George Liverton met with a remarkable tree-adventure, from which, however, he escaped alive and, to his own wonderment, almost unhurt. It was about 1870 that he was out one day coon-hunting, and, treeing a specimen, mounted nimbly upwards to secure his prize. Up he went and up went the coon until the top of the tree was not far away, and then the animal, scrambling out upon a limb, tremblingly awaited the issue. Liverton, dead to every thought or consideration save the one consuming desire to capture the coon, kept right on after him, and, unmindful of the uncertain tenure upon which the slight limb hung, pushed out upon it. All progressed happily and favorably, and, he was within reaching-distance of the frightened game, when, just as he was about to make sure of it, snap went the limb and down tumbled Liverton, coon, and all, a distance of full seventy-seven feet, to mother earth. The coon was killed, but tougher Liverton not only escaped death, but was so little hurt that he managed to walk home and was actually out and at work the next day. He was, however, cured of his desire for coon-hunting, and to this day has let the sport severely alone.
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