of a time when I didn’t really live what I now preach. I hope you folks enjoyed it.

Regards,
Chas.

Great story Charles.

One thing though. I don't remember speed loaders that far back.

Maybe I was to poor or, oh it can't be that my mind is going. Naw, that can't be it. I'm not thaaaaaat old. Or am I?

RPBrown wrote:Great story Charles.

One thing though. I don't remember speed loaders that far back.

Maybe I was to poor or, oh it can't be that my mind is going. Naw, that can't be it. I'm not thaaaaaat old. Or am I?

I think Safariland was the only company making them then, but I may be wrong.

Chas.

Good one, Charles! Scary, but a good one!

Reminds me of a Jesse Duplantis sermon from early in his traveling ministry. He was spending the night in someone's spare room, and woke up in the middle of the night to see a tall dark figure hovering in the corner, swaying back and forth.

Being young and on fire and eager to cast out devils, he started rebuking. That didn't work, so he started preaching. The shadowy presence just kept turning back and forth. He was up standing on the foot of the bed, preaching and rebuking and spitting all night, until the sun peeked up and he saw... a raincoat, hanging on a coatrack. The A/C would kick on and make it sway back and forth.

Some demons are tougher than others.



Kevin

Charles, that is one hilarious story with a good lesson. Thanks for sharing.

We cannot have anymore replies that fail to notice that chas placed 6 shots COM in the dark upon waking from a cold sleep...with a .357...not exactly a "fall to your point of aim" caliber.

Don't mess with him.

Good shooting, and glad it was just funny!

-nick

Charles L. Cotton wrote:I think Safariland was the only company making them then, but I may be wrong.

Yeah, I have to take this one back, I'm wrong. As I recall, there were at least two different styles; one with simple rubber "rails" with no specific spacing and another with round recesses in the rubber for the rim to rest in to better space the rounds for feeding into the cylinder. Safariland's came in a leather case that looked like their dump pouches, but opened at the top. A rubber extension protruded upward so you could grab it and pull the rounds out.

Regards,
Chas.

gigag04 wrote:We cannot have anymore replies that fail to notice that chas placed 6 shots COM in the dark upon waking from a cold sleep...with a .357...not exactly a "fall to your point of aim" caliber.

Don't mess with him.

Good shooting, and glad it was just funny!

-nick

I wish I had a picture of me blowing smoke from the muzzle of a revolver, but it really wasn't that great of a shooting exhibition. The width of two double bed plus a night stand between them put the "guy" only about 12' to 15' from me, so it was a close shot. The moon was bright which silhouetted his dark shape against the screen, so I had a clear target outline, albeit a faceless one! At 17, I had already been shooting for 13 years - I'm sure that has some modern-day parents wincing.

Regards,
Chas.

Charles L. Cotton wrote:At 17, I had already been shooting for 13 years - I'm sure that has some modern-day parents wincing.

Or not. My son is 3 and will probably get his first trip to the range with me in a year or two...

Dittos. My 3yo will probably get to pull the trigger before his next birthday. I was 3 the first time I got to shoot (and I remember it clearly).

Of the teensy kids' rifles, I'm undecided between the Chipmunk and the Henry. In the slightly larger youth rifles, I'm thinking the Savage looks great, and might be perfect for my middle son's 11th birthday this summer.

Kevin

I am thinking that a CZ 452 Scout might be just about perfect for him when he hits 5...

Charles L. Cotton wrote:In 1967, I was 17 years old and enjoyed going to the family cabin in Montgomery County. Our property backed up to the Sam Houston National Forest and the isolation of its 92,000 acres was perfect for hunting, plinking, spending time with a girlfriend and just generally enjoying a much slower pace and simpler time. There literally was no one around for miles. Crime in the area was almost unheard of and neither my parents or my friends’ parents gave a second thought to the kids spending weekends at the cabin. Our little piece of Utopia was shattered in the early morning hours of what was to have been yet another Saturday in the country.

