468 



FOREST STREAM. 



[June 1, itsva. 



DANVIS FOLKS.-VI. 



A Disconsolate Trapper. 



As Uncle Lisha jjlodded homeward past the Gove home- 

 stead, the wandering thoughts that bore him company 

 turned toward his young friend Pelatiah. He cast a 

 searching glance about the premises half hoping and yet 

 half fearing that he might discover him, for he shrank 

 from the duty to which he was committed. 



"I s'pose I'd ort tu stop an' find the boy an' give him a 

 talkin' tu, to rights," ne soliloquized. "But I guess I'd. 

 better wait an' ketch him kinder accidental. This ere 

 cornerin' a feller up an' rammin' advice intu him some- 

 how don't make it set so well as it does to kinder coax it 

 intu him. julluk a pill in a spo'ful of apple sass." 



He quickened his pace till he had passed the house and 

 come to the little bridge that spanned Stony Brook. As 

 he lingered there idly Avatching the flow of the stream 

 whose evety bend and purling rapid and trout-haunted 

 pool he kn^vv as well as the corners of his old shop, and 

 hstening to its changing babble, familiar to his ears as 

 the thud of the hammer on his own lapstone, he distin- 

 guished amid its liquid tones the sharp, metallic clink of a 

 trap chain, coming, as a moment's listening assured him, 

 from directly beneath the bridge. 



"Someb'dy's ketched a mink er a mushrat," said he to 

 himself, "'n' I'm goin' tu meddle wi' other folkses busi- 

 ness tu the extent o' puttin' the poor creetur aouten his 

 misery." 



He descended to the bank, picking up a convenient 

 cudgel as he went. "When he peered into the dark shadow 

 of the bridge he was not a little startled to discover the 

 figure of a man sharply defined against the light. He 

 was kneehng on the gravel between the abutment and 

 the stream, so intently engaged in setting a trap that he 

 was not a.ware of an intruder till Uncle Lisha tossed a 

 pebble at his feet. The old man felt pretty sure of the 

 trapper's identity, and was not surprised when Pelatiah's 

 face was suddenly turned toward him with an expression 

 of wonder overbearing its now habitual ruefulness. 



His own silhouette, fore-shortened as he stooped beneath 

 the low bridge, bracing his hands upon his knees, was not 

 recognized at first, but there was no mistaking his hearty 

 hail, "Good airth an' seas! Peltier, don't ye know yer 

 Uncle Llsher?" resounding with exaggerated volume 

 through the narrow passage. 



Pelatiah left the half-set trap and came crouching forth, 

 brushing his soiled palm on his thigh in preparation for 

 the vigorous hand shaking that awaited him. When 

 greetings were exchanged the two seated themselves on 

 projections of the abutment and surveyed each other with 

 kindly scrutiny. 



' 'You haint growed old a mite," said Pelatiah. 



' 'I've ben a-growin' young sen' I come back makin' up 

 what I lost in three year." 



"An Aunt Jerushy, is she tollable well?" 



"Jest as smart as a cricket, an' tickled tu death tu git 

 back hum again. An' haow's things goin' vvi' you, Pel- 

 tier, well, I s'pose?" 



"My health 's good 'nough," said Pelatiah, sighing as 

 if that were an affliction, but Uncle Lisha did not heed it. 



"Trappin' some, be ye?" 



"Some, got a few traps sot fer mink an' muslirat. The's 

 a mink a-ha'ntin' raouad this 'ere bridge." 



"I heerd your trap a-jinglin' an' thinks, says I, the's 

 suthin' er nother suffertn' intu a trap an' I'm a-goin' tu be 

 marciful an' kill it, ef 'taint a pkunk. My marcy don't 

 extend tu skunks, erless I've got a gun. It's tough for 

 any cretur tu be in a trap, whether no he's human or a 

 dumb critter. Both git mtu 'em an' more times 'an not, 

 the' haint no gittin' aout on'y by death er takin' off alaig. 

