Newspaper Page Text
APRIL It, 1903
VUE SUNNY SOUTH
FIFTH PAGE
Bits of Romance Under Frowning;
^ ^ Mountain Peaks
Easter in the Texas Panhandle
By CLIFFORD SMYTH.
Writ.cn .or fimy ••'•a—Mx?*’
OR all their alluring beauty,
there is hardship enough
in our southern mountains
—fierce struggles with na
ture, fiercer encounters
with man. It is not al
ways springtime in that
picturesque region. The
matchless verdure that
crowns those gleaming
summits today and softens
them, with a touch un
known to artist’s brush,
to the hazy depths of
overarching blue, is a garment worn
only for a season. Beneath the blossom
ing vines and the trees bending under the
weight of their new foliage, are hidden
the deep gashes and scars of. giant tempt-
rsts. The creeks that slip through shining
meadows and leap down green-clad
ravines have been swollen torrents, de
stroying everything before them, or glit
tering prisons of snow and ice that ren
dered the forests impassable. With man,
too, as with nature, in this sunny region,
ihere has been no lack of the wintry
background of crime and violence of tilt
fascinating picture of primitive simplicity
presented to the traveler.
At tbe juncture of Tennessee, Kentucky
and Virginia is a spot markedly charac
terized by this romantic mingling of
light and shadow peculiar to the moun
tains. It is a place famous over all
others for deeds of violence in a region
whose reputation in that respect is per
haps the most unsavory of any in east
ern Kentucky. Just a year ago there
stood here a long, low, shabby-looking
building, made partly of rough-hewn
logs, partly of boards, but strong and
solid throughout, and inclosed in a high
stockade of heavy timbers. Today part
of the stockade still stands, but within
it there are only piles of charred lum
ber. a battered safe mingled with heaps
of broken bottles and casks, and the
stonework of what was evidently a
strong, substantial building. The whole
is desolate and repulsive enough, as be
fits the ruins of the old Turner Quarter
House.
Nearly every one knows a part, at least,
of the history of the place. The Quarter
House was something in the nature of
a “blind tiger,’’ on a large scale, put up
for the benefit of the miners on the Ten
nessee border. It was situated 1 miles
from the town of Middlesboro, in the
heart of the forest, and from its isolated
position remote from any possibility of in
terference by the town authorities, it be
ta me the scene of the wildest excesses.
More than one man who passed over its
grimy threshold disappeared altogether
from the haunts of the living, and by
those who are familiar with the neigh
borhood and claim to have kept count of
such grewsome matters, a tally of sixty
murders is credited to this gloomy hos
telry. Surrounded by such a wilderness
of uninhabited mountains and with such
wild spirits for its patrons, almost any
lawlessnes could have been perpetrated
with impunity, and there is thus' no
reason to believe that the estimate of
victims is excessive.
For years the great trees of the forest
looked down on the most unrestrained
orgies, of the rough mountaineer 1 type,
within the inclosure of the rude stock
ade. The jilace became a byword far and
near, but instead of decreasing its pop
ularity, this uncanny reputation added
to the number of those who sought their
recretion here, until it finally came about
that the purveyors of similar amusement
in Middlesboro found that their trade
was being seriously injured by this moun-
By Alice McGoWan, Author of "The Last Word”
Ruins of the Quarter House with the old cabin on the hill
sanguinary family “wars’’ that the an
nals of Kentucky can show. This siege
of the old Quarter House, the rallying
point of one branch of the Turners, was
the last flaring up from this smouldering
fire of hostility and may mark the end
of the reigr^ of Turner hatred in this
legion. The light was certainly deadly
enough to be set down as the last act in
the series of Bell county tragedies, al
though if dare-devil valor could have
availed anything this night struggle
might have been the first of many tierce
encounters, for with the defenders of the
Quarter House triumphant there would
have been a victory without peace. But
they fought against odds, and when
morning came there was nothing but a
heap of ashes and debris to mark the
site of the old building—a heap of ashes
and the bullet-p.creed bodies of six
mountaineers who had fallen in the at
tempt to hold their ill-favored fort against
its enemies.
Today, however, the ruins of this no
torious mountain tavern have only a
divided interest for the traveler. It is the
touch of human winter to the scene, but
right above the gloomy spot is the fleet
ing suggestion of spring that lends such
charm and color to these homely wilder
ness chronicles.