I and a good friend had met two girls at the Huntsville State Park a week earlier and they invited us to come back the next Saturday. Don and I took my ‘68 Mustang Fastback (390 cid/ 4 speed for my fellow gearheads) to the cabin late Friday afternoon and spent some time in the forest plinking on a stock watering tank. We went back to the cabin, fixed dinner and finally went to bed about midnight. The cabin had a full width screen porch on the front with four double beds and ceiling fans. When the weather cooperated, it was great sleeping! It was cool and I loved falling to sleep hearing the sounds of night in a forest. The only door on the porch was a simple screen door with no lock; only a simple hook we never even bothered to latch.

On this fateful evening, I had been sleeping for about 2 hours or so when I woke up with a strange feeling of foreboding. I had never felt the least bit concerned about sleeping on the unlocked porch, but something just wasn’t right. I reached down slowly just to touch my S&W Model 19 .357 mag. and make sure it was there if I needed it. I didn’t have any specific fear, just a this feeling of dread. Just as I touched the Model 19, I turned my head slowly to the left and saw someone standing inside the porch at the foot of Don’s bed. I can’t describe how this felt. This wasn’t just a man, he was the biggest guy I’d ever seen; well over 6 feet tall, probably closer to 6' 5"!

Still pretending to be asleep, I tried to decide what to do. My grip tightened on the Smith and I slowed raised by arm back to the bed, moving as one would move while sleeping and turning over, etc. The last thing I wanted to do was let this guy realize I was awake or that I had a gun. He was silhouetted against the screen and I couldn’t see if he was armed, but he was far to close to Don and any move I made could cause him to attack Don before he had a chance to shoot.

I decided to take the shot, but I had to make sure it wasn’t Don trying to play a joke by standing on a box or something. I couldn’t raise my head off the pillow to look at Don to verify he was still in bed without giving myself away, so the only thing I thought of was to yell Don’s name and see where he was when he responded. It wasn’t a great plan, but it was all I could muster at the time. There was a risk that he would not merely respond, but would raise up in his bed, but I would still have a good shot, if the guy didn’t jump toward Don. I kept thinking, “this can’t be happening!!� How did this guy find us and how did he get in so silently that we didn’t wake up?

Well, I decided I couldn’t just wait until he attacked, so I made my move. I screamed Don’s name and he hollered a terrified “WHAT!!!?� Oh my God, he was laying down - the guy next to his bed was not Don. I raised up in an instant and fired 3 rounds into his chest. He jerked noticeably, but he didn’t go down!! This really can’t be happing to me!! Don started screaming and rolled onto the floor between the two beds as I fired the last three rounds in the revolver. The guy was still upright but was clearly hit. I jumped from the bed, reloaded using a speedstrip and prepared to hammer him again. It’s funny what you think at times like this. My mind was racing and I remembered that Cleveland “Big Cat� Williams had taken 2 or 3 rounds from a DPS Troopers’ S&W Model 28 and still managed to choke the Trooper into unconsciousness. I thought to myself, Big Cat must be out of prison and standing in my cabin! Head shots, I have to take head shots, but I can’t do it in the dark and turning on the light would let him see everything clearly. I had no choice, I had to take head shots so I reached for the light switch with my left hand aiming with my right. As the light came on, it quickly became obvious that all six 357 rounds had found their mark squarely in the center of a nice, brand spanking new western shirt that Don had hung on the cribbing of the cabin wall. The 6' 5" intruder was actually Don’s long-sleeved western shirt hanging on a hanger with his nicely starched Levi’s hanging below. (When I later asked him why he hung the Levi’s from the waist band rather than folding them over the hanger he told me didn’t want to get a crease in them - well, the Levi’s didn’t get creased, but the shirt sure did!)

Don was still screaming and doing a low crawl under my bed, heading for the inner rooms of the cabin. My knees were still shaking and I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry - tears of joy, that is. As he appeared from under my bed, still practicing his “become one with the floor� drill, I calmly asked him why he didn’t simply hang his clothes in the closet like normal people. At first, he had this quizzical look on his face, then he realized what had happened. He couldn’t believe I had shot his new shirt; it was at that point I considered shooting him - not to kill him mind you, just to take off a toe or something. After the adrenalin dump had worn off, we both laughed ourselves sick. Don even wore the shirt to the State Park that night and when people would ask what happed to the shirt, he dryly said “Charles shot me.�

So what does this have to do with unlocked cabins? Not a thing; I had to have something in the subject line and anything on point would have given away the story’s ending.

Since I’ve posted more than once about target identification, I thought it only fair that I tell this story of a time when I didn’t really live what I now preach. I hope you folks enjoyed it.

Regards,
Chas.

I'd "like" this story a million times if I could.

Charles L. Cotton wrote: In 1967, I was 17 years old and enjoyed going to the family cabin in Montgomery County. Our property backed up to the Sam Houston National Forest and the isolation of its 92,000 acres was perfect for hunting, plinking, spending time with a girlfriend and just generally enjoying a much slower pace and simpler time. There literally was no one around for miles. Crime in the area was almost unheard of and neither my parents or my friends' parents gave a second thought to the kids spending weekends at the cabin. Our little piece of Utopia was shattered in the early morning hours of what was to have been yet another Saturday in the country.

I and a good friend had met two girls at the Huntsville State Park a week earlier and they invited us to come back the next Saturday. Don and I took my '68 Mustang Fastback (390 cid/ 4 speed for my fellow gearheads) to the cabin late Friday afternoon and spent some time in the forest plinking on a stock watering tank. We went back to the cabin, fixed dinner and finally went to bed about midnight. The cabin had a full width screen porch on the front with four double beds and ceiling fans. When the weather cooperated, it was great sleeping! It was cool and I loved falling to sleep hearing the sounds of night in a forest. The only door on the porch was a simple screen door with no lock; only a simple hook we never even bothered to latch.

On this fateful evening, I had been sleeping for about 2 hours or so when I woke up with a strange feeling of foreboding. I had never felt the least bit concerned about sleeping on the unlocked porch, but something just wasn't right. I reached down slowly just to touch my S&W Model 19 .357 mag. and make sure it was there if I needed it. I didn't have any specific fear, just a this feeling of dread. Just as I touched the Model 19, I turned my head slowly to the left and saw someone standing inside the porch at the foot of Don's bed. I can't describe how this felt. This wasn't just a man, he was the biggest guy I'd ever seen; well over 6 feet tall, probably closer to 6' 5"!

Still pretending to be asleep, I tried to decide what to do. My grip tightened on the Smith and I slowed raised by arm back to the bed, moving as one would move while sleeping and turning over, etc. The last thing I wanted to do was let this guy realize I was awake or that I had a gun. He was silhouetted against the screen and I couldn't see if he was armed, but he was far to close to Don and any move I made could cause him to attack Don before he had a chance to shoot.

I decided to take the shot, but I had to make sure it wasn't Don trying to play a joke by standing on a box or something. I couldn't raise my head off the pillow to look at Don to verify he was still in bed without giving myself away, so the only thing I thought of was to yell Don's name and see where he was when he responded. It wasn't a great plan, but it was all I could muster at the time. There was a risk that he would not merely respond, but would raise up in his bed, but I would still have a good shot, if the guy didn't jump toward Don. I kept thinking, "this can't be happening!!" How did this guy find us and how did he get in so silently that we didn't wake up?