 Most any dumb critter 'd ruther git free at the price of 

 a laig er foot 'an tu stay an' die er be knocked in the head 

 an' they're sensibler 'an lots o' folks wlaich they '11 jest 

 humj) theirselves an' grunt an' squall er flummix permis- 

 c'us till they git tother foot an' like's not both ban's intu 

 another trap, an' there they be. The grip o' the trap gits 

 sorer and sorer, an' they quit a-puUin' an' give clean up, 

 which haint no way fer a man tu du." The old man 

 beamed a kindly smile upon his companion who sat with 

 downcast eyes, slowly grinding the gravel beneath the 

 heel of his cowhide boot, upon which Uncle Lisha's eyes 

 finally fell, to note with displeasure that it was ripped and 

 red for lack of grease. 



"An' you've goddaown tu buyin' store boots. Goo' fer 

 nothin' things, made aouten split luther an' stuck tu- 

 gether wi' short paigs. An' the idee of a feller 'at ketches 

 mushrat, an' hes their lie, lettin' his boots git as red as a 

 fox's tail." He evidently thought Pelatiah in a desperate 

 strait and spoke with such sudden sharpness that the 

 young man was startled from his listless attitude. "But 

 you come up," he said with less asperity, "an'lemme take 

 the measure o' yer hommils an' I'll make ye suthin' 'at 

 you'll know you've got on when you wear 'em, an' that 'II 

 be wuth spendin' a leetle ile on." Then almost without 

 ause he said, irrelevantly, "Why Peltier, from what I 

 eerd I spected tu find you merried an' settled daown, 

 stiddy." Pelatiah fiushed and made a quick, impatient 

 movement. "Wa'n't you expectin' tu, one spell?" 



"Ef I was, I haint naow nor never shall agin," the 

 young man said in a low voice. 



"Why, what's the motter ails ye? Merryin's a good 

 thing when ye find the right one." 



"Haow in tunket's a feller goin' tu tell when he hes?" 

 Pelatiah asked, rising in such excitement that he bumped 

 his head against the planks and sat down as suddenly as 

 he had lisen. 



"Hurt yer head much?" 



"Wisht I'd knocked the dumb thingofl"m my shouldei-s," 

 he replied savagely. "Haow's a feller goin' tu tell? That's 

 what I'd like tu know. I thought I'd faound the right 

 one an' I thought more on her 'an all the hull world. I 

 worshipped the airth she walked on. She might ha' 

 walked on me— she did pooty nigh, an' I was praoud tu 

 hev' her. An' I, dumb fool, thought she hked me jest as 

 much. Mebby she did, fer a spell, an' thought she'd 

 faound her mate. It's hopesin she wa'n't foolin' me the 

 hull endurin' tune, an' then 'at she hadn't. She promised 

 tu hev me an' we was a goin' tu be merried, an' the time 

 was sot, an' then at the last minute she went off wi' 

 another feller an'-an' I s'pose they're merried, but I can't 

 seem tu think on her as belongin' tu nob'dy else. She'd 



ort tu sufiier some, but I hope she's happier 'n what I be. 

 She might be, an' yit be in hell." 



"You hed bad luck, Peltier, but all women haint 

 alike." 



"The' haint none no better'n she was." Pelatiah said 

 vehemently, "The' want never one harnsomer, an' haow 

 could there be one better otherways? They're all fickleder 

 'n the wind that blows an' lighter 'an the blubbers on 

 this brook." 



" 'Taint no sech a thing," said Uncle Lisha, emphasizing 

 each word with a downward jerk of his head. ^ "I've 

 roosted wi' one womem goin' on fifty year that's ben 

 faithful an' true all them years, an' ther's lots more o' the 

 same sort, fer I don't cal'late I'm the on'y lucky man on 

 the livin' airth. You got intu a trap nat'rally 'nough, 

 bein' 'twas baited wi' a pooty face, an' it kinder leggo, an' 

 neow ye c'n shake a loose foot which you'd ort tu be 

 thankful it didn't take a laig, so tu speak, er mebby yer 

 life." 



"It 'might 's well. I wisht it hed," said Pelatiah, grind- 

 ing the gravel away savagely with his heel. 