It is nothing but an old mountaineer
cabin, dingy and comfortless, hunched
up, like some rabbit run to earth and
relying on the clustering trees and leaves
about it for protection. When l came
along to photograph the Quarter House
ruins, the door of the crazy little shack
above me was swung to on its leather
hinges. But doubtless there were am
ple crannies between the gaping logs
for the occupants of the cabin to see
what was going on below—and a moun
taineer's curiosity seldom lurks behind
bolted doors.
When they came out there were three
of them—an old man whose long white
bair gave him the pose of a patriarch,
his wife with her stubby pipe in her
mouth and her head swathed in a royal
bandanna, for all the world like a witch,
and then a girl, their granddaughter, as
1 found out afterwards, looking at me
- back ter Tennessy, he reekined.’’ As the
first and only settler there he had seen
all there was to see of the Quarter House
from the beginning to the end of its
fateful career, and although he admitted
there had been some “devilmint," he
would never consent to relinquishing his
old cabin and going elsewhere.
“Them thar fellers as kem ter th’ Quota
“I'm blowea If it didn't look to me like he reached that arm out seven feet'
Where Old Shell’s treasure Is supposed to be buried
lain rival, and a military expedition, un-
ler the guise of a sheriff's posse, was
?ent to clean up the Infested place. 'I here,
were twenty men in the attacking party,
limed. of course, with Krag-Jorgensons.
md under the shelter of night and the
surrounding rocks and trees, they crept
•p to the gateway of the Turner strong-
mid and demanded its surrender in the
lame of the law. For answer there was
i volley of oaths followed by a scattcr-
ng fire of pistol shots, and then the
storm began. ,
Although it was ostensibly the fight ot
luthorlty against lawlessness, it was
■eallv the saloon element of the city in
contact with the lover of
Saloon El«- moonshine in the moun-
ment nor , was „
Moon* lacking: a spice of leuciai
ihiners in animosity in the com J ja t ;
Bloody fun the Turners of Bell
Clash county for the last two
iecades have been arrayed in factions
me against the other in one of the most
SMILES
lood Cheer and Good Food Go To
gether.
Improper feeding is the source of most
uman ails. Sick people don’t laugn
ueh. It is the healthy and strong wno
■e the sunny side of everything. Pure,
ientlfic food will correct mo%t ailments
nd bring laughter and good cheer in
ace of sickness and gloom.
The wife of a physician of Dayton. <J.,
tys: “Before J had finished the first
ickage of Ofape-Nuts, which I got at
le urgent request of a friend of mine
iveral months ago, I was astonished t
nd I was less nervous over small mat-
■rs and worried less over large ones,
ughed more readily and was at an
mes more calm and contented than i
id ever been in my life. I found also
lat the hollow- places in my neck and
ioulders were filling out and that as-
tnished me as 1 had always been ver>
lin, as women with starved nerves are
ot to be. -
“After a time I discontinued the use or
rape-Nuts for two months and fourai
le old symptoms return at once. I w en
ick to the use of the food again and
iel well and strong. I can increase m>
eight at wiH from five to ten pounds a
lonth by using more or less of the toou.
efore I was married I was five years
trained nurse and I have never in an
ly experience seen anything to act as
uickly and favorably as this scientific
ajd.” Name given by Postum Co., Bat-
e Creak, Mich.
with wide blue eyes in unabashed aston
ishment. It was a homespun group, such
as one finds every day in the mountains,
but hardly to be expected til suc-h close
proximity to so notorious a haunt of
vice.
“Be you a-lookin’ fer th’ ole Quota
House?" called tbe old man to me.
“Waal, hit ain’t hyah no more. Hit’s
done busted, as one mought say. Gone
up whar hit kaint come back. But ef
you wants ter set a bit, come up hyah.
We-uns ain’t got no likker, but 1 reckin
th’ ole woman’ll hev some sour milk, an’
mayhap a drap o’ ciddy.”
This on the site of the ancient Quarter
House! There was a “big wheel” in the
interior of the old veteran's little shack,
and the usual assortment of tawdry
chromos, serving the double purpose of
ornamenting the walls and patching up
the holes. Indeed, it is difficult in the
mountains to decide where art begins
and utility ends, or whether the former
has any place there at all. For, some
how, there is scarcely a cabin of this
character that does not produce an ap
preciable amount of aesthetic enjoyment,
let it be premeditated or not.
It seemed to tne that the old couple
and their granddaughter must be new
comers in the deserted region where I
found them. It was inconceivable that
they had lived here in the old Quarter
House days.
