SERGEANT FRANK NEAVILLE. 



FISH, 'COONS AND PAWPAWS. 



THE snow had left the south side of the hills, and 

 there were evidences of spring overhead and 

 underfoot when I parted with Antoine, he to 

 visit some friends up the river and I to settle down in Po- 

 tosi to civilized life. To get shaved again, to sleep in a 

 bed and renew acquaintance with a potato after a winter 

 in the woods, was an agreeable change. Few men who 

 have once lived the life of a hunter and trapper ever care 

 more for civilization than to keep on its outside edge, 

 and they move on as it drives them to seek new fields. 

 I imagine such men find it dull in summer, for they are 

 seldom reading men, and when fur is not in season their 

 lives must be monotonous. I soon dropped into my old 

 way of life in the quaint little mining village of Potosi. 



"Coin 5 a-fishin?" asked Frank Neaville, as he saw 

 me selecting some fishing tackle in one of the stores. 

 "Henry has a new boat, and he's goin' to take it down to 

 the landing soon; maybe you can get him to go to-mor- 

 row ; you know he's always ready for a fish or a hunt, no 

 matter what's goin' on." 



We walked down to the hotel kept by the father of 

 these boys, and found Henry in the backyard putting a 

 painter into a ring in the bow of a new boat and making 

 a neat eye-splice in it, for Henry could do many such 

 things when he chose. "Hello, Henry!" said I, "you've 

 got a nice sharpie there, but in our talks since I came 

 down from the Bad Ax you haven't mentioned it." 



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