182 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[March 6, 1897. 
MUD TURTLE. 
BY EOWI^AND E. EOBINSON. 
In the morning, when eating breakfast, no plans were 
laid for spending the day, and after the meal no one made 
the usual preparation for depai'ture, but all idled about the 
camp as if without a present object in life but the mere 
pleasure of existence. 
The day was one to invite indolence, the sun bathing 
the earth in such a mellow warmth that it soon dispelled 
the morning chill and left no use but pipe-lighting for the 
fire, which burned with a laxy flicker of transient fiame • 
and lazier drifts of smoke jets from snapping embers and 
brands. 
UnrutHed by the breath of the sleepy air, nor broken at 
all save where some waterfowl languidly cleft its surface 
with a silent wake, lake and creek bore the motionless 
doubles of painted shore and reedy margin, and the deeper 
azure of far peaks and cloudless sky; while from the tran- 
quil scene arose no busier sound of life than the lazy call 
of a duck or the faint noises of farms so remote that they 
seemed beyond it. Near at hand, but no more obtrusive, 
there was a drowsy hum of warmed flies and the slow 
chirps of crickets and the light scurrying of a chipmunk 
among the leaves. 
"Wal, seh, boys," said Antoine, breaking the silence of 
the circle as he arose and stretched himself with a yawn, 
"dis was too pooty day for lose it. What all you eoin' do 
wid it, hein?" 
"It is a turrible neat day an' that's a fact," Joseph de- 
clared with unwonted decision, after a slow and careful 
contemplation of earth and sky. "An' I be thankful 'at w'e 
hain't obleeged tu waste it a-workin'. It alius did kinder 
seem tu me as 'ough 's if it was a sorter heavin' away o' 
the Lord's blessin's tu spend a ri'daown pleasant day a- 
workin'. Some 'at I misused that way years and ypars'ago 
lays heavy on my conscience yet." ' 
"Naow, Jozelf, don't be no harder on yourself 'an what 
other folks is," said Uncle Lisha, in mild sarcasm. "You 
must have an almighty tender conscience an' an almighty 
good mem'ry. I can't remember but precious few such 
misduin's tu lay up ag'in ye." 
"Wal, the's more'n I wish't the' was," said Joseph, staring 
retrospectively into the smoldering embers as if they rep- 
resented the cold ashes of the past. "It does seem 's 'ough 
it was weeked, most 'specially 'long in the fall an' winter 
comin' on, when the' won't be no rale pleasant days aou' 
door tu speak on, for a feller tu be a-breakin' of his back 
diggin' taters, a-humpin' up ag'n the blue sky, with his 
nose an' eyes tu dead tater tops an' naked sile, when ev'y- 
thing looks so putty all around, an' it a'most the last chance 
o' seein' o' it, or putty nigh, mebby. Then take it in the 
winter when the' does come one o' them kinder stray days 
'at got left over aouten fall, er comes afore its reg'lar time 
in spring, a feller do' want tu be a-tunkin' at a tree julluk 
a woodpecker, an' lose all the good on 't, 'ceptin' what sun- 
shine soaks intu his back. When ag'in come spring you 
jest wan' tu thaw aout an' git the good on 't yourself, an' 
not be tapped julluk a maple an' have your sap b'iled 
daown for other fo'kses benefit. Take it "in summer, it's 
tew hot most o' the time tu work, anyway, an' when the' 
is a comi'table day it seems 's 'ough a feller ort tu jest lay 
in the shade an' see things blow an' grow an' git ripe erless 
go a-fishin', which I wouldn't in no boat of nary sect, not 
for ri'daown enj'yment, don't seem 's 'ough I would, not 
if they bit faster 'n you c'ld yank 'em." 
•'Bat was de bes' comfortable Ah'll can took in dis worl', 
me," Antoine remarked, while Joseph took breath, "jes' 
for feesh, an' hab de feesh do hees half." 
"I don't s'pose it's sca'cely right," Joseph continued, "but 
sometimes it 'most seems 's 'ough I putty nigh wanted tu 
cuss the man 'at invented work; he sartainly did begin a 
tormented sight o' trouble." 
