When the brazen sun of summer tames into the cooling refreshment of the fall season in the Ozarks, and the leaves change their green mantle for the multicolored glorious shades, That's the time to hunt the limb runners. The cool breeze of olden times and hickory smoke awakens the senses of kin folks and hunts long past, and the squirrel rifle gleams in the kitchen the evening before the hunt, as you prepare patches and bag horn and fixings in the leather bullet pouch. There is no finer feeling than stepping out the back gate of the yard of overgrown garden waste into the darkened woods with a muzzle loader when the air is fresh and alive and the squirrels are barking a challenge in the slightly frosty morning. Summer squirrel hunt? Not me. George.