"Sho, no, you don't, nuther. Say, Peltier, what d'ye 

 du wi' yer fur? Sell it tu Clapham, du ye? You didn't sell 

 him that 'aire gray fox?" 



Pelatiah could not withhold a laugh. "No, that was a 

 feller f'm over the mountain.'" 



"You du sell tu Clapham?" 



"No, Hamner's hed most on't." 



"Hamner? He don't pay cash?" 



"No," but Pelatiah did not look up. 



"Look a here, Peltier Gove," said the old man impress- 

 ively, "you're a-flummuxin' intu a wus trap 'n the fust 

 one was", a-tryin' tu draowned yer trovible wi' rum, 'speci- 

 ally Hamner's pizen. Rum may cure a belly ache, but 

 not never a heart ache, not tu stay cured. It'll numb it 

 fer a spell, but it'll make it come on wus 'n ever, an' need 

 heftier dostin every time tu numb it again. I do' know 

 haow long you ben a-tryin' on 't, but I du know 'at you've 

 faound it jest 's I tell ye. An' you've got tu stop it right 

 stret ofl: er you're a gone sucker. Right stret off. Not no 

 foolin' wi' one more drink ner no tu-morrers ner birth- 

 days ner New Years ner leavin' off gradwil. It'll be a 

 tough job, but you c'n du it. Shet your maouth as tight 

 as if 't was sewed up wi' a waxed eend, an' don't ye onrip 

 it fer no coaxin', inside er aout. You've got tu du the job 

 yerself , not but what God A'mighty 'II help ye, but you've 

 got tu boost tu. I cal'late 'f the' 's goin' tu be any prayin' 

 done, a feller hed better du it fer himself. It'll 'maount 

 tu more 'n all the ministers this side o' kingdom come 

 a-prayin' for him. An' naow I've said my say, an' you 

 c'n go on settin' yom- mink trap. Bait it wi' mushrat 'f 

 you've got it, it's better 'n fish. Don't forgit what I've 

 said tu ye, an' come an' see Aunt Jerushy soon 's you can. 

 I shall git settled daown tu work in tew three days, an' I 

 want all on ye tu come in, jest as ye uster in th' ol' shop. 

 Good-bye." 



He stooped his way out with due care for his head and 

 its precious covering, and clambering to the roadway re- 

 sumed his homeward course. 



"There," he said, with a sigh of relief, "I've gin the 

 boy his pill. I'd know but I forgot the apple sass, but it's 

 hopesin it won't set bad an 'U du him good." 



Pelatiah sat long after his old friend left him, with his 

 chin upon his hands, staring abstractedly on the swift 

 current of the brook, in whose voice he seemed to hear 

 the kindly words of advice repeated again and again. 

 When he arose and resumed the setting of his trap his 

 face wore a stronger and more hopeful expression. 



Rowland E. Robinson. 



BULLWHACKING IN BUFFALO DAYS. 



[Concluded from Page hlS-^ 



A FEW days later we reached a whisky station called 

 Elm Creek. Here we met a train returning, wagon mas- 

 ter and drivers on a "bust." One young fellow had a 

 splendid rifle which he wanted to sell for whisky money. 

 I shot his rifle, and it was splendid. I told him I would 

 trade him a small squirrel rifle and pay him some boot. 

 He looked at my rifle and offered to trade for $5 boot. I 

 accepted the offer and told him that I would give him my 

 rifle and buUet moulds for his rifle and motilds. After I 

 j)aid him he went back to the station. I moulded a few 

 buUets and gave my new rifle a thorough trial. It was a 

 splendid gun, made by Sam Hawkins, St. Louis, and was 

 sighted for 1.50yds. 



I had barely got through trying my new purchase when 

 the young fellow came back and wanted $5 more and 

 claimed I had cheated him. He was veiy boisterous in 

 his demands. I told him all right, if I had cheated him 

 he could bring back my rifle, moulds and my $5 and he 

 could have his gun. He said he had used the |o, and that 

 if I did not pay him $5 more he would give me a thrash- 

 ing and take the gun too. Before I had time to reply 

 Hans came up, and stepping right up before the hostile, 

 said: 



"What for you vants to make troubles mit dis poy? If 

 you vants any dings mit him, you shust fite mit me," 



The young feUow, after a momentary survey of his 

 new antagonist, began to back off, Hans following close 

 up. Hans said to him, ' 'You shust go right avay mit 

 yourself," and he did. 