“How long hev we-uns ben hyah?” said
the patriarch, repeating my question.
“Why, I kain't ezzaekiy tell. Hit were
powerful long ago, afore th’ town were
built yander. Me an’ th' ole woman
was jest hitched tergether an’ corned
over the mountings fum Tennessy when
we fust sot down hyah. En that day an’
time they warn’t nothin’ but trees an’
yarbs this-a-way. No house, nor towns,
nor men a qtiar lin* an makin their
meanness. Hit were jest peaceable, an'
we-uns was th’ fust settlers hyah. Quota
House? No, sir, thet air Quota House
warn’t hyah en them days, bekaze they
warn’t no one ter sell th likker to. Hit
were jest quiet, an’ kep me busy a killin’
varmints an’ b ar an’ sech like. But I
ain’t got no gredge agin the Quota
House."
The girl at the big wheel winding off
her yarn seemed the picture of rustic
simplicity. She “were horned hyah," the
old man told me. but “her daddy were
shot In a quar’l, an’ her mammy runned
Grandmother Ours and Nixie
House,” he said, “never done no mean
ness ter wc-uns. On’y once, they was a
sort o' furiner thar.
Love leastwise he cuddent ’a
Tragedy ben fum th’ mountings.
Told in 'at was some trouble-
Moantain some. This hyah furiner
Homespun had sot his eyes on th'
gyarl yander an’ tuk a
powerful notion ter her. But we-uns
didn't pay no 'tention ter his foolin's un
tell one night. Thet night th’ Quota
House had ben full o' carousin' an’ ear-
ryin’s on, an' atter hit were mos’ near
ter th’ raawnin’ we-uns heerd a spell o'
rackettin’ mo’ than common, an then
we heerd tli voice o' thet furiner cornin'
up th’ path fum th’ Quota House callin'
th’ name o’ th' gyarl, 'Jimmy! Emmy!'
as hard as he could beller. Then -they
was some shootin', an' we-uns heerd no
mo’ o’ th' hollerin’. Atter th’ sun were
up an’ me an' th' ole ’oman went out
ter do some ehorein’ armin', like we mos’
genully do, we stepped down that thar
path, an’ thar half way ter th' Quota
House were th' furiner, plum full o' lead,
an' dead as nails. Waal, o' course no one
knowed who done hit, but all them fel
lers wanted ter hev my Emmy treated
fair an’ like a lady—an’ that’s th’ way
they 'ud do. drunk or sober—all 'cept th’
furiner. Why, they thought a sight o'
we-uns, specully Emmy. Yer see, they
’ud be times when some o’ ’em ’ud he
stove in fum a fight an’ cuddent ezackly
kyar fer theirselves, an' then we-uns ’ud
take ’em in hyah an’ kyar fer 'em ontell
they cud go ter their homes. O’ course
th’ furiner were shot dead, an’ we-uns
cuddent kyar fer him.”
But from the look on Emmy’s face
as she bent over her big wheel, it was
etidenr she would not have hesitated to
extend her good offices to the “furiner,”
even if he had failed to “treat her fair,”
as had the. other habitues of the place in
gratitude for her kindness.
That was one of the instances where
human tempests, with still a ray of sun
shine, had wrought their havoc in the
mountains. Another time, back in West
Virginia on the eastern slope of the Al-
leghanies, where the peaks are higher
and even more rugged than they are on
th Cumberland range, I stumbled on a
cose of the devastating power of nature
under the guise of a spring freshet that
was as peculiar as it was pathetic.
It was 2 miles out of Hopeville, a
mighty city boasting of one store and one
dwelling house, that the catastrophe took
place early in May. Following along Yew
creek, one of the headwaters of the Po
tomac, the mountains rise almost sheer
from the center of the narrow valley in
solid walls 2,000 feet ih altitude. An
apology for a road digs its way around
one side of these giant precipices, but
few of the natives have attempted to
build in the valley, not caring to spend
their days, probably, in the strenuous oc
cupation of keeping a foothold on a to
boggan slide. There was one ill-fated
house, however, in which originally lived
old grandmother Ours, her son. daugh
ter in law and tlieir 2-months-old baby.
Today only the grandmother is left, the
baby and a small negro girl. The trag
edy that separated the little family oc
curred a few months before I reached
the place. Crouched before the fire,
rocking her baby, the_ old lady told me
about it.
