On the Texan coasts and about Lake Sabine there are vast salt marshes . . . where alligators abound, and where they grow to a size elsewhere unknown. Here you may see these enormous brutes stretched out in the sun and displaying their proportions as if they were perfectly at home.
One day I happened to be on the shore in a tavern, and near a landing-stage where a boat called for New Orleans, and there I met with a hunter named Allen, a man who lived on the Angolina River, and who came every year, from November to April, to employ his time in the catching of alligators. This Indian Nimrod had a companion named Jim, who was of the Bolaxis tribe. Jim was a better sportsman than his master, for he never needed anything but a lasso and a bowie-knife to get the better of an alligator. If he saw an alligator, he crawled cautiously towards him and lassoed him, and soon put an end to him with his bowie-knife.