"Not no gre't for you, Jozefl"," Uncle Lisha commented, 
and went on to eay, "I do' know as I hanker arter work, 
but if I bed me my tools here on a shoe tu mend, jes' for 
knittin' work, I cal'late I sh'ld enj'y myself tol'able well." 
"Work kinder goes ag'in the grain when it interferes wi' 
huntin'," Sam said, thrusting a cedar twig into the dying 
embers and watching its tardy kindling, "but then the 
work gives a better relish tu the huntin' when you git it." 
"One' Lasha sjjikin' 'baout de shoe mek me t'ink prob'ly 
Ah'll bes' was gat mah t'read-needle an' men' mah traow- 
ser," bending to inspect his frayed knees, "bah gosh! Ah 
wish mah clo's was grow up jes' sem lak you' skin w'en 
you tore it. Ah do' know all what Ursule goin' said w'en 
he see mah traowser all wore off so. Ah guess Ah goin' 
tol' him it ' cause Ah'll been pray for him an' de chil'en so 
much. It take good many pray' for go 'raoun' all of it, 
a'n't it? Wal, Ah guess Ah embroider mah knee." Then 
having got needle and thread and lighted his pipe, he sat 
down to the uncongenial task. 
"Dis mek me rembler one—" he began, and then inter- 
■ rupted himself with a sharp indrawing of breath and an 
imprecation. "S-s-s-p, Sa-cre!" as he jabbed the needle 
point into his knee. "Dat mek me rembler one man 
Canada." 
"Good airth an' seas! I was a-hopesin' you'd forgot him 
for oncte," Uncle Lisha shouted with such emphasis that 
it arrested the flow of anecdote. Antoine suddenly be- 
came silent and plied his needle with sullen diligence. 
"Wal, you might as well trot him aout, Ann Twine," the 
old man said, moderating his tone, "th' won't be no gettin' 
red on him naow." 
Thus encouraged, Antoine went on with his story, while 
his audience listened with more interest in the manner of 
his telling than in the matter. 
"Yas, sah, dey was one man Canada, one tam, an' if 
you'll a'n't b'lieved it Ah can tol' you nem de place w'ere 
he live, honly Ah'll fregit now. "One tam in de fall his 
waf was mek it new pair clo's all over, new shirt, new 
coat, new traouser, everyt'ing. De hwomans he feel putty 
plump 'cause he'll weave it all heese'f, an' cut it all up an' 
sew it togedder heese'f, an' he lak for look at hees mans 
w'en he gat all on for go on de market. 
"One day w'en he go, jes' 'fore he'll ready for start, he'll 
hear hees leetly dog bark very hard in de hwood not more 
as leetly way from de haouse. He was terribly hunter 
mans, an' t'ink prob'ly de dog was tree up a coon. So 
he'll took hees hoi' fusee an' ran off for shot it a minute, 
an', bah gosli, w'at you t'ink? 
"It was pant'er, hoi' big feller, hugly lak meat-ase. But 
de mans he'll a'n't scare for run. He p'ant hees gaun an' 
pull it an' de flint jes' go 'pluck.' An' de pant'er jomp on 
de man, 'scroonch,' an' tore oft' all dat new clot's not more 
as two ninches wide. Oh, bah gosh, Ah'll tol' you haow 
dat hwomans was feel bad w'en she see it all spile up dat 
clo's she was be so troublesome for mek. Dat was too bad, 
"Dar, sah," he said as he regarded his needle^vork with 
proud satisfaction and caressed the grinning stitches, "Ah'll 
b'lieved dat was mos' as han'some as if Ah'll had quiltin' 
party work mah knee. All Ah'll 'fraid for was Ursule 
t'ink Ah'll gat some oder hwomans for sew me up." 
"Did the man get hurt miich, Antwine?" Joseph in- 
quired. 
"De man? Oh, he was be keel, Ah b'lieve so. Wal, 
Ah guess Ah'll goin' han'some mah oder knee so hees 
brudder a'n't be shem of it. One' Lasha, if you want it 
Ah'll sew you clo's. Ah'll was be preflic tailor man, me." 
