FOREST ANt) STREAM 
168 
it 'ud take a stronger man than rile t' stand the racket, 
hi ganny. I'd never git to the p'int of askin'." 
"You all need bracin' up," Hiram declared, after due 
consideration of the question. "I reck'n I'd better go 
'long as fer as the widder's with you next time. It'll 
keep yore nerve up. An' you better go arter supper. 
'Ten't as hard t' say things in the dark, an' the kids '11 
be in bed then, like's not." 
"She moughtent like yore comin' with me," Saunders 
objected. 
"She wouldn't know anythin' 'baout my bein' thar. 
I'd hide, an' hang 'raound outside. Wouldn't it sorter 
brace you up ef you knowe.d I was some whar' 'raound?" 
"Yaas, 'twould that. Let's go. to-night, an 'git the 
thing over. 
"All right," Hiram assented. "Say, what on 'arth's 
the matter of yore whiskers? I been wonderin'." 
"I cut 'em. They was too ragged like." 
"You orten to< a-done it. Makes 'em look raggeder, 
an' makes you look squeamish-like." 
"Can't be helped, naow," Saunders replied in resigned 
tones. 
"Y' better keep yore hand over it much as y' kin," 
Hiram advised. 
They arranged their plan of action and impatiently 
awaited the coming of the appointed hour. 
It was growing dusk, and Mrs. Jackson had just 
ordered Johnny to bed, when the sound of approaching 
footsteps brought her to the door. At first she was 
alarmed at the sight of two men coming toward her 
through the gathering shadows; but her fear gave 
way to surprise, when she recognized the forms of Hiram 
Meeks and Ebenezer Saunders. She had been very 
much exercised over the latter's former visit, and now 
the repetition of it so soon afterward set her poor heart 
to fluttering strangely. It could mean but one thing. 
Saunders was going to "keep comp'ny" with her. 
"Good evenin'," Hiram called out. "I jest walked this 
fer with Eb. I'm goin' on t' Hawkinses." Without 
waiting for .a reply, he pushed Saunders forward, and 
with a parting, "I'll, stop fer you on my way hum'," 
turned about and left the two alone. But so soon as he 
was out of sight, he made a wide detour through the 
woods, and crept cautiously up to the rear of the cabin. 
He concealed himself behind a clump of bushes until the 
darkness would permit a nearer approach. 
The waning twilight faded into deeper gloom, the 
shadows became denser beneath the trees, and soon the 
rugged outlines of the cabin showed blurred and in- 
distinct, finally merging into the enveloping darkness. A 
faint glow of light suddenly gleamed forth from the 
open window, and Hiram breathed a sigh of relief. 
"He's goin' t' stick 'er out," he chuckled to himself. 
He crept slowly forward until he had gained a desirable 
position beneath the open window. He strained his ears 
to catch the sound of voices, but nothing could he hear. 
Silence most profound reigned within the cabin. Raising 
himself warily, he peered into the room. Saunders was 
sitting on the edge of a chair clasping his chin in one 
hand and nervously crossing and uncrossing his legs. 
The widow was obviously endeavoring to encourage him 
with an occasional meaning glance, while the rocking 
chair, in which she was somewhat violently rocking her- 
self, seemed to be strangely attracted toward her visitor's 
corner of the room. 
After what seemed like a long, long time to the im- 
patient Hiram, Saunders cleared his throat: 
"Be you all lunsome ever?" he asked, in desperation. 
The widow coyly hung her head and twirled her 
thumbs. 
"Sometimes I be," she faltered. "Awful lunsome." 
"So be I," said Saunders, edging his chair a little 
nearer in her direction. "Mules is good fer lunsome- 
ness," he added as an afterthought, apparently addressing 
his boots. 
"Do tell us!" Mrs. Jackson bridled. 
"Yaas, an' so is women." Alarmed at his own temer- 
ity, Saunders suddenly became speechless. From the 
corner of his eye he watched the stealthy approach of 
the widow's rocking chair. Soon, unless something 
happened to prevent, their feet would touch. At the 
thought he drew his own as far back as possible on 
each side of his chair and awaited developments. 
The watchful Hiram observed every little detail of 
this scene, and he began to wax impatient with his 
friend. 