“Hit had ben a rainin’ stiddy fer two
months,” she said, “ever sence this
young one were horned, an’ th’ crick
was riz powerful high. But o’ course
they wa'nt no danger to us fum th’
crick, sence th’ water kaint reach to us
even ef they was another flood. Th’ ole
house is as safe as Noah’s ark. fer as
that goes. So my son an darter wa’nt
■thinldn' o’ nothin’ bad 'at could happen
ter us. an’ the’ fust spell o' good weather
they went out an’ took their baby with
’em. They was mighty lovin' to each
other in them days, jest as much as
■ when they was fust married, an’ they
sea'cely was ever apart.
“But this time, after walkin’ a spell
along th' road, enjoyin’ th' feelin’ o' th'
spring air atter bein’ shet up so long
’count o' th' rain, they separated. Jim
took up th’ hill ter feed some cattle
'at he had thar. an’ Nellie, with her baby,
jest went aroun’ th’ p_Iace sarchin’ fer
eggs whar th’ hens had ben durin’ all
that storm. I were sittin’ hyah with
This sketch is adapted from Miss
McGowan’s new novel, soon to be pub
lished.
OI'R teachin’ this little
school here on the Broken
Arrer reminds me of the
time we had over at Bron
co, in eighty-nine.
They built a school house
that year at Bronco and
got a teacher out from
Missouri. There was twen
ty-nine kids within rea
sonable distance of the
school—supposing a good
pony for them that was
farthest out—and after
Miss Traynor come, there was six cow
boys that was young enough (or said
they was) to come under the school
laws, rode in off the range and started
to school.
Miss Mattie never investigated about
Nixie, a feelin’ mighty good ter hev
th’ storm quit at last, when all o’ a
suddent I heered a roarin’ as ef ever’-
thing outside was broke loose ter oncet.
Hit sounded jest as ef th’ biggest cannon
yo’ ever see were a firin' fum one side
o’ th’ mounting ter ’tother, an’ then
they kem a runnin’ o' water, jest a pour
in’ down th’ mounting like a river, an’
I could feel th’ house shake. Then all ler
once th’ racket stopped an' Nixie an’
me went out ter see what had happened.
We sc®.'rely knowed whar we was ter
fust. Th’ rocks, an’ trees, an' rubbitch
o' all kinds was that thick piled up agin
the house they wa'nt nothin’ na’tchrel.
Then I looked up an’ seed whar th’
hull mounting had ben a falling right
■behind th’ house, an’ pulled ever'thing
down with hit ter th' crick. But I didn’t
see nothin' o’ Jim an’ Nellie an’ th’ baby,
an' I jest stud thar an’ hollered an’
screamed ter them. Atter a bit I heerd
a cry fum th' baby, dreadful hard ter
hear hit were, cornin’ up fum th’ crick.
An’ 1 wont down! thar, an' right on th’
aidge o’ th' crick, with great rocks a
piled up ever'whar aroun’ hit, I foun’ th’
roof o' th’ chicking house, at used ter
plan’ up hyaih near th' road, an’ th’
baby was a cryin’ fum under hit. Hit
was mighty discouragin’ work fer Nixie
an’ me. but atter a while we histed up
a bit o' th’ roof an' thar we see th’
baby, jest as peert an' well as hit is
now, hugged up safe in hits mother's
arms. But Nellie were dead, jest dead a
holdln’ an' pertectin’ her baby thar. An’
atterwards the men fum Hopeville foun'
th’ body o’ Jim caught between two
rocks whar th' falling mounting had gone
past him a feedin’ his cattle. So now
they ain’t none left o’ th’ fam'ly but th’
baby an’ me an’ Nixie, an’ hit won’t be
long afore we leave Hopeville bekase I
kaint scacely bear ter live hyah no mo'.”
Such a strange catastrophe as this that
overtook and destroyed the Ours family
is, of course, rare. As a matter of
fact. It Is the only un-
Such Impeachable instance of a
Diiaiter mountain slide that I
Is found in that region.