Well, I decided I couldn't just wait until he attacked, so I made my move. I screamed Don's name and he hollered a terrified "WHAT!!!?" Oh my God, he was laying down - the guy next to his bed was not Don. I raised up in an instant and fired 3 rounds into his chest. He jerked noticeably, but he didn't go down!! This really can't be happing to me!! Don started screaming and rolled onto the floor between the two beds as I fired the last three rounds in the revolver. The guy was still upright but was clearly hit. I jumped from the bed, reloaded using a speedstrip and prepared to hammer him again. It's funny what you think at times like this. My mind was racing and I remembered that Cleveland "Big Cat" Williams had taken 2 or 3 rounds from a DPS Troopers' S&W Model 28 and still managed to choke the Trooper into unconsciousness. I thought to myself, Big Cat must be out of prison and standing in my cabin! Head shots, I have to take head shots, but I can't do it in the dark and turning on the light would let him see everything clearly. I had no choice, I had to take head shots so I reached for the light switch with my left hand aiming with my right. As the light came on, it quickly became obvious that all six 357 rounds had found their mark squarely in the center of a nice, brand spanking new western shirt that Don had hung on the cribbing of the cabin wall. The 6' 5" intruder was actually Don's long-sleeved western shirt hanging on a hanger with his nicely starched Levi's hanging below. (When I later asked him why he hung the Levi's from the waist band rather than folding them over the hanger he told me didn't want to get a crease in them - well, the Levi's didn't get creased, but the shirt sure did!)

Don was still screaming and doing a low crawl under my bed, heading for the inner rooms of the cabin. My knees were still shaking and I didn't know whether to laugh or cry - tears of joy, that is. As he appeared from under my bed, still practicing his "become one with the floor" drill, I calmly asked him why he didn't simply hang his clothes in the closet like normal people. At first, he had this quizzical look on his face, then he realized what had happened. He couldn't believe I had shot his new shirt; it was at that point I considered shooting him - not to kill him mind you, just to take off a toe or something. After the adrenalin dump had worn off, we both laughed ourselves sick. Don even wore the shirt to the State Park that night and when people would ask what happed to the shirt, he dryly said "Charles shot me."

So what does this have to do with unlocked cabins? Not a thing; I had to have something in the subject line and anything on point would have given away the story's ending.

Since I've posted more than once about target identification, I thought it only fair that I tell this story of a time when I didn't really live what I now preach. I hope you folks enjoyed it.

Regards,
Chas.

Great story! Don't know how I missed this one after all these years. Anyway, I fixed all the special characters that aren't translating.

I'm probably the only one wondering........what did the six shot group look like?

The Annoyed Man wrote:

Charles L. Cotton wrote: In 1967, I was 17 years old and enjoyed going to the family cabin in Montgomery County. Our property backed up to the Sam Houston National Forest and the isolation of its 92,000 acres was perfect for hunting, plinking, spending time with a girlfriend and just generally enjoying a much slower pace and simpler time. There literally was no one around for miles. Crime in the area was almost unheard of and neither my parents or my friends' parents gave a second thought to the kids spending weekends at the cabin. Our little piece of Utopia was shattered in the early morning hours of what was to have been yet another Saturday in the country.

I and a good friend had met two girls at the Huntsville State Park a week earlier and they invited us to come back the next Saturday. Don and I took my '68 Mustang Fastback (390 cid/ 4 speed for my fellow gearheads) to the cabin late Friday afternoon and spent some time in the forest plinking on a stock watering tank. We went back to the cabin, fixed dinner and finally went to bed about midnight. The cabin had a full width screen porch on the front with four double beds and ceiling fans. When the weather cooperated, it was great sleeping! It was cool and I loved falling to sleep hearing the sounds of night in a forest. The only door on the porch was a simple screen door with no lock; only a simple hook we never even bothered to latch.

