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About Hale's weekly. (Conyers, Ga.) 1892-1895 | View Entire Issue (Aug. 13, 1892)
LOVE'S flitting. When Lave is comiap, coming. Meet him with songs and joy, Bid him alight and enter. Flatter and feast the boy; Crown him with gems and roses. Charm him with winning wiies, Bind hi pi with lovely garlands, And kisses, and smiles. When Love is going, going, Leaving you all alone. Craving, the fickle tyrant, Rome newer slave and throne, Hinder him not, but quickly. Even though your heart may bleed, Saddle a horse for his journey. And bid him God-speed I —Elizabeth Akers, in the Century. “HEN HAWK’S” ROMANCE. BY K. L. KETCHCM. ' EN HAWK was f In lii He had great been spirits. fair¬ m btf ly bubbling over jyr m with good humor mm > for two weeks, m 3 and every day If ■ $ :r a. cheerfulness, more added Only and ten to days then his ior “the States.” We, of the “L bar,” who had known him for two years, almost, were at a loss to account for this sudden rise in Hen’s mental temperature, and probably showed it. Indeed, there were several of the boys who hinted that an explana¬ tion lrom him would be gratefully re¬ ceived by his curiosity-beset co-laborers; but Hen would merely grin a broad, broad grin, and say nothing. But just ten days before Thanksgiving he let the secret out. “Boys,” said he, in a muffled voice, caused by the presence of a knife-load of potatoes in his mouth, “I’m goin’ back t’ th’ States 1” Open-eyed astonishment all around the breakfast table. “That’s what, boys. I’m goln’ right after Thauksgivin’, tew.” “The dooce, ye sayt Must’ve lost a rich r'lation ’r b’en doin’ a little rustlin’ on th’ side. Now I think of 't, they was some talk ’bout thar bein’ some in aide ’sistance t’ th’ Baldy Stites gang w’en they honored this hyar vicinity wi’ th r ’tendons last year.” volunteered “lied” Posey. Hen, having joined liberally ih the smiles that followed this remark, went on: “I cast th’ insinerations back intuth th’ teeth o’ th’ red-nosed gent wi’ th’ fragrant name. No, sir. ’Taint neither one n’r t’other. Mebbe ’fore I go I’ll tell ye—an’ mebbe I won’t.” And Mr. Hawkins again smiled, know¬ ing that the boys would suffer im¬ measurably until they knew whence came the “ stake” on which he was going home. Next day, oil immediately after breakfast, Hen rode in the direction of Browns¬ ville, the nearest town on the west, about thirty miles away, and we saw nothing of him until Friday, when he returned, whistling cheerfully. The boys were very keen to know what his errand had been, for they were sure he had not gone merely to get a few things from the grocer’s and harnesmaker’e, but Hen did not enlighten them. That night, however, in the boss’s room, he told the story to a select au¬ dience, consisting of the boss and the scribe. “I b’en kinder holdin’ off, ye see, ’cause a feller no ways cert’n ’bout savin’ ’is milk t’ll he gits the pail out f’m un¬ der the caow; but now, bein’s I’ve got it O. K., I may’s well tell ye, on’y I don’t want the boys to knaow. “Ye see, ’twas this away; ’Bout five year ago, back in Maine, I c’Deluded t’ come out hyar an’ grow up wi’ the ken¬ try a hull lot. ’Twan’t ’cause I wanted t’ dew it, but ye see, I sort o’ hed tub.” “Ah, yes,” observed the boss, dryly, “I believe the late Mr. Stites began his brilliant career in somewhat the same wav. Was your difficulty about a horse, too?” Hen’s laugh over, he proceeded, some¬ what blushingly: “No, ’twan’t that, hardly. But they wau’t no chance thar for a poor cuss,an’ so I pulled out. Ye see, me’n Molly Hopkins hed bout made up aour min’s t’ git spliced, an’ ev’rythin’ was goin’ on smooth’s smooth,w’en instepsol’ George Hopkins an’ takes a ban’ hisself. Ol’ Hop was a high-toned ol’ duck, an’ put on heaps o’ airs, cause he was th’ best fixed man in taown an’ hed be’n S’lect man an’ member of th’ Legislates w’ile I Was on’y a carpenter an’hadn't ary red. Th’ ol’ egiot might’ve saw haow things was goin’ on—L reckon he did—but he never let on t’ll one night he come home f’m taown an’ heered me’n Molly talkin’ in th’ settin’-rooin. “Then he jes’ waded in brash. Gosh! how he did go fer me? Went on Hgive me th’ dickens fer my 'dacity in per ioomin’ t’ th’ ban’ o’ his, George Hop kins', darter. ‘Th’ ideel I want ye t’ understan’, young man,’ says be, ‘th’t I hev better plans fer her th’n lettin’ ’er marry a penniless carpenter!’ ’N he went on an’ tore aroun’ fer awhile thet style; but I stood my groun’, t’ll fin’lly he sa_vs: ‘Young man, when you c’n •how a bank ’count o’ ten thaousan’ dol lars, she’s your'n, an' not b'fore.’ Then he gnus a hull lot, thinkin’ haow I’d hev t’ hustle a consid’ble spell ’fore I got At. “Wa-al. me’n Molly talked it over a lot, ’n finally concluded th’t I’d hev t’ go summm else, ef I ever got fore¬ handed; so, one day, we says good-bye, pulled daown in the medder lot, an’ I out fer Californy. ’round I fc Sence then I’ve be’n knockin’ all over the th’ kentry, tryin’ one thing ’n ’notber. Purty hard luck, most o’ th’ time, tew—but jes* ’fore I come hyar, I located a claim, me’n ’nother feller, over in Colorado, an’ worked it some. It didn’t pan out none, so we hed t’ try somethin/ else, an’ hyar I come, leavin’ Peters t’ keep up work oath’ claim, him havin’ a job clus by. Wa-al, th’ other day, Peters he sold aout tew a Boston comp’ny fer twenty-five thaousan’—an’ my half’s what I went t’ Braownsville fer. That’s all.” Hen filled his pipe, said “Good night,” and went out, whistling softly. “By Jovel” said the boss, “to hear him tell It, in that easy way of his, with the cowboy lingo and the occasional Yankee twang, you’d think it a very common-place affair. .1 don’t know what you think of it, but I think it de¬ cidedly romantic, and I’m glad it’s turn¬ ing out so well. Hen’s aa honest chap, and deserves all the luck in the world. The girl must be a plucky one, looked too. Hum! hum!” And the bos3 at the ceiling and blew smoke rings in a pensive way he sometimes had. There wasn’t a man on the ranch who didn’t hate to see Hen go, and who wasn’t honestly glad at his good fortune. Even the misanthropic Posey evinced not a little regret as he said good-by to him,-when, the morning after Thanks¬ giving, Hen sat on his bronco all ready to start for Jersey, the railroad town to the east of us. It was a beautiful morning, almost like spring, and Hen couldn’t have wished for a better day to start on. The last good-by said, he straightened up, sniffed the cool breeze, looked to see that everything waas all right, and with an “Adios, boys,” was off, waving his hand in acknowledgment of the rousing cheer we gave him as he reached the top of the hill across the creek. Jersey was only twenty odd mile3 away, and Hen expected to arrive there at noon, in time to get his dinner, dis pose of his bronco and make the 2 o'clock train East. There was plenty of time, so he let his horse take its own gait, and gave himself up to his thoughts. Going homel Hