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PHYSICIANS PRESCRIPTION
CAREFULLY CONFOUNDED.

BY J0 KING.

 

 

" Fair maid, I long to wait on you,
Although you’re well and healthy;
1 offer you my services
And with your smile I'm wealthy.

“ ’Tis the most difficult case, I own,
That I have e‘er attended;
If I could make professional calls,
Indeed, it would be splendid.

“ To tell the truth, dear one, it’s me
Of laie who has been ailing
With an affection of the heart,
With medicine unavailing.

“ My eyes are much affected, too:—
The symptoms are much aching,
That is, they’re aching to see you
And trouble they are making.

" l’m longing to profess my love,
Which seems my greatest mission;

And if you’d hear me I would be

Quite proud of my profession.

“ [long to have your trusting heart
On me place full dependence,
And I’d attend you all through life
Nor charge for my attendance.

“ I long to take your hand, but not
To hold for just a minute,
And count its pulsings as we do—-
To hold it, dear. and win it!

“ Your own sWeet will should have its way,
My graci- would not need bribing,
And where you‘d go or u hat you‘d wear
I Would not be prescribing.

" My Venus de Medica you'd be,
A name that‘s very sweet meant,
And were you ill to me you’d not
Complain, dear, of my treatment.

“ Dear, I have patients: I can wait;
You answer me by letter;
For all the goodness of your heart
Consider me your Dr.”

Said she, “ Your docterin’ is not sound:
Oh you I have not doted;

Another doctor takes my caSe,
For you’re too sugarecoated.”

His feelings were so violent,
He took. to make her rue it.

A dose of his own medicine
And died before he knew it.

 

Smiles Told in the Round-House.

BY J. C. CO\VDRICK.

A Peculiar Situation.

 

THERE was a larger crowd than usual in the
round-house the other evening, consisting of
conductors, engineers, firemen, brakemen, etc,
most of whom had “ dropped in ” to while awa
an hour or two in social converse, and when
dropped in myself for the same purpose, I found
a new suggestion had just been brought up for
debate.

At first I could not get hold of the subject of
the argument, but presently the conversation
made it all clear.

I will repeat it just as I heard it, or as nearly
as possible.

“ I say it can’t be done!” declared Dan Law-
son, a fireman, most emphatically.

“ And I say it can I” insisted Uncle Jake
Banker, an old engineer. “ And what’s more,
I’ve seen it done.”

“ Oh, well, if you’ve seen it done, Uncle Jake,
of course I won’t dispute your word, but I’d
'ust like to know how it was done, and I guess

ain’t the only one here who would like to know
either.”

“ You’re right ” came from half-a—dozen or
more at once. 1‘ Tell me how it was, Uncle
J ake?”

Some of the older men present smiled com—
placently, evidently knowing the secret of the
puzzle; but for the most part the younger ones
were eager to have it explained.

“ Can’t make it out, ch?” Uncle Jake queried.

“ No, I’ll be hanged if I canl” Dan answered.

“ It's as lain as day.”

“ Well, can’t see how it could be done. You
say it was a single-track road, do you?”

“ Yes, single track.”

“And there were two freight—trains, one go-
ing east and the other gomg west, and each
train had forty cars and a cab00se. That
right?”

“ Yes, that’s it.”

“ And these two trains met at a place where
there was but one side-track, and that side—track
would hold only an engine and fifteen cars. Is
that right?”

“ That’s right.”

“ And there wasn’t any spur, nor branch, nor
‘Y,’ nor anything of that sort?”

“Not a thing. All there was were the main
line and the short side-track.”

“And you say those two trains passed each
other at that place.”

“ They did. Danny, for a fact."

“And after they’d passed, each engine had
the same cars it had had when they first met,
and just as many.

“ Just so.”

“ Well, I can’t understand how it was done,
unless one train took a good start and jumped
over the other one.”

“ Mebby th’ side-track was made of Injy—
rubber, an’ they could stretch it out as long as
they wanted to,” a brakeman suggested.

At this there was a laugh, and when that had
subsided, Uncle Jake said:

“ N 0, boys, they didn’t jump over, nor the side—
track wouldn’t stretch: but they passed each
other there, just as I tell you.

“ But, I’ll tell you how it was.

“ It happened away back in the fifties, when
railroads were run more by guess and by gosh
than by rule and regulation.

“ It was on the C. P. & V.

“ I was a much younger man then than I am
now, and I was firing on one of the trains at
the time.