When the last stitch was taken he sawed off the thread 
with his tobacco-clotted knife, put the needle carefully 
away, and then studied all the landscape with an unde- 
cided air as he said: 
"Wal, Ah do' know if Ah'll go feeshin', or pick some 
wa'nut, or borry some happle, or go 'long up de crick for 
see wat Ah'll see. Ah guess Ah do dat," he said, coming 
to a decision as his eyes dwelt on the shaded level shore, 
"Any of it goin' 'long to me?" 
"I guess I'll jes' laze raound tu-day," Uncle Lisha said 
after a little consideration, and Joseph after larger deliber- 
ation concluded to stay and help him, for "it seemed 's 
'ough it was a consid'able of a hefty job o' sittin' raound for 
a man o' Uncle Lisher's years tu ondertake alone." 
"If I had Drive here I'd set some o' these Lakefleld 
foxes tu dancin' tu a Dan vis tune," Sam said, studying the 
lay of the land with a careful eye, "jest tu see haow nigh 
I've guessed the runwaj's. As it is, I believe I'll poke 
along up tu Mr. Bartlett's, an' take 'em a pair o' ducks." 
Failing to induce any of them to accompany him, An- 
toine shouldered his gun and set forth alone along the 
shore of the creek, making stealthy approach to every 
marsh-locked pool that offered harbor to a duck, and 
searching every nut tree for squirrels. But the water- 
fowl were abroad and the squirrels at home, so he con- 
tinued his quest beyond the imperceptible junction of the 
shores of creek and Slang. Now and then he was startled 
by a bittern springing in awkward haste from the marshy 
covert, or by a heron launching himself to stately flight 
from some still pool; but he did not care to chance the un- 
certainty of a flying shot on such poor game, nor did he 
discover anything worthy of capture till he came near the 
log causeway that formed the approach to the Slang bridge. 
There he came upon a monstrous turtle scrambling along 
in a ponderous haste, the eldest patriarch of the marshes, 
bearing moss of a century's growth upon his venerable 
back. Antoine rejoiced at the discovery of such noble 
game and hastened forward to secure it, but the wary old 
turtle immediately faced him, and pivoting on its hinder 
legs met every attempt of his assailant to seize him by the 
tail with quick out-thrusts of the head and vicious snaps of 
the ugly jaws. 
"Bah gosh, you'll a'n't felt very good-nachel, dis morny, 
a'n't it. One' Mud Turkey?" cried Antoine, with growing 
respect for his venerable antagonist. "Wal, Ah'll goin' 
give you somet'ing for bit a'n't so soft Ah was," and lay- 
ing aside his gun he went in search of a suitable stick. 
Taking advantage of this cessation of hostilities, the tur- 
tle retreated to the bare border of the marsh and began 
burrowing into the soft muck with such speed that he was 
more than half his length out of sight in it when Antoine 
returned after a very brief absence. 
Laying hold of the turtle's tail, the stout Canadian tugged 
with might and main before the creatui-e's obstinate resist- 
ance was finally overcome and he was drawn forth and 
laid sprawling helplessly on his back. One end of a stick 
was now offered him, which he seized savagely, and was 
dragged thereby well up on to the mossy bank, where An- 
toine took counsel with himself concerning the present'dis- 
posal of his captive. 
" 'F Ah'll took you home jes' you was, you a'n't han'some 
for look, an' prob'ly dey a'n't t'ink you was fit for heat. 
But meat jes' han'some anybody, so Ah'll jes' honly took 
dat for mek you 'quaint of de boy. Ah'll was very sorry 
for you, One' Mud Turkey, but Ah'll obleege for cut you 
necks. You was took you' las' ride on you' hown foots, an' 
you'll a'n't pull some more leetly dauks by hees leg of it 
an' bit hole on hoi' homans geeses prob'ly. Oh, a'n't you 
shem for do so gre't weeked?" 
Thus hardening his heart for the execution, he drew out 
the turtle's neck to its fullest extent by the unreleased 
grip on the stick and severed it at one stroke, with little 
apparent eflect on the creature's vitality, and proceeded to 
dress the meat, using the broad shell as a trencher where- 
on to bestow it. 