On this fateful evening, I had been sleeping for about 2 hours or so when I woke up with a strange feeling of foreboding. I had never felt the least bit concerned about sleeping on the unlocked porch, but something just wasn't right. I reached down slowly just to touch my S&W Model 19 .357 mag. and make sure it was there if I needed it. I didn't have any specific fear, just a this feeling of dread. Just as I touched the Model 19, I turned my head slowly to the left and saw someone standing inside the porch at the foot of Don's bed. I can't describe how this felt. This wasn't just a man, he was the biggest guy I'd ever seen; well over 6 feet tall, probably closer to 6' 5"!

Still pretending to be asleep, I tried to decide what to do. My grip tightened on the Smith and I slowed raised by arm back to the bed, moving as one would move while sleeping and turning over, etc. The last thing I wanted to do was let this guy realize I was awake or that I had a gun. He was silhouetted against the screen and I couldn't see if he was armed, but he was far to close to Don and any move I made could cause him to attack Don before he had a chance to shoot.

I decided to take the shot, but I had to make sure it wasn't Don trying to play a joke by standing on a box or something. I couldn't raise my head off the pillow to look at Don to verify he was still in bed without giving myself away, so the only thing I thought of was to yell Don's name and see where he was when he responded. It wasn't a great plan, but it was all I could muster at the time. There was a risk that he would not merely respond, but would raise up in his bed, but I would still have a good shot, if the guy didn't jump toward Don. I kept thinking, "this can't be happening!!" How did this guy find us and how did he get in so silently that we didn't wake up?

Well, I decided I couldn't just wait until he attacked, so I made my move. I screamed Don's name and he hollered a terrified "WHAT!!!?" Oh my God, he was laying down - the guy next to his bed was not Don. I raised up in an instant and fired 3 rounds into his chest. He jerked noticeably, but he didn't go down!! This really can't be happing to me!! Don started screaming and rolled onto the floor between the two beds as I fired the last three rounds in the revolver. The guy was still upright but was clearly hit. I jumped from the bed, reloaded using a speedstrip and prepared to hammer him again. It's funny what you think at times like this. My mind was racing and I remembered that Cleveland "Big Cat" Williams had taken 2 or 3 rounds from a DPS Troopers' S&W Model 28 and still managed to choke the Trooper into unconsciousness. I thought to myself, Big Cat must be out of prison and standing in my cabin! Head shots, I have to take head shots, but I can't do it in the dark and turning on the light would let him see everything clearly. I had no choice, I had to take head shots so I reached for the light switch with my left hand aiming with my right. As the light came on, it quickly became obvious that all six 357 rounds had found their mark squarely in the center of a nice, brand spanking new western shirt that Don had hung on the cribbing of the cabin wall. The 6' 5" intruder was actually Don's long-sleeved western shirt hanging on a hanger with his nicely starched Levi's hanging below. (When I later asked him why he hung the Levi's from the waist band rather than folding them over the hanger he told me didn't want to get a crease in them - well, the Levi's didn't get creased, but the shirt sure did!)

Don was still screaming and doing a low crawl under my bed, heading for the inner rooms of the cabin. My knees were still shaking and I didn't know whether to laugh or cry - tears of joy, that is. As he appeared from under my bed, still practicing his "become one with the floor" drill, I calmly asked him why he didn't simply hang his clothes in the closet like normal people. At first, he had this quizzical look on his face, then he realized what had happened. He couldn't believe I had shot his new shirt; it was at that point I considered shooting him - not to kill him mind you, just to take off a toe or something. After the adrenalin dump had worn off, we both laughed ourselves sick. Don even wore the shirt to the State Park that night and when people would ask what happed to the shirt, he dryly said "Charles shot me."

So what does this have to do with unlocked cabins? Not a thing; I had to have something in the subject line and anything on point would have given away the story's ending.

Since I've posted more than once about target identification, I thought it only fair that I tell this story of a time when I didn't really live what I now preach. I hope you folks enjoyed it.

Regards,
Chas.

Great story! Don't know how I missed this one after all these years. Anyway, I fixed all the special characters that aren't translating.

wow! we loved reading this, great story. TAM, thanks for cleaning up the characters.