“The train I was on was the Way Freight,
cast-bound, train No. 22. _

“ The run was from Bellton to Cranford, a
distance of about eighty-six miles, and we used
to go east one day as train No. 2‘2, and west the
next day as train No. '22}.

“ There were two crews, you understand, and
on the day one crew was going west, the other
was going east.

“The regular passing-point for trains 22 and
73:} was at a place called Bingham: but some
days, when one or the other of the trains hap-
pened to be behind time, they would pass at some
other place by special orders.

“ There was side-track enough at Bingham
for trains to pass with a hundred cars, if
necessary, but the other stations hadn’t so much
room.

“ The first station east of Bingham wasa place
called Powellton, about ten miles away, and
there the siding would hold sixty cars and an
engine.

“The first regular station west of Bingham
was Burnt Tavern.

“ There the side-track would hold about fifty

cars.
“ Burnt Tavern was about nine miles from
Bingham, and between those two places was
Rabbit-tail Siding—the short side—track where
this little jubilee took place.

“ The reason it was called Rabbit-tail Siding,
was because it was so short.

“ Once in a while, when the Way Freight,
east-bound, would be a little late, and one train
or the other was small enough to get into the
Rabbit-tail, they passed there; but it didn’t very
often happen.

“ When they didn’t pass at Bingham, it was
generally either at Burnt Tavern or Poweilton.

“ Well, one day our train—train No. 22, east-
bound, as 1 said before—was a little late, and

we received orders not to pass the Rabbit-tail
Siding until train No. 23 arrived there.

“ That was all right. _ ‘

“We supposed, of course, that train No. 20’
had only a few cars, and could get out of our
way at that place.

“ And that was just what the crew of N o. :33
thought about us when they got their orders to
run to the Rabbit-tail Siding regardless of train
No. 

“ And that was all right.

“ Each train had plain and distinct orders to
go to that point to meet the other,  to that
point they went; but, great old kingtboltsl
when we got there we found that each train had
fort cars.” _

“ ut,” I interrupted, being interested in the
telegraphic features of the case, “how did the
train-dispatcher come to order the trains to
pass at that place? He must have known how
many cars each train had, didn’t he, Uncle
Jake?”

“ Well, yes—or at least he should have known,
but somehow or other he got things mixed up,
or perhaps his operator mixed things up for
him, for not many dispatchers were operators
themselves in those days.

“ There was a twenty—mile branch of the C.
P. & V., running from Bingham to a town
called VVarwoods, and on that branch there was
a freight—train known as No. 43.

"' That train had only six cars that day, and
in some way the reports of No. 23 and o. 43
got sort of discombobbled in the dispatcher’s
head

“ I forget, now, whether he was held to blame
for it, or the operator.

“ Anyhow, when our train rounded out of the
woods and came in sight of the Rabbit-tail Sid-
ing, there stood No. 23 with just about as many
cars as we had.

“ When we got there we found that each had
forty cars just.

“ May be you can imagine how we felt.

“ \Vhy, all the cuss—words of seventeen lan-
guages couldn’t have begun to express our feel-
111 s.

g There we stood, the engines head to head,
forty cars and a caboose behind each engine,
and only enough room on the side-track for one
engine and fifteen cars.

“ Things were a trifle mixed.

“ There was a boy plowing in a field right
close to the track, and the first salute we got
from him. was:

“ ‘ Hey! Ye’d better switch one 0’ them
trains off onter th’ turnpike, an’ take th’ short-
cut ’way around!’

“ Well, the first thing the conductors and en-
gineers did, was to compare their orders.

“ They wanted to see how they’d got there,
anyhow.

“ The orders were all straight, though, and
then they knew that the y were not to blame for
the ‘ block.’

“ But what was to be done about it? That
was the question.

“ ‘ Hey! Turn out, there, you other feller,
an’ let me go by!’ cried the boy in the field.

“ Nobody paid much attention to the boy,
though.

“ But the boy couldn’t be still.

“ ‘ If ye’d sent me word ye was a-comin’,’ he
cried out again, ‘ I’d ’a’ torn down some fence
an’ built ye a longer side-track.’

“The way those two conductors did swear
around there, was enough to have turned every-
thin blue.

“ nd swear was about all the did do, too;
for how to get out of the singular x,they didn’t
know.

“ Railroading was in its infancy in those
days, comparatively, and this was a new situa-
tion to all of us.

“ It looked as though there must be some way
for the two trains to ‘ saw ’ around each other,
but no one could figure it out.

“ ‘ Why don’t ye send one train on by tilly—

?’ the boy in the field sun out.