Having completed this task and washed his hands, he 
felt need of the refreshment of a smoke and made prepara- 
tion therefor, but then discovered he had neither matches 
nor punk, though he was provided with flint and steel for 
firing the latter. In this extremity, with appetite whetted 
the keener by disappointment, he looked about for the 
means of relief and discovered in a bushy clearing at no 
great distance a forlorn little cabin. 
A whisp of smoke writhing from the low chimney 
promised fire enough to light a pipe and Antoine made 
toward it, bearing his spoils till he came to a safe place of 
deposit in a fence corner. 
It was a squalid habitation, indicative of shiftless pov- 
erty. A path led to it, bordered on one side by some 
stunted rows of frost-bitten corn, on the other by hills 
of weed-choked potatoes, and close to the threshold a 
starved heap of pine roots, the sole miserable representa- 
tive of a woodpile in the midst of the abundant forest. 
The place of missing panes in the single sash of the only 
front window was filled by a weather-beaten straw hat and 
a faded, tattered remnant of calico in some sort emblematic 
of the occupants, Antoine thought, when he entered after 
knocking on the sagged door that could neither be quite 
opened nor quite shut. 
A tall, gaunt, hollow-eyed woman and a tallow-faced boy 
of similar habit and features sat smoking short pipes by 
a scant open fire, and turned their listless faces toward 
him without surprise, sca,rcely with curiosity, as he ac- 
costed them. 
"Good morny, ma'm, dat was very nice day dis morny." 
"Hm, I s'pose so," the woman assented dubiously in a 
dolorous, monotonous tone, "for them 'at's well 'nough t' 
enjoy it. We hain't, me an' Jul'us." 
"Ah'll very sorry you a'n't felt better," said Antoine, 
with an expression of deep concern in his voice;- "'fAh 
could lit mah pipe Ah'll was felt better, me. Ah'll a'n't gat 
some fire." 
He held forward his pipe to indicate his need, and the 
old woman poked the embers with a stick, hitching her 
rickety chair aside to make room for him. Antoine 
scooped up a coal and puffed diligently a moment before 
he asked: 
"What was be de matter of it, ma'm?" 
"0, it's the rheumatiz in my limb, an' Jul'us is peaked. 
No appetite for nothin' but terbarker. I s'pose it's me a- 
growin' old an' Jul'us a-growin' so fast — grows lak a weed, 
he does; la'ge of his age, an' sma't as he is la'ge." 
She regarded her son with stolid admiration, while he, 
sucking his black pipe persistently, as stolidly received her 
praise of physical and mental growth and the visitor's 
hearty confirmation of it. 
"Yas, ma'm, he'll was smart boy, lak steel traps, an' he 
beeg lak bosses. Ah'U b'lieved he be man 'fore you was, 
mam." 
"I do' know haow in this livin' world he grows so, with- 
out no more nourishin' victuals," the fond mother contin- 
ued. "We hain't had nothin' but pertaters an' johnnycake 
an' green corn t' eat for a fortni't. My limb has pained 
me so't I wa'n't able to arn nothin' duin' for the neighbors, 
an' he hain't able to work no time — ^it takes all his stren'th 
a-growin' — so we hain't bed no meat victuals." 
"Dar was plenty dauk an' feesh," Antoine suggested. 
"Haow be you goin' to get ducks without no gunner, no- 
body to shoot it?" she drawled, without changing her mon- 
otonous tone. "Er ketch fish when you ain't able? Fish 
hain't no nourishment neither, if you hain't no fat poi'k to 
fry 'em in." 
"Dar was a lot of mud turkey," Antoine further sug- 
gested. 
"Mud turkles!" the old woman exclaimed with expression 
of intense disgust in voice and features. "D' you s'pose we'd 
eat mud turkles? H'mp'! I'd livser eat snake!" 
Antoine felt indignant at the starved crone's contempt 
of what he considered a choice delicacy, but inquired 
blandly: 
"Prob'ly you'll a'n't lak cheekin pooty good, a'n't it?" 
"Why, yes, me an' Jul'us can eat chicken, the white 
meat, if the' hain't no skin on't." 