"The blame fool," he whispered to- himself. "Why 
don't he hitch along clusser! Ef I only knowed haow 
t' stir him up," and then he had an inspiration. "I'll 
make him think o' Satan, an' mebbe tha'tll sorter git 
him started. She's only waitin' t' be asked." 
He raised himself a little higher, and with his huge 
hands for a speaking trumpet, bawled a stentorian 
"Haw-hee! haw-hee! haw-hee!" at the top of his voice 
through the open window. The effect exceeded his 
fondest expectations. The widow screamed, and with 
a wild cry of "Save me!" threw herself bodily upon 
Saunders' neck. Saunders clasped her in a spasmodic 
embrace, and looked wildly about for the cause of this 
awful disturbance. A deep silence followed the startling 
interruption. Presently from the black darkness out 
of doors came the sound of a well-known voice. 
"Eb," called the voice. "I say, Eb." 
"Is that you, Hi?" Saunders demanded in amazement. 
"Yep, that's who 'tis. I done the brayin'. Thought 
you all needed rousin' up a bit. Say, Eb, I'm goin' 
hum. I'll see y' later. Keep tight holt on her naow y' 
got' er. S'long," and the sound of his retreating foot- 
steps became fainter and fainter, and finally died away in 
the distance. 
"Did y' hear what Hi done told me t' do?" Saunders 
asked, clasping the unresisting widow tighter to his 
bosom. 
She nodded her head. 
"Waal, I'm goin' t' do hit, hi ganny. An' I'm goin' 
t' drive over to-morrer arter you all an' take y' hum' 
with me, an* Parson Simon '11 be waitin' thar fer us — an' 
we won't be lunsome no more, narry one of us." 
Tears stole a-down the widow's careworn face. 
. "Oh, Eb," she ,'whispered. "That'll be jest like 
heaven." 
At that moment a lone whippoorwill sent forth his 
plaintive cry from out the stillness of the night. Saun- 
ders raised a warning finger. 
"Hush!" he said in low tones. "Hark at the bird! 
The little cuss is lunsome, I reck'n. But it means good 
luck. Hit's the fust one I've heard sence Satan died." 
Fayette Durlin. 
A Walk Down South.— XVIII. 
Just a word from the Adirondacks: 
"Northwood, N. Y, Dec. 31, 1901. 
"This is Elgie's birthday, but he has not had his lick- 
ing yet. 
"We had what I supposed was a rabbit dinner yester- 
day — fried rabbit, biscuit and gravy as usual. There was 
some left and to-day I warmed it over. Mrs. Chrisman 
[a charming young widow] was here fitting some waists, 
and she was here to dinner. After we were through eat- 
ing. Mrs. C, was asking how I cooked rabbit. She had 
not eaten anything but the biscuit and gravy. So I told 
her how I soaked it over night in salt and water and par- 
boiled it in soda, etc. She thought that meat looked 
funny for rabbit. Then Elgie told us that one of the ani- 
mals was a skunk. I have been sick to my stomach ever 
since — and Mrs. C. said it would require no effort on 
her part to vomit. I think I have cooked the last rab- 
bit or anything else till I know what it is. Elgie had told 
Pop what it was, and I thought he did not eat very hearty. 
I guess he nor Elgie enjoyed it very much * * * 
Mama." 
"Jan. 2. — I suppose Mom told you about the fine meal 
of rabbit we had? Goll! How they praised it, while the 
insides of Pop and I just rolled. Skunk is all right, 
though i would be bully if you didn't know what it was. 
I ate quite a lot, but by thunder it went hard. When 
THIS IS THE MAN WHO IS WALKING DOWN SOUTH. 
I skinned him there was a good breeze and I got to wind- 
ward. When the wind stopped, I stopped. Elgie." 
Same date: "This world is not all a wilderness of woe. 
Pop." 
I had enjoyed the sun dogs, the cold, snow-crystaled 
air and the vast outdoors away up on the Ridge. Per- 
haps a tinge of pity was felt for men who put on earflops 
ten degrees before the thermometer got to zero, but when 
Squire Huffman's man brought in a whole pine stump, 
dripping with fat, and dropped it on the oak blaze, the 
charm of the artificial fire again asserted itself. 