“ ‘ I’ll send you b telegra , if I get hold of
you l’ one of the con uctors cried.

‘f There seemed to be but one way out of the
dilemma, and that was—for train No. 22 to
back up to Burnt Tavern and let train No. 23
come on and pass her there. ‘

“It would have been a great deal nearer if
train No.‘ 23 could have backed to Bingham, but
the grade that way was so heavy that they were
afraid to try it.

“ So it was finally settled that our train should
be the one to do the backing.

“ In the mean time the farmer’s boy had
climbed over the fence and come down to the
track.

“ ‘ Say!’ he exclaimed, ‘ you fellers kin git yer
trains by each other, ef ye go ter work right!’

“ ‘ Get out!’ was the answer he got. ‘ 0 you
s’ pose you can teach us how to railroad?’

“ ‘ Well, if I was boss 0’ this affair I could
show ye how to git yer trains past, an’ I’ll bet

on it!’
You’d better get

“ ‘ Oh! you only think so.
back to your plow.’
“ ‘ No. I don‘t only think so: I know so!’
“ ‘ IVE-ll, my lad,’ the engineer of our train
asked, ‘ what would you do first?’
“ ‘ How many cars will th’ sidin‘ hold ?’ inquir-
ed the bOy.
“We told him.
“ ‘ Well,’ he said, ‘ th’ first thing I’d do, I’d
put one engine and fifteen cars onto th’ side-
track.’
“ ‘ And what would you do then?’
“ ‘ Then I’d move th’ other engine ahead with
all its cars, an’ let th’ first engine an’ th’ fifteen
cars git out 0’ th’ sidin’.’
“ ‘ What good would that do.”
" ‘ Lots 0’ good !'
“ ‘ How? What would you do next?’
“ “'ell, next I’d hook th’ engine with th’ full
train fast to fifteen more cars of th’ first en-
gine’s train, back th’ whole thing back to th’
side-track, put th’ fifteen cars onto th’ sidin’,
pull ahead ag’in out 0’ th’ way, an’ then th’ first
engine could come an’ hook fast to ’em herself.
See 9”
“ Yes, we did see; and it was sim 1e as could
be. Do you begin to catch on to it, anny!”
“ Yes,” the fireman answered, “ I begin to see
it, now: but go ahead and let’s hear how you
came out." '
“ Well,” Uncle Jake resumed, “ as soon as the
conductors and engineers got hold of that boy’s
idea, they saw it could be done: and they went
to work to do it.
“ Train No. 23 backed up a little, and then the
engine of train No. ‘32 took fifteen of her cars
and went onto the side—track with them.
“Then train 2?» pulled ahead far enough to
let the engine of ‘22 get out of the siding be-
hind 21-3.
“ \Vhen that was done, then the engine of ‘33
hooked fast to fifteen cars more of train ‘22,
backed up and put them on the siding, pulled
ahead again clear of the switch, and then the
engine of train 2‘3 backed down and pulled them
out.
“Then the rest of the cars and the caboose
were handled the same way, and in about eight
or ten minutes it was all done, and the trains
were ready to go on.
“ Do you see how it was done now, Danny?”
“ Yes,” replied the fireman, “ I see how it
was, and it looks mighty simple, too; but at
first sight a fellow would swear it couldn’t be
done.
“ But. Uncle Jake, how did that boy get hold
of the idea 3”
“ “’hy, he said he got to thinking about it
one day when he was working in that field near
the road, and when he went home at night he
figured it all out with a set of dominoes.
d “ And where do you suppose that lad is to-
ay? ‘
“ Give it up.”
“ Well, he is the superintendent of that same
C. P. & V. railroad.”
“ And what did that dispatcher have to say,
Uncle Jake?” I asked.
“ Why, when we got to Bingham he asked us
by telegraph how we got around train No. 23;
and then our conductor asked him how he eav-
pected we would get around when he ordered
us to pass at the Rabbit-tail.”

the loss iii_t_he Medora.

BY C. I). CLARK.

 

“ MATES,” said Jack Adair, as we took our
watch below in the old Metamora, “ talking of
savages, I reckon you don’t know much about
’em. But if you’d seen the Ingins that hang
out to the north of Vancouver, you’d’ve seen the
dirtiest and meanest lot of beggars on God’s
earth. You remember the loss of the Medora
——leastways you’ve heard of her, Ned. But the
rest of the boys never did, so come to anchor
here, and I’ll spin you a yarn as long as the
fathom line.”