Nest morning we pulled out before the other train had 

 their oxen brought in, Nothing of any interest occm-red 

 for a number of days. We passed Fort Kearney, but 

 when we reached Plum Creek the buffalo had become so 

 numerous that we sometimes had to stop to let them pass. 



The Sunday after we passed Plum Creek we were 

 camped near the Platte. As soon as gmb was over I 

 shouldered my new rifle and started for the sand hills for 

 an antelope. I had seen quite a number a few days before, 

 but they were so far off I could not tell much about them 

 and I had kept traveling on; had passed within range of 

 a number of buffalo, but had not shot at any. I hunted 

 until I got tired, but could not find any antelope. 



I sat down on the hillside and for a little while my mind 

 wandered back to home and I thought how imeasy mother 

 would be if she could see me sitting there, four or five 

 miles away from the train, away out in the Indian country. 

 As I sat there thinking, quite a large buffalo came along 

 within about 150yds., and when opposite me he stopped. 

 I thought I would try my new rifle at the side of his head: 

 at the crack of the rifle down dropped the buff'alo. I 

 reloaded my rifle and went very carefully to where he 

 lay. I stood gating on that noble animal, and in my sor- 

 row I would have given anything if I had not shot. " 



It was so far from camp I knew the meat woidd not be 



brought in, but I would take the tongue anyhow. I had 

 unsheathed my knife and was just going to cut its tongue 

 out, when I heard a rumbling sound, and looking up, I i 

 saw a line of black heads stretched along the crest of the' 

 hill as far as I could see each way. I dropped my knife, 

 grabbed up my gun and was just in the act of starting to 

 run, but on taking another look I saw that they were too 

 close. It was an immense herd of buffalo, and of course 

 they would trample everything in their path into dust. 

 On and on they came, oblivious of me, and I stood there- 

 almost paralyzed with fear, but the moment had come 

 when I had to act. I attempted to kneel down beside my 

 dead buffalo, but it must have been more of a fall than 

 kneel. I laid my rifle across the buffalo and when th& 

 nearest buffalo was within 20yds. I fired, dropped my rifle 

 and crawled as close under the dead buffalo, as I could. I 

 reached one hand as far under as I could and with the 

 other on top took a good hold of its mane and drew my 

 head as far as possible under its neck. 



In a moment more the herd was passing over me. 

 Every second I expected to have some one of the animals 

 jump on the dead buffalo, and to feel its feet slip 

 off on me. I had no means of telling how long it took 

 the herd to pass, but on and on they came, uttering that' 

 peculiar grunt they give while running, while I lay there 

 clinging to the neck of the noble animal that but a few 

 minutes before I had so wantonly deprived of its life — 

 and for what? Just to try a rifle. 



At last the main herd had passed and a few lame ones 

 came hobbling by. As soon as I dared to I raised my 

 head, but could not see any more coming. I jumped up,, 

 grabbed up my rifle and started for the camp. Just as I 

 left my retreat I saw the front part of the herd reach the 

 Platte River, They must have been nearly half an hour 

 passing by me. 



I ran, trotted and walked very fast until I reached the 

 wagons. I set my rifle down by my wagon and sank 

 down on the ground completely exhausted. Dick noticed 

 me and came up and asked, "Are you sick?" "No.'' 

 "Well, what is the matter? Something has gone wrong. 

 Have the Indians been after you?" "No." "Somethinj 

 is wrong. What is it?" I told him in as few words as J 

 could, and ended by saying that I wanted to he downj 

 He helped me up and into the tent. Old Sam and sora^ 

 of the boys were sitting where they could see into th^ 

 tent, and when Dick had put me in bed and come out foi 

 some water, old Sam wanted to know what was the mat- 

 ter with Lew. Dick told him, and old Sam said it was 

 the luckiest escape he had ever heard of, I took a drink 

 of the water, but my stomach would not retain it, so 1 

 threw it up. Just then Old Sam came in and said he had 

 some brandy, which wotild be the best thing I could take, 

 But I told him I could not take it, for nearly the lasi 

 thing I promised mother was I would never take a drink 

 of any kind of spirits. 