The school teacher, a hundred pound girl, said that her 
oldest boy was 19 years of age, six feet tall and nearly 
two hundred pounds heavy. But such pupils gave her lit- 
tle trouble. They are very chivalrous and moral suasion 
is sufficient to keep them in order. It reminded me of 
the Taylor boys, who would have gunned over two 
States to avenge an insult to their teacher. The historical 
text books of the Southern States vary materially from 
those used in the North, of course, for the needs are dif- 
ferent. The climate and the history have different 
aspects. The novelty increases rather than abates as a. 
northerner pursues his way southward. He is constantly 
reminded that there are. we uns and you all in regard to 
customs and point of view, and almost as constantly 
pleased by the new ways. Here they say "come in and 
warm" first, and afterward, "What's your business?" 
We sat by the fire for a long while that evening. I 
was more than a little lonesome. The wind was blowing 
a skiff of snow across the bottoms, and the cold was just 
great enough to suggest the broad white flats in the 
Adirondacks, and bring to mind the balsam swamps, the 
rocky, ice-covered streams and the deep mountain forests 
of home. I longed for a snowshoe tramp up Little Black 
Creek to the Reservoir, and a rabbit hunt on four feet of 
dry snow — not on the mushy, packing southern kind. 
On Thursday morning, Dec. 11, I sat down to pot- 
roasted beet, hot biscuit, coffee, "fruit" and apple butter 
for breakfast. Squire Huffman thought of riding on 
horseback to New Castle, eighteen miles away, that day, 
but the weather was pretty bad. Had it been good 
weather, his 84 years would not have deterred him'. 
Lloyd Huffman's wife poured coffee, but did hot eat with 
the men — there were' five or six. The women folks sel- 
dom eat with the men when visitors are present; why, I 
don't know, unless it is merely the custom. A girl usually 
stands by the oven to keep hot biscuit on the plates. 
The school teacher appeared for a moment after break- 
fast. It was sifting snow outside, water was scaled with 
ice, and a slight wind was blowing. The school teacher 
had on a spotless white sunbonnet, starched and ruffled. 
The twelve-year-old daughter of the house wore as spot- 
less a pink sunbonnet. These contrasted with their dark 
heavy jackets, their thick mittens, comfortable skirts and 
clear complexions in delighting fashion. 
A visitor from West Virginia, after some money the 
Squire owed him, wore a pair of felts which excited 
much derision on account of their looks. That they were 
comfortable on horseback was a strong argument in their 
favor. To see this migrant from the "far North" where 
I lived and hear its merits discussed in voices that ran to 
peaks made me lonesome. I was glad to start on, for 
under the pack one can rid himself of any gloom. 
This was to be a day of particular importance. It was 
to take me over "the divide.'* Before night I would go 
into the Mississippi Watershed. 
It was not very cold as I walked up Johns Creek Val- 
ley. True, there was snow on the ground, and the wind 
was a chilly one. I plodded on. Rabbit tracks were 
everywhere. The road was gradually ascending. I 
stopped to rest at a horseblock in front of a house, in- 
tending to ask my road within. Looking backward, I 
saw two men coming — familiar faces. They were Har- 
mon and Walter Taylor. It was like meeting old friends. 
They were going toward Newport, my destination, and I 
was to have company for a dozen miles. 
We walked on together, and turned to the left a mile 
away. Instantly the road began to ascend. Up and up it 
went, the sweat running down my face, in spite of fre- 
quent rests. A ruffed grouse roared out of the brush at 
one place, the woods looked like good deer country all 
along — a great, steep ridge side sweeping up from the 
valley steeper and steeper to the backbone — Clover Moun- 
tain, and we were headed for Clover Gap. Once we 
stopped to drink at a spring — its waters were warm com- 
pared to the air. Many times we stopped at a rock or 
log where I could rest the bundle. The wind grew colder 
and the ice thicker in the road. Walter slipped in one 
place and wiped snow from a dozen feet of ice. The 
road led up gullies, held in place on the right side by 
logs. We could look down on the road in places a hundred 
feet below, in others five hundred feet down. But above 
we could see little, and that was misleading. Where the 
openings seemed to indicate the top of the divide wfr 
found only another U or S bend in the trail — and that 
always an up hill one till at last, after clinging for a while 
to a side hill slope we rounded a slight point— a last 
stagger up — and there the grade changed. The valleys of 
the great river were before me. It was then 12:15 o'clock. 