Extremely There are tales of some-
Rart what similar accidents,
however, in various
places that must be regarded as more or
less in tbe line of mountain legends. The
most persistent of this type is the yarn
of “buried treasure” that is repeated to
such an extent by these people, one is
forced to the conclusion that Captain
Kidd did not confine his operations ex
clusively to the coast after all. But I
never encountered any of these Mun-
chausens of the Wilderness who were
willing to go so far in their tales as to
assert they had actually unearthed the
wealth they knew to be lying almost un
der their feet. Tbe nearest approach to
such a straining of veracity was in the
case of Bill Shell, who lives in a remote
part of Leslie county, Kentucky. He
is a white-haired veteran who counts his
descendants by the score, and is the
whole thing in the particular locality that
he inhabits. When I asked him about
his buried treasure, he took me up a
creek that runs by his house until we
came to a tangle ot underbrush and
bowlders covered with ice (for it was
winter), and there he showed me four
logs set crosswise in the bed of ../he
frozen stream. Beneath these logs, the
old man declared, vras the treasure.
“Hit were my jaw ’at digged this
byah mine,” he said in explanation. “X
were a boy then,' an’ they want no
crick hyah. But I kin remember my
paw a diggin’ hyah an’ takin’ out bush
els o’ silver. Hit were a rich mine an'
he were always a workin’ a-i hit, untell
th’ crick kem erlong an’ mvered of hit
up. Hit were a powerful storm as moved (
thet thar crick. But thar hit is now, an’
o’ course they ain't no manner o’ use
a tryin’ ter dig fer th’ silver now. Will
I ever try fer ter git hit? I reckin’. Hit
are shorely thar, ffr these old logs is
a markin’ th’ spot (jest whar my paw
left ’em, an’ some pay when the crick
is dry I ’tends ter dig hyah agin."
But it is safe to lay that the “crick"
will never be dry enough to rob the old
man of his tale of the lost paternal
treasure!
their ages. She just took 'em in hand
as methodical as she did the youngest
kid in the room. She knew pretty well,
I guess, that there was lots she could
teach ’em. even If they was a year or sa
over age, and she felt able and willin’
to do it. As a matter of fact, I believe
I never did in my life see such an able
young lady as Miss Mattie was. Noth
ing troubled her less than running things.
She was pretty—iirettiest girl I ever saw,
and she had a round, soft lookin' chin,
with a pink color to it, and a dimple In
it. But that chin sort of come forward
in its shape, and when she sot. it—well,
she got whot she sot it for.
For instance, she got a preacher for
th'e school house at Bronco, and organized
a church. No man would have believed
that there was a preacher in all the
whole Big Draw country, but Miss Mat-
tie said there was, and proceeded to
prove it.
“All you gentlemen were something else
than ranchmen and cowboys, before you
came west," she says. “Mr. Trobar was
a doctor: the superintendent of the Bar
Six had a dry goods store, and Mr. Shang
Hepburn tells me he ran a hank; l am
sure there is one preacher or theological
student among you who can give us a
talk or read us a sermon once a week,
and keep us civilized.”
Well, I had hard work to keep a straight
face. Shank Hepburn a runnin’ a bank!
But has was that struck on the school
teacher that he'd have told her he'd been
president for his livin' before he took
to cow punchin’ if he'd thought it would
do him any good with her.
Shang was about as poor a specimen
as we had in the Draw. Him an' the
barber was bad friends—beard plum to
his pistol-belt, an' hair on his shoulders.
Don’t wonder none at his taste, neither,
for he had the longest, slimmest neck,
an' the biggest Adam’s apple of any man
I ever seen, an' you couldn’t blame him
none for tryin' to cover ’em up.
Shang was what we called him—short
for Shanghai. 1' i was some over six
feet, slim hut wiry. One of these mean
fightin’, wrastlin'. shootin’ fellers that
gets cowboys an ornery name. Thought
it was fun to shoot up a town and scare
folks half to death; and was the worst
man in the Panhandle when he was a
drinkfn'.
But Miss Mattie got her preacher. Faro
Dick we'd always called him, because
Lengthy Adams, who brought him into
our part of the world, said he picked him
up fiat broke and dealing faro at Prairie
City.
Dick worked at cowpuno’nin' for Adams
two years, but none of the hoys at the
Broken Circle felt acquainted with him;
he sort of kept himself to himself. He
wasn’t to say actually drunk in that
whole time—or so Adams said—and ne
saved his money (a cowpuncher a sai'n’
money!) and bought the little old run
down, three-up ranch that Keg Thomp
son left his widow, time he got an argu
ment with the Harp boys, over at Cincha.
Miss Mattie found out that he’d studied
preachin', and was nigh about to giauate
in it when he was took with some soi t
of trouble—Unitarianism, 1 think they
named it—and had to leave school and
come west.
