CAMP FIRE STORIES. 



CAZADOR. 



Our party had been out in the mountains 

 doing Government surveying, and were ly- 

 ing off taking a rest waiting the return of 

 our chief from San Francisco. Our camp 

 was by the side of a trout brook from which 

 we drew a good portion of our rations. 

 After supper we sat around our camp fire to 

 smoke our pipes and spin yarns until it was 

 time to turn in for the night. Turning to 

 one of our number who was axman for the 

 party, and a droll backwoodsman from the 

 fontier of Missouri, I asked him: " Alick, 

 how comes it you never married, when girls 

 were as plenty in Missouri as you declare? " 



Looking up after a moment he replied, " I 

 did come mighty nigh it once, when I was a 

 young fellow." 



" Tell us about it, Alick, while we smoke 

 our pipes," was the cry. 



Urged in this way, he at last reluctantly 

 began: " Well, you see, back thar, us boys 

 never knowed what it was to have store or 

 boughten clothes until we were almost 

 growed up, and allers went barefoot. We 

 just wore long home-made tow shirts that 

 come half-way below the knees and tied 

 around the waist with a strop. Well, as I 

 was a-sayin', Sal Armstrong, a neighbor 

 gal of ourn, lived on t'other side of the 

 clearin', acrost the field from us, and a right 

 peart gal she was, if I do say it. I thought 

 a heap of Sal, and used to go over thar and 

 set on t'other side of the chimbley from her, 

 and jist set and look, and she'd look back 

 at me, 'til the old folks went to bed. Then 

 I'd light out for home, just to go over the 

 same performance next night. 



" Well, one night I plucked up courage, 

 and when the old man went out for a stick of 

 wood and the old woman was a-huntin' a 

 fresh taller dip, I jist reached in with my 

 toe and raked out a chunk from the fire. 

 Takin' it up in my hand I says to her ' Sal, 

 do you know what I've a mind to do to 

 you? ' 



" ' No, Alick,' says she. 



" ' Why,' says I, ' I've a mind to burn you 

 with this here chunk.' 



" ' What fur, Alick? ' says she. 



" ' Cause you are so dogon pooty,' says I. 



" Well, boys, I was so skeered at poppin' 

 the question to her that I jist lit out fur 

 home and never went back for a week. 

 Howsumever, I plucked up and went over 

 one evenin' airly, jist afore sundown, and 

 steppin' up on the doorlog, I looks in, when, 

 hell's blazes! thar sot a fellow all dressed 



out in store clothes, biled shirt an' collar an' 

 all, jist settin' up as close as he could git to 

 Sal, and a-laughin' and goin' on, and Sal a- 

 jinin' in. Well, I just stood thar a-wishin' 

 he'd come out, so I could lick blazes outen 

 him. 



" After standin' thar a good spell, Sal says, 

 ' Come in, Alick.' I was too mad to answer, 

 but jist stood thar lookin' in at 'em; and 

 by and by I seen them a-lookin' at me and 

 a-laughin' like to split. ' I'd make you 

 laugh, you dogon purp,' thinks I to myself, 

 ' ef I jist had you outside here awhile.' But 

 they kep' on laughin' and pintin' at me, 

 when on all on a suddint I felt cold like be- 

 hind, and turnin' around, if thar wasn't a 

 yearlin' calf a-chawin' the hind end of my 

 tow shirt off, jist a-rollin' of it in like an 

 old cow rollin' in a cud of clover. I just 

 slapped my hands behind me and lit out 

 backward fur home, and never went back 

 thar agin. I'd a-been a-standing thar yit 

 a-waitin' fur that feller to come out, I reck- 

 on, ef it hadn't been fur that dogon year- 

 lin'." 



After the laughter at the recital of Alick's 

 story had subsided, Col. Fred remarked; 

 " By the way, Alick, I believe you used to 

 work for old Uncle Zac H. down in Green 

 Valley, didn't you? And built that fence 

 around his oat field? " 



" Yes," said Alick. " Me and Billy Abies 

 built that there fence and split out the pick- 

 ets right thar' along the branch." 



" Well," said Col. Fred, " the way you 

 fellows built that fence furnished me lots of 

 fun one day," and then he told this story: 



" Among the • pathfinders ' of early days 

 was old ' Uncle Zac,' as he was familiarly 

 called by all who knew him. Coming to the 

 Coast in the early forties, and taking up a 

 fine tract of bottom land, he gave up trap- 

 ping in the Rockies, and settled down to 

 the life of a ranchero. Genial in nature, and 

 hospitable to a fault, his latch string hung on 

 the outside, and he took it as a real offense 

 if his neighbors didn't come around as often 

 as he thought they should. 



" Living near him, I became a frequent 

 visitor. One Sunday morning, I rode over 

 to spend the day. Not seeing him on my ar- 

 rival and being told that he had gone down 

 the branch, I started out in search of him. I 

 had not gone far when I saw him sitting on 

 a log laughing while tears were running 

 down his cheeks. He saw me approaching, 

 and held up his hand to enjoin caution. 



28 