The wind was cold, the place exposed to the strongest 
blasts, but it was pleasant to me to be there. 
Soon we started down hill — a grade as steep as the one 
up. It was just as hard for me. I slipped and stumbled, 
went down and rolled over three times, pack and all, 
on one slick snow-hidden ice scale. We came to a vacant 
house on the left in a gulley, a number of steep corn- 
fields, some cattle, a big, brown, scared rooster, and then 
a house. Here we stopped, and though it was wash-day, 
prevailed on the wife to get us a snack. She brought a 
peck of big red apples for us to stay our appetites on. We 
ate them all. Sausage, apple sauce and butter, sweet 
milk, coffee, new biscuit, and old biscuit (dipped in hot 
water and then baked over), jelly and peach sauce van- 
ished, and more was prepared. At last we were willing 
to warm by the fire again. 
Newport was six miles away, and we had lots of time. 
We lingered until both sides had been warmed through 
and then toasted, after which we traveled on. 
Soon the first water I was to see Mississippi-bound 
came across our road. We jumped across. Then we 
came to it again. This time we jumped further. The 
next time we crossed on a rail, and then on the ice, and 
then on the ice and a rail. Next time we built a bridge 
out of rail fence. I led the way, pack and all, over a 
pole. At last we had to take to the fields. A dozen times 
that stream crossed the road — the road crossed it? — in 
a couple of miles. But at last we got shet of it and walked 
in place. It was an impressive stream to me in every 
respect. 
The boys wanted to carry my pack, and now that the 
road was not so steep nor so hard, and there was little 
danger of their breaking legs or ankles, I let them try it. 
It was a new weight to them. At first it seemed easy, 
but in a mile I had the pack again.* We came to the 
forks of the road, on one of which I must, go, and they 
on the other, so we parted again. 
A foot bridge suspended by two wire ropes and a hun- 
dred feet long was before me over Sink Creek. 
"Careful now that yere's slick," a man said to me as I. 
started over. I walked carefully, the bridge swaying at 
every step, but I crossed safely and soon rounded the 
point up the creek to Newport. 
I walked into the office of the hotel and dropped my 
pack to the floor. 
"Good Lord! what's that?" asked proprietor Smith, 
with genuine amazement. Then he hefted the pack. It 
made him grunt. 
"Jerusalem crickets! Why, I'll bet if you've got any 
fight in you at all you'd tear a man to pieces; yes sir, tear 
five or six right to pieces," he continued. Then they all 
stood back and looked at me; guessed at my weight 
(twenty pounds too much), and wet their lips with their 
tongues when they thought of seeing me in a scrap. 
The shooting of Clarence Martin by Kemper Sybrook 
at Pembroke a few miles away the day before was a lead- 
ing topic of conversation that night in the office until 
somebody proposed poker. Then the doors were locked, 
the light put down on the bar and the cards brought out. 
The justice of peace got astride the bar, the negro stage 
driver counted the pack, Smith, Jr., watching, and a 
couple of others felt in their pockets to see how much 
money they had. A game "just to pass the time away," 
five cent ante, twenty-five cents limit. It was interesting 
to me, because I knew that three of the players at least 
had revolvers in their pockets. Every boy of sixteen 
years or more in that place is said to carry a deadly 
weapon. Young Smith has a silver-plated, hand-engraved 
Smith & Wesson, .38 caliber. The others carried similar 
weapons, and all had a "high sense of honor." 
The second night wound up with proprietor Smith 
saying: 
"Well, I declare, if that don't beat anything I ever did 
see. Bet my last cent on a pair of kings and beat this 
man [stage driver] out of all his day's earnings." 
* The buoyancy of hope and leadenness of despair in- 
termingled at Newport. I sat by the coal fireplace in 
my room for several hours on the 20th trying to. deter- 
mine what to do. New River, six miles away, was so. 