Then we all knowed what had ailed the
boy with us. As Faro Dick he wasn't to
say a success (I have always suspicioneu
that Adams made up that taie on him,
because he knowed the preacher story
and didn’t want it to get out), hut as
Mr. Gardner, and a preacher, he dona
fine. He shore copld preach a sermon
with horse sense in it, and we all turned
out to hear him. There was scarce a cow
boy In the Draw that woiuuu't ride sev
enty miles to hear Gardner preach and
see Miss Mattie settin' at the organ—for
we bought an organ, and hauied it ovtr
a hundred miles from Prairie Cil>, before
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Unlike most manufacturers of proprie
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A NEW TRAIN
LOUIS
PAU L A NEW ROUTE
LIMITED
THE WABASH LINE
Has inaugurated through daily train service
between St. Lonis and Minneapolis and St.
Paul, in connection with the Iowa Central R'y
and the Minneapolis 4 St. Lonis R. R.
Trains run through solid withont
change, consisting oi Pullman Buffet
Palace Sleeping Cars, Free Reclining
Chair and Combination Cars.
LEAVE ST. LOUIS 2.10 P. M. DAILY.
Arrire Mianeapolit, . • 8.15 ■. a.
Arrive St. fanL • • • 1.51a.m.
F. W. GREENE,,
District Passenger Agent, LOUISVILLE, KY.
the church had been opened for ausiness
a month.
So things ran, pleasant and comfortable,
for some time; all but the way Miss Mat-
tie treated Shang Hepburn. Women!
Only the Lord what made ’em so (and
then, I reckon, repented the job) know3
what it is that’s going to please a woman.
Why a nice, pretty, sweet young creataie
like Miss Mattie should ever so much as
speak to the likes of Shang Hepburn—
except to say “scat”—is more than any
man can say.
But she was a heady little pler Q . and it
was plain to me she thought he was in
teresting because he was bad. She was
going to convert him—oh, yes—and make
a honey-loo-loo of him. When, as a fact,
convertin’ of him into cold meat was the
only kind of convertin’ that would make
a feller of Shang’s style really useful. So
she muched him, and she rode with him,
and she asked his advice about church
matters and such—of which he knew just
as much as a prairie dog knows of skatin'
—and she’d have made him a deacon, ir
he knowed how to deak, I reckon, or
could have been larnt.
Ever since Shang had been settin’ up
to Miss Mattie, he'd been doin' all his
tearin’ around over at Prairie City. It
was pretty far to go, but Shang knew if
Miss Mattie once seen him “drunk and
disorderly” liis chance with her was a
gone fawn skin. He'd not been able to
get away for over a month, 'count of
spring round-ups, and he was gettin'
pretty restless.
time—chucked ’em in the bunch, and
they went a sailin’ up the trail like lead
steers! All at once they all commenced
runnin’ together—not a stampede, but a
kind of dog trot—up-hill-and-down, up-
hill-aird-down, carrying the tune well
enough, but not by no means making the
progress their speed called for, some
how.
Then a sort of norther dropped on the
tune, all thunder and lightning, and blow
and snort, an' came near gettin’ it—you
could only hear little scattered bits of it
sorter yellin’ 'round here and there. But
she jest gathered it, and coaxed it (and—
whacked it some. too), and was drivin'
it along peaceably enough, when sudden
ly—Slam! Siam! Slam!—there as one
grand smash, and they all stampeded—
broke right an’ left for the open, heads
and tails up, eyes sot and horns a-
clashin'!
But she was with ’em! Law, law, she
was there every time! And the way
them ten little lingers o' her’n flew, and
cut ’em and headed ’em; and finally milled
'em round and round an' round, an'
herded 'em in—leaders, drags and all—an’
bedded ’em down to old “Home, Sweet
Home,” was a caution—hit was a plumb
caution!
But all the time me an’ the boys was
enjoyin' this (an' some others that I dis-
remember jest now) Shang was gittin’
restless. When Gardner came out with
a thing that he said was a stergopticon,
Shang got up an' said no man should call
j him a stereopticon an' live.
Easter was something of a new one on I “Keep quiet there." says the preacher
us in the Draw; but Miss Mattie and I pretty short. "You’re alarming these
Simpson's wife and the kids and Gardner ■ ladies and children.
had all worked hard to make it a good
show. The school house was trimmed
beautiful with flowers, and they had sing-
in’ and all that in the mornin’. But in
the evenin', when ail the hoys could be
“111 keep quiet when I git a ready!"
howled Shang. “Preacher or no preacher,
you don’t call me a name like that!