"Wal, naow, Ah'll tol' you, ma'm, dat was purty good 
lucky, 'cause you see Ah'll was gat some cheekin all dressed 
up dat Ah'll was carry to mah frien' on de camp, an' Ah'll 
be glad for give you some of it 'f you len' me dish for fetch 
it." 
The old woman nodded assent, and pointed over to the 
table with the air of begrudging a favor. Taking a broken 
blue-edged plate from the table that was scant of every- 
thing but untidiness, Antoine went to bring, the alms. 
"Ah'll can't help it," he sighed as he knelt before the 
improvised trencher, and reluctantly selected a generous 
portion of the lightest colored meat. 
" 'F Ah'll goin' taught it for heat mud turkey Ah mus' 
beegin wid de bes'. A'n't he look jes' lak cheekin. Bah 
gosh, he was cheekin, honly he grow on mud turkey." 
He carried his gift to the cabin and presented it to the 
old woman, who, after a critical inspection, began prepar- 
ing it for the pot; while her son awoke to such interest in 
the prospective repast that he sauntered out doors, and 
with the dull axe pounded some pine roots into suitable 
lengths for the fire, which being kindled he sat down 
again to the restful enjoyment of liis pipe and the growing 
fragrance of the seething stew. Antoine wished he might 
stay and see with what relish it was eaten now he was sure 
his half kindly deception was not suspected, but he could 
find no excuse for tarrying longer. 
"Wal, ma'm," he said, as he dallied long over the fire 
with the relighting of his pipe, that he might inhale the 
odor of the pot, "you cheekin smell very good, an' Ah 
hoped he tas'e more better as he smell, prob'ly, an' Ah'll 
hoped you'll gat over your limb. Ah'll had one of it one 
tam in mah knee, an' he was very bad t'ing for had. An' 
Ah'll hoped you' boy grow long an' wide. Good morny, 
hose of it." 
"Thank you, an' I'm obleeged to you," the old woman 
said, with some cordiality. "I s'pose you couldn't fetch a 
drawin' o' tea if you come this way ag'in?" 
Julius withdrew his wrapt gaze from the steaming pot 
to cast an inquiring glance on the departing visitor, who 
went his way pretending not to hear the request. 
Antoine took up the precious burden, which had been 
somewhat lightened by his generosity, and bent his care- 
ful steps campward, praying that he might fall in with 
nothing worth shooting, and compelled an answer to his 
prayer by refusing to see a chance for a shot. He would 
not look to the right when a partridge clucked and stirred 
the leaves with deliberate footsteps among the under- 
growth close beside his path, nor to the left when an un- 
suspicious squirrel barked and squalled in the nearest 
hickory, nor turn his eyes toward the marsh to seek the 
cause of the bickering and splashing that was going Oh 
behind the screen of sedges. 
So, without interruption, he came to where he saw the 
white tent shining like a welcome beacon among the 
trees. He presently found Uncle Lisha and Joseph bask- 
ing in the sifted sunshine, the one trying to content him- 
self with idleness, the other making no effort for the ftill 
enjoyment of it. 
Antoine set down the shell of meat before them and ex- 
claimed as he pointed proudly toward it: 
"Dar, sah, Ah'll fetched you somet'ing for heat dat was 
victuals." 
"Good airth an' seas!" cried Uncle Lisha in surprise, 
"where did ye git some fresh meat? You be'n where they 
was a-boocherin'? I ain't heard no squealin', an It ain't 
no pork nuther. What is 't?" 
"No, sah, One' Lisha, Ah'll be'n butchy mase'f, an' he'll 
a'n't squeel nor beller, an' he was pork an' beefs, an' — wal, 
dey was fave kian's of it, but Ah'll fregit toder, 'cep' cheek- 
in; Ah'll guees he was all gone prob'ly. A'n't you mek 
aout you min' of it, Zhozefl'?" 
"Wal, I don't seem to make aout ezackly," said Joseph, 
deliberating on all fours over the heap of meat and sway- 
ing and crouching in various points of observation. "Meb- 
by it's beef, but I guess it's pork, an' I do' know but it's 
veal, some on't, an' like 'nough 't hain't nary one. I do' 
know." 