We “came to anchor” on the chests and
lockers, li hted our pipes, and blew a noisome
cloud, wh' e Jack, thrusting a mighty quid into
his cheek prepared for business.

“The odora was a square-rigged ship, boys,
and the best goer on a wind of any on the
whaling-ground. I tell you, mates, when she
run out her stu’nsel booms alow and aloft, it
would do your heart good to see her walk away
from the rest of the fleet. She was a lucky
craft, too, and the other captains said that
when she couldn’t get ile, the others might jest
as well pack up their irons.

“ One day in August we was mebbe a hun-
dred milesto the north of Vancouver’s, and it
come up so thick that the old man run in
through the islands, and come to anchor be-
hind Admiralty Island. It was a queer nest,
and from the deck we could see two great
mountains in full View, Mt. St. Elias and Fair-
weather. It was the pleasant time of year in
the north, and the great pine woods and green

astures were looking their very best, and the
liest ain’t much in such a forsaken country as
t .

his.

“ I didn’t like it. Mebbe I’m of a sus icious
natur’, but ever since them cussed aoris
killed my mate, Cale Drugget, I’ve been rather
shy of any kind of roughs and savages, and I
told the old man that it wasn’t safe to lay
there, but he only laughed at me, and said the
Injuns round there knew him well and would
do almost anything for him.

“ “'e hadn’t laid there an hour when the red
skunks got out their canoes and began to come
ofl’. In less than half an hour they were thick
on the decks, mebbe half a hundred of them,
and the hardest-looking crowd of red heathens
I ever saw in my life. The chief was with
them—an old ri about sixty years old, over
six foot high, wit a nose like an eagle, and two
of the most devilish-looking eyes I ever saw in
a human being]. He was dressed in sailor’s tog~
gery, but be ad a big fish-bone through his
nose, and two others in his ears, and was a
hard—looking critter general] . But the capt’in
cottoned to the old cuss, an gave him two or
three big horns of grog, and he took them down
like a regular soaker, and it made his black
eyes look more wicked than ever.

“ The first mate of the Medora was a big,
long~geared, lantern—jawed Maine man, with
one of those undershot jaws that stick out be-
yond the upper one, and make a man look
mighty ugly. He didn’t like the look of the
Injuns, and I caught him squinting at the red
niggers in an ugly way, two or three times, and
I could see that the chief was a little one-sided
toward him.

“ ‘ See here, Cap,’ said the mate, ‘it may be
all right to have the decks lumbered up with
this sort of truck, but I don’t see it. ’Tain’t
safe, in the first lace, and in the next they are
a dirty lot of lub rs, and I don’t want them on
my deck.’
“ ‘ Oh. they are peaceable enough, Seth,’ de-
clared the captain. ‘ I’ve been in here a. dozen
times, and I never had any trouble with them
et.’ .
“‘ You never give ’em a chance,’ says Seth
Bunker. ‘ I want {on to know that that ugly
old cups of a chic
t . .

“ But the captain didn’t hem him, and the
Injuns fooled around the decks and drank whis-
ky until it was nearly dark; then they made
ready to go ashore. The old chief stopped and
patted a five-gallon keg of whisky.

“ ‘ Give Injun dis,’ he says.

“ ‘ What you give for it, old fellow?’ asks the
old man.

“ ‘ Got plenty sealskins,’ answered the old ras-
cal. ‘ Give you dem.’

“ ‘ All right,’ says the captain. ‘ Take it, and
brin me the skins.’

“ he Injuns took the keg into one of the ca-
noes and put off.

“ ‘ I‘ll tell you what it is, Cap,’ cried Mr.
Bunker; ‘ the quicker we get the anchor up and
get out of this, the better for everybody. I
warn you that them devils will get drunk on
that whisky, and when they do they’ll come
back and try to take the ship.’

“ ‘ You are too suspicious, Seth,’ says the
captain. ‘ Why, after what I’ve done for them,
do you think they would be mean enough to in-
jure me 2’

“ ‘ You kain’t trust an Injun, nohow you can
fix it,’ says Mr. Bunker. ‘ Mebbe I’m obstinit,
but I ask you to git the anchor up and take an-
other anchorage. My life ain’t much use to the
world in gineral, but it’s the best I ’rc got, and
I’d ruther save it.’

“ ‘ I’m not going to change my anchorage be—
cause you are a coward, Seth Bunker.’ says the
captain.