You've got it to take back!”
“Well," says Gardner, sort of laughin’
in off the range, an’ there, they was to , (and lots of others was laughin’ too),
give what Miss Mattie called “a regular I “I take it back then—you’re not a stere-
programme”—and. great Beott! a pro
gramme it proved to be before we got
done with it, I tell you!
Seems Shang and Gardner had mighty
nigh come to a showdown about Miss
Mattie, a-ridin’ home with her from the
mornin’s exercises. Miss Mattie (as good
women usually does) ruther sided in with
the worthless scamp; and on the strength
of it Shang went off and commenced
opticon. Now will you sit down and be
still?”
I was sorry when I seen the preacher
take water like that, for I thought the
epitaph suited Shang to a dot; but he sat
down an’ we got him quiet.
Then Gardner said: “Now, while I
am showing these pictures with the stei> •
opticon—no, it's not you, my friend, it s
this box I'm talking about'’—for Shtw
a-drinkin’. He come over and wanted to ! was 011 his feet again. “Hush.
/ill
go with us boys of the X Q Z ranch to
the blow-out at the church. We had
no wish for Shang's society, nor to be
rated with him; hut equally so, we didn't
care to name it to him, so he went.
The show was in full swing when we
got to the school house. Miss Mattie was
at the organ, and Gardner was pervadin’
around everywhere, doin' his best to
make a good show of it. I noticed they
hardly changed a word in all they done.
They was mighty smilin’ and pleasant |
!» everybody else, hut mighty cool and
distant to each other. We went in quiet
like and sat down. Shang, he was gettin’
uglier every minute, and without knowin’
that there was any row between him
an’ the preacher, 1 somehow looked for
froui.de.
Well, T never saw more pleasure than
I did in the first part of that performance
—t shore never did. Some of the things
rut me in mind n« home—maybe I'd saw
most of ’em at home before. But I hadn’t
noticed ’em then as I did now.
Lnnny Williams’ piece was “Horatius
at the Bridge." It's about a feller that
was a fighter, an' got a couple of other
fellers to help him. an’ went out to the
far end of a bridge an' stood off a whole
lot of chaps that were bent on doin’ up
his town, while the hoys that belonged
to his cam]) chopped the bridge in two.
an’ lef Horatius at the Bridge on the
wrong end. Then he jumped into the
river and swam it. with a lot of harness
on his back—which it’s likely he'd swiped
from the crowd he was fightin'.
One of Doc Peters' kids, that was get
tin' to be quite a tidy little, yearlln'. spoke
a piece, I remember, 'bout a feller that
was dyin' a long ways from home, and
wanted his pardner to carry word to his
folks for him—seems to me it was in
the reader when I was a boy at school.
“Bingen on the Rhine,” they had it on
the card Gardner give us: but by the
way she said it and brought it out, it
put me in mind of poor Bat Phillips,
that was' killed out on the range by
his pony falling on him. And when she
said, “But a comrade knelt beside him
as his life blood ebbed away." I could
jest see Bat's face—me and him all
alone on the bald prairie—and hear him
say, “Hold my hand. Billy, and don't
forget to write to my folks; I'll be over
the divide In ten miputes.”
And Mrs. Simpson had all her hair
let down, and a white dross and a flower
wreath; and she spoke “Curfew Must
Not Ring Tonight."
Ever hear it? Oh. yes, I s'pose si. I
reckon the folks back east would laugh
over our simple pleasure in such things:
but I tell you the way she said it was
fine! You know, it's about a girl and
her young man. It seemed somebody
was goin’ to do him up if they they let
a thing they called a curfew (must 'a'
been a big sort o' bell) ring. And as they
had him shut up somewhere, his girl just
whirled in and blocked their game by set-
tin’ down on the eurfew so it couldn't
ring, and never would or did ring.
We all liked IT. Shorty said a girl like
that had true Texas grit. But after all,
X think the thing that took everybody
most was whin Miss Mattie set down
to the organ, lookin’ sweet as a peach
and a blush rose In one. and played
something she called “Home. Sweet
Home, With Variations.” Heard it. I
s’pect, and know how it goes? Well, it
suited me and the boys down to the
ground.