I soon went to sleep, yet it was not refreshing. ] 

 thought I was being run over by wagons, buffalo, and 

 that the train was stampeding. Dick sat by the bed, and 

 when I would try to raise myself up he would put his hanc 

 on me which would break my dream. Supper camei 

 Old Sam said I had better be let alone, but for Dick tt 

 take a plateful of grub into the tent, and when I wakeo 

 up, if I was all right, I would be hungry as a wolf, but iJ 

 I was feverish and wanted water, for Dick to call him, at 

 he was afraid I might have brain fever. 



Along in tlie night I woke up, and had hardly got mj 

 eyes open, when Dick spoke and said, "Are you awake. 

 Lew." "Yes," I replied. "How do you feel?" "All right 

 only I am fearfully hungry." "I am glad of that," sale 

 he, "there is a f)lateful of grub." He handed me the food' 

 and I soon dispatched it. I then lay down and took e 

 good sleep. 



Next morning I was all right, except as to color. My 

 head was white as tow, and my face was whiter than mj 

 head, and it was nearly two weeks before the color cam* 

 back to my face. I had made one vow while running fol 

 camp, and that was I would never kill another aninuu 

 just for fun. If I could not use the meat or hide, oj 

 unless some else wanted it, it could go. 



Although that dead buffalo saved my life, yet I had nc 

 business out there. 



Of course we had lots of whooping and whipping to dol 

 yet we got along very well, until we reached Julesburg 

 The Platte was tolerably deep and we had to block uf 

 our wagons and put thirty yoke of oxen to each to cross* 

 So we had to wade the Platte back and forward foi 

 nearly three days. While I must admit that a bath D 

 occasionally very beneficial to one's health, yet when i' 

 comes to being in ice cold water for three days, it losej 

 all of its hygienic properties. We got across without ai 

 accident. Before we pulled out from our camp, anothe) 

 returning train came and camped a few hundred yardi 

 from us. The wagon master was an old acquaintance o; 

 Old. Sam's, and came over and took dinner with us. Whil( 

 at grub, they began blowing [about their teamstersi 

 Sam's friend told him he had a man who could out-shoo 

 any man on the road for fun, money, marbles, chalk oj 

 whisky.' 



"Well," said Old Sam, "my men are not very goof 

 shots, but I've got a tow-headed boy here that can bea 

 your man for fun." 



"No; we won't shoot for fun," said his friend. 



"Well," said Sam, "you said fun, money, marbles, 

 chalk or whisky." 



"Well," said his friend, "that was only the preamble 

 and if it wasn't like stealin' your money, I would bet yoi 

 a hundred to twenty, if you mean that tow-head," point 

 ing to me. 



"Well," said Sam, "We will put up $20 each, and le 

 them shoot 150yds., off-hand; the best two in three." 



The proposition was accepted, and Sam's fiiend wen< 

 for his man and rifle. 



He soon returned with a great big healthy young feUov 

 carrying a long heavy rifle. Quite a mimber of the team 

 sters came along with them, some to see the mat-'li 

 others to speculate, but our boys bet them to a si:: v 

 still. They stepped oft' loOyds. and put a 6in. spot Im . - 

 forehead of a buffalo skull. It was decided I shouL 

 shoot first. I stepped to the scratch, raised my rifle 

 banged away and over turned the old skull. I had hi 

 ju,st in the upper edge of the black. "Good shot," dai* 

 Old Sam; and his friend said, "Yes." The yoimg feiloT 

 stepped up to the scratch, but he was a little nervous i 

 He held his rifle a little while, then lowered it to take ? 

 fresh breath, raised his gun a second time and fired' 

 overturning the skull. A shout went up from his friends 

 he had hit the skull, but was about 3in. from the black' 