“ ‘ Then you think I’m a coward? “Teal, I
thought you knowed me better than that, Cap-
tain Slocum. You an’ I hev sailed a good
many year together, an’ you’ve seen me beach
my boat on many a whale, an’ I didn’t think
you’d throw ‘ coward "in my teeth; I didn’t, by
Geor e!’

“‘ know you are not a coward. Seth. but
why will you insist upon my changing my an-
chorage?’

“ ‘ Then keep all hands on deck to—night.’
“The men began to grow]. They had worked
hard, and calculated on a good snooze that
night, and it made them mad to think that the
first Dicky wanted to rob them of their rights.
The captain saw that they didn’t like it, and he
was that good to his men that he wouldn’t hear
of it.

“ ‘ Then I won’t stay aboard to-night,’ growled
Seth Bunker. ‘ All my crew stand by to man
my boat! Hi, Jack! Throw a bread~bag into
the boat and a keg of water. Look alive, my
hearties!’

“ I was harpooner in the mate’s boat, and ev—
ery one of his boat’s crew would have followed
him to the death. So I threw a bread-bag into
the boat, and Dyke Peterson put in the water
and the mate’s rifle.

“ ‘ “'here are you going to stay, Seth ?’ asked
the old man, laughing.

“ ‘On the island.’

“ ‘ You obstinate old donkey! Go it, then, if
you must, but be on board at daybreak.’

“ “'0 dropped into the boat and pulled away
toward the island. It was dark now, but the
mate knew the ground, and it wasn’t long be-
fore. we came up on the sand at the northern
gift of the island, and drew the boat up high

“ ‘ You may sleep, boys,’ says the mate. ‘ As
for me, I don’t close my eyes to—night.’

“ All the crew, ’cept the mate and me, lopped
down on the grass and went to slee . “'e light-
ed our pipes. and sat down with our acks against
the rocks. looking out toward the ship, mebbe a
quarter of a mile away. We could make her
out by the lantern swinging in the shrouds, and
for two hours we never moved. and I was going
into a doze, when the mate grabbed me by the
arm.

“ ‘ Look, Jack, look!’ he cried. ‘ What did I
tell ou?’

“ e had hardly spoken when I heard such a
yell as I never heard before in all my time, and
I never want to hear again. It seemed as of a
hundred devils all j’ined the’r voices in one tre-
mendous scream, and a dozen lights flashui out
to once upon the deck of the Medora. By these
lights we could see the canoes swimming all
round the ship and more than a hundred
inted Injuns leaping up the sides and pour-in

is mean enough for any- ,

{I
g

Bunker was right, and the treacherous hounds,
driven mad by the liquor, had come to take the

shi .

‘P‘ And we can’t do anything, boys,’ oaned
the mate. ‘ If we was there it would on y be to
make more slaughter, not to save them.’

“ ‘ It is awful, says I. ‘ Oh, look at that!’

“ It seemed as if every red thief had a lighted
pine-knot in one hand and a hatchet or club in
the other. The old chief, looking like a demon
as the light fell upon his face, jumped across
the deck to the companion, just as the captain,
routed out by the noise, came on deck. We
could see him put up his hands in the air, and
then the chief swung back his club and brought
it down With awful force, and then the captain
fell backward down the companion. The second
mate run up with a pistol in his hand and shot
one of the red dogs down, but before he could
fire another shot a hatchet was in his brain.

“Every man, except those in the fo’k’sel was
dead now, and the devils sat on the fo’k’lel scut-
tle and jeered at them, and asked them to come
up. But not a man appeared. They knowed
well that every head that showed above the lad-
ger would meet with ax or club, and they stayed

own.

“ ‘ I hoge Jed Phelps is alive,’hissed the mate.
‘ If he is 6’1] give them a lesson yet. He’s the
man to die game.’
“ The fiends were running up and down the
shrouds, diving into the cabin, and bringin
out everything that suited their fancy and
tumbling them into the canoes and boats, and
the women pulled them ashore. But the men
in the fo’k’sel bothered them. They wouldn’t
come out,and everylittle while we heard a shot,
and one of the cusses threw up his arms and
dropped.
“ ‘ Jed is there, I tell you!’ said the mate. ‘ I
told you he’d die game. All I hope is that them
devils will fool round those wder kegs in the
fore-hold until they get a lig t to one of them.
Better for the boys to die that way than to be
tortured to death. Oh, why didn’t the captain
listen to me, and not trust that black-hearted