She started fair with what appeared
to be "Home, Sweet Home." sure enough,
only the tune seemed sorter nervous and
flighty, like a herd of trail cattle that's
been without water all day, and snuffs
a spring. Every now and then one would
break and get down in the low notes
and beller and paw; but she'd fetch It
back as cool as y* please. Two or three
cf ’em—sort of drags—got down there
together and bogged up; but she just
roped ’em out—one at a time, one at a
the
While 1 am exhibiting tins. 1
lights will all have to he turned nut. as
it can only be shown in the dark. B.-
still there, I tell you!” for Shang was
bound to go for him.
We boys felt plumb ashamed. We all
got 'round Shang and tried to stop him;
but he was jest simply drinkin', an'
he was onreasonahle, an’ we couldn't
do a thing with him. “lie wants to get
the lights out, so he can do me up in the
dark!" roared Shang. "I won't stand
it!"
By this time all other counts had been
dropped, an' everybody was a noticin’
us. Shang got up an' began to make a
speech. “1 don’t want tq scare the la
dies,” he sez, "hut in jest two minutes
I'm going to wipe up the floor an’ pol
ish off the seats with this here party, an'
throw the scraps out o' the winder; an'
if the ladies want to withdraw before the
performance, now’s their time to go.”
Some of ’em commenced a-hollerin' an’
pilin’ towards the door; an’ Miss Mat-
tie, she cries out, “Oh, Mr. Gardner, don't
touch him—lie's a dangerous man! Oh.
Mr. Hepburn, please don't strike Mr t
Gardner! Xle didn't mean to offend you,
I know.”
The preacher give her one look—he give
her jest one look—then he jerked oft
his cuffs, an' come a walkin’ down the
aisle sayin’: “Keep your seats. We won't
have much disturbance, I think. I’ll put
this man out, and then we’ll go on with
our pictures.’’
Well, 1 looked to see the preacher kill
ed—nothin’ less—for he wuz a ruther slim
built feller, an’ Shang lunged at him like
a grizzly. But the way he met it was
the prettiest part of the evening's ex
ercises. He stepped a little to one side,
light and quick-footed, like good cuttin'
pony; and as Shang tore by, he reached
out his arm—I’m bowed if it didn’t look
to me like he reached that arm out 7
foot, an’ as quick as lightnin’—and lifted
him one under the ear.
But Shang wasn’t done. He arose, an’
he just went for to eht that preacher up;
and f really never saw why he didn't.
When Shang would come on, the preacher
would sort of jump 'round a little, and
pretty soon his fist'd shoot out and Shang
would go under the bench.
T 'lowed for some time he was q^in’
’lectricity on Shang—same as these 'lec-
tric girls you see In the shows. But
Cockney Jack, who had climbed on a
■bench behind me. began to holler: “Watch,
'im box! My. but that's ’arnsome!”
I looked first at the preacher’s box
on the table; but Jack yelled: “Wax it to
'im friend! That's wot I calls boxin’
right.” An’ I knew he was talkin' of
the preacher's way of fightin'.
Jack t»Ils me now that thev teach it at
the 'varsities in England, and that no
doubt Gardner l'arned It at college And
I’ll tell you what, if I knew of a college
where they taught anything as useful
as that—and as beautiful—I'd go them
myself, old as I am, an' l’arn.
All this time Shang was gettin' up an’
bein’ knocked down. He was what we
call a "plzen fighter." oh. he was game
enough; and he got up an’ went for the
preacher more times than he wished he
had next day. But ’twasn't no use
'twasn't no use—'twasn't no use at all"
an' when we boys had finally to carry
him out he was all so damaged up that
it didn’t look as though he'd he much
"count for the rest o’ the spring round
ups.
While we was a collectin' of him. I
seed Miss Mattie come sidlin’ down the
aisle an' hand Gardner his cuffs—she'd
been holdin’ ’em all along—an’ heerd her
whisper. "Can you ever forgive me?”
I knowed he forgive her right then,
for. as we-all turned the corner, totin'
Shang down to the corral, they was a
sfngln’ “Oh. Happy Day. Oh! Happy
I>ay.” an’ Gardner a leadin’ up strong.
Gardner, he's preachin’ over at Arapa
hoe, and all the boys respect as well as
love him—and he’s married. His wife is
she that was Miss Mattie Traynor. an'
she's jest as good a hand to boss an’ run
things as ever. She takes jest as much
say-so about what all the beys shall do
on’ think as she did the day she helped
get up that Easter blow-out at Bronco,
an’ held the preacher’s cuffs while he
lammed Shang Hepburn.
Shang? He went with a feller name •’
Jack up Into The Strip, an' so on into
Oklahoma, I’ve heard.