og?’
“ we couldn’t do anything. There was more
than a hundred and fifty of them on deck, and
all the weapons we had was the mate’s rifle.
But we got the boat into the water and took
our places in it, and pulled out as near as we
dared without being seen. They were hauling
up everything out of the hold as fast as they
wanted it, and the yells were enough to drive a
man mad. Again the canoes were loaded and
pulled toward the shore, and they dived below
with their torches. All at once we saw a man
fly out of the main hatch and jump for the rail;
but before he got to it, the whole deck seemed
to lift into the air, a cloud of smoke and flame
poured out of the batches, and in the midst of
it, arms and legs flying, we saw the bodies of
the black dogs who had killed our captain.
Then came an explosion which seemed to shake
the sea, and a few broken timbers, shattered
spars and bits of blackened rigging was all that
remained of the (good ship Medora, her captain,
or her crew. An we thanked God in our hearts
that vengeance had so quickly overtaken the
treacherous dogs in the midst of their black
crime. Whether one of them setfire tothe pow-
der by acc1dent, or Jed Phelps and the rest
worked their way through the bulkheads and
blew up the ship on pur e, we never knew
and never shall know. e pulled out through
the islands and headed down the coast, and
were picked up next day by the whaler N ep-
tune. And that’s the story of the loss of the
Medora, as we saw it. Pass the grog, Dave:
here’s rest to the crew of the Medora.”
And in silence, with downcast eyes, we drank
to the memory of the lost.

 

 

Buck and the Hoist-thief. »

' 'v’nrnmmawoop.‘ ,
“Wm?! A horse-thief are ‘wuss’n a pole-
cat fur ownright meanness. They cant no
more compare with a squar’, stand-up—fight rob-
ber than they kin to an honest trapper,” was
the emphatic assertion that saluted my ears as
I drew near a party of rangers gathered around
the evening camp-fire.

“You ar’ down on that tribe, Buck, ain’t
you?” asked one of the fellows, winking at the
others.

“ Down- on ’em! A1" a hungry duck ever
down onto a June—bug! er a Lavacca 'skeetcr
onto a liver—colored city chap? Yes, I be down
on ’em, cuss ’em, an’ I’ve got good showin' ter
bi,” growled Buck Halliday, with savage em-
p 9.515.

“ Well, they don’t seem ter be no great favor-
ites in Texas, nohow," said another. “ But
what makes you hate ’em so, Buck?”

“ “'ell, I’ll tell yer why I hates ’em,” replied
the ranger. “ F‘ustly, ’cause they’re a mean,
low-lived, white—livered, sneakin’ an’ cowardly
set 0’ skunks, thet won’t fight ’cept when they’re
cornered, an’ when they do, they’ll stab yer in
the back an’ then run away. They won’t stan’
up an’ look ye squar’ in the face, nohow. Sec—
kindly. the cusses stole ther best boss thet I ever
straddled, an’ left me afoot on ther perairy,
three hundred mile from nowhar, blast ’em!

" I’ll tell ou how it war.

“ We he been arter a lot uv thievin’ Co-
manch’ up on the head-waters uv the Nueces,
an’arter the scrimmage I got supperated frum
the ballunce, not edzackly lost, but confounded-
ly bothered. you know. an‘ so, findin’ thet I war
outen the trail an' no likelihood uv pickin’ it up
ag’in, I started on a bee-line. all by myself,
’cross the kentry fer Sabas Mission, whar I
know’d sum uv ’em would be.

“ I rid hard all thet day an’ cam . in a
mott uv timmer on the banks uv a litt e crick,
whar grass war plenty an’ water, too.

“ Arter a good feed off‘n a antelope thet I
throw’d ’bout sundown. I turned in. an’ never
knew nothin’ till sun-up, when suthin’ woke me
all in a hurry. An’ it war time 1 war stirrin',
fer thar stood a ugly-muzzled cuss right over
me with a six-shooter in one hand an’ my rifle
in t’other, while a cupple more uv ’em war
drawin’ the picket-pin to which m critter war
roped. I know'ed ’em in a minit. {loss-thieves,
sez.l to myself, an‘ they’ve ketched me nap—
pm'.

“ ’Twurn‘t no use sayin’ nothin‘, an’ I didn’t,
but I marked the vill’ins so es I’d know ’em
ag in.

“IVE-ll, they left me afoot, ’ithout boss er
rifle, an’ nothin’ but the antelope karkidge ter
keep me from starviu‘.

“ Es they rid off, leadin’ mycritter, one uv ‘em
ups an’ sez with a larf:

“ ‘ I reckin you‘ll do, ole man, ye seem ter hev
good, long legs fer travelin’.’ '

“At which they all larfs es though ’twur
mighty smart an’ funny. -

“I didn’t say nothin’ to thet, but I kep’ a-
thinkin‘, an’ I thinks—’mong other things—these
here legs ar’ goin' ter last till thev ketch up
with you, ennyhow, an’ when they (loose, why,
look out, thet’s all.

“ ‘Twar a long tramp, fellers, to Sabas, but I
made it, an’ thar I got anuther boss, an’ started
fur San Antonio, which war head-quarters
them days. The boyees pestered me rightsmart
’bout thet sarcumstance, but I bed ter grin an‘
bear it, fer ’twould hev been foolishness ter hev
got mad. an“ I jess went along quiet like, keep-

feller what bed said he reckined my legs war
good ’uns. An’ it warn’t long afore I see the
skunk, an’ may I be stung ter death by scor-
pions. cf he warn't ridin’ my boss jess es big es
life.

“ I war crossin’ the Plazy, me an’ sum more
uv the boyees, when I see him, an" ye kin
bet I warn’t long lettin’ ’em know what war

up.
“The cuss bed seen me, too, an’ be war of

like a streak uv greased lightnjn’, makin’ fer

the open kentry west uv the town.

_“It didn’t take us more’n half a day ter

git in our saddles, an’ then the darnedest

chase begun thet ever I bed in all my borned

 

 

 

m on the decks. Then we knowed that So

in’ both eyes skinned fer a sight uv thet funnyN

“Thefeller knowed he war a-ridiii’ for life,
an’ he didn’t 3 ar’ my boss, which made me
madder’n I war fore.

“ At ‘Clato crick we begun ter ain, an’ from
thet the race war all one—sided. knowed ef I
could git clos’t enough for the boss to hear my
voice he’d chuck the skunk over his head an’
kim back ter me, an’ sure ’nough, by-’m-by, I
fetched a whoop to try the etfeck.

“ ‘ He—he—he—hoo!"

“ I jess wish sum uv you could ’a’ seen thet
critter. Fu’st he pricked up his ears, an’ then
he tried ter look back’ards. but the bit war too
strong an’ be guv thet trick up.

“ I fetched anuther, an’ this time the boss
knew who it war es war a—chasin’ uv him, an’ he
commenced his anticks.

“He r’ared up, an’ kicked u ; he jumped
fu’st on one side an’ then on t’ot er; he bolted
an’ stopped short, an’ byemby he jess laid right
down in the trail an’ wallered.

“ Thet fixed the cussed thief, fur afore he c’u’d
git his feet outen ther sterrups, we war onto
him an’ had him roped neck an' heels.

“ He war like all ther rest uv ’em, a darned
coward, an’ so be begun beggin’ fur his life
afore a word was said.

“ ‘ Shot up, you infamal hoss—thief!’ sez one
of the fellers. ‘ W'e’ll have marcy on ye; oh,
yes, lots uv it. ’Won’t we, boyees?’

“ Well, to make an eend uv it, a council uv
war wur hilt, an’ the simultam'o'us voice sed es
how he must go under.

“ We draw’d lots who sh’u’d gallup him, an’
it fellto me, an’ so I got ready fur to execute
the sentence. “re cut loose the skunk’s feet so
es he could travel, an’ then I put the noose uv
my lariat round his neck an’ mounted, fu’st
makin’ my eend uv the rope fast to the pummel.

" \‘Vhen everything war ready, we started on
a slow lope, the boss-thief follerin’ me at a
lively run and a—pleadin’ fur marcy et every

Jum .

“ Pnever looked back, butI c’u’d feel him bob-
bin’ at the eend, an’ purty soon we struck a gal-
lup. I felt the lariat get tighter an’ tighter,
an’ purty soon the strain sett ed into a reg’lar
pull, an’ I knowed the jig war up.

“ An’ so it war, fur when we stopped an’ out
lfiim loose, his own daddy wouldn’t ’a’ knowed

1m.

“’Twar a severe sentence, boyees, but he de-
sarved it, same es every skunk uv the like do—
zn’ you see, it kep’ him frum steal-in’ cnny more

asses.”

 

 

Telephone Echoes.

 

ANOTHER washout—on the clothes line.

“ WHICH is ri ht, Edward, ‘ The wages of sin
is death,’ or, ‘ he wages of sin are death?”
“Neither, Annabal. ‘The wages of sin is
wealth.”

THE Boston Transcript says that the devil as
a gentleman differs from some other gentlemen
in that he has a cloven foot while they have a
cloven breath.

“WHAT station do you call this?” asked a
man as he crawled out of the ruins of a car,
after a recent railroad accident. “ Devastation,
sir,” replied his fellow-passengers in chorus.

A BURLINGTON man who has had two patches
put on the toe of his right boot since last No-
vember felt called upon to explain to his shoe—
maker that he had a large family of unmarried
daughters.

IN a country church one Sabbath, as the con‘
gregation were rising to the first rayer, an old
woman entered the church at t 6 time. She
held up her hand, exclaimingz—“Keep your
 Losh, ye needna a’ rise, tho’ I’ve come
in. .

WHILE Mr. Justice Chitty was try-info. case
inLondon the other 1:? a large piece 0 plaster
fellfromtheoefling . courtu‘ _ thecau~

opy under which he w sitting. ’ “ Mata
mat cwlum,”—-“ Lat nation be done though the
heavens fall”——said he. ,

“ WHY not sing more songs in English?" asks
a musical journal. It is impossible to please
everybody. We have heard songs sung in Eng-
lish which would have given greater satisfac-
tion if they had been sung in Iceland—or in the
woods.

“ VAN DABBLE’s paintings,"says an art ex-
change, “ should not be vie wed from a less dis—
tance than ten yards.” This is nothing: we
have lots of amateur painters whose work
should not be viewed from a less distance than
ten miles.

“ IVHAT! “'omen overworked! Fudgel
Think of the men!” “Ah, but you know the
old saying, ‘ “'oman’s work is never done.”
“ I know it, and that’s the reason she oughtn’t
to complain. Now, a man has to do his work or
lose his job.”

“ \‘VHAT is the thermometer?” asked Mrs.
Hobbs of her husband, as he came in one cold
day last week. “ Queer a woman of vour age
don’t know what the thermometer is. t’s some-
thing that registers the state of the tempera-
ture. Any more foolish questions to—day?"

A LADY who boards in the United States
Hotel at Litchfield, Conn., was annoyed by the
slamming of a window shutter the other night.
Finally, with much trouble, she located the
room, entered, raised the window. fastened the
shutter, and was horrified when the calm voice
of a Boston drummer in the bed said: “ Thank
you. ma’am.”

“ YOU are a jewel,” said Ethel, shyly, when
Algernon opened up the usual lay—out of cara-
mels. “ No,”he said, pushing the big rocking-
chair away from the window, “I am only a
lapidary. ” And then the long silence continued
to be broken by a succession of sounds such as a
hungry man makes while taking oysters from
the half-shell.

MAMMA—“ IVhen poor Christian was walking
through this valley he met a horrible monster
with great glaring eyes like coals of fire, and
the monster had a voice like rolling thunder,
and he breathed smoke and flame from his ter-
rible nostrils. Who was it?” Irma (who spent
last summer in the country)—“ Oh, mamma, I
know! Acow!"

A Bosrox drummer ordered a plate of his
native fodder in Brandon, Vt., the other day,
and was charged twenty—five cents. He object-
ed to paying fifteen cents more than the Boston
price, but without avail. The next day the
bean—seller received a telegram saying: “ Don‘t
you think that was too much for those beans?”
The restaurant man paid twenty-five cents for
the message and swore.

A COUPLE of alleged mediums were an-
nounced to give an exhibition in Salt Lake City
recently, and announced in their advertisement:
“Your dear departed ones who have passed
from earthly life to the spirit world will appear
before you as in life. You will recognize them!
You will feel their presence! You will con—
verse with them!” Only one clause in the ad-
vertisement kept the Mormon elders away. It
was a promise that they should see their depart—
ed wives.

A MABSEILLES merchant who started in busi-
ness with 35.000, and became a millionaire, left
his property to a friend with the condition that
he should be buried with the sum of $5,000
placed in his coffin. The executor bewailed the
reckless waste of money and was at his wits’
end to know how to defeat the whimsical clause
inthe will. At length a hep y thought came.
“I will put a check.” he sai , “into the coffin
for $5,000. It will be duly honored when he
presents it.”

AN Alabama planter, in the first days after
the war when there were but few gin-houses
that had escaped the flames of the con ueror,
ordered his foreman, a freedman, to ta e his
cotton to a certain planter who would gin it for
a toll of one-ei hth. A short time after the
darky came to im triumphantly waving his
old ragged hat, exclaiming: “I done got ’ee cot-
ton ginned cheaper ’n a eight’, massa! Massa
Whipple. he done gin it for on’y one-fourt’! Yah!

 

days.

yah! yah !”

 

 

 

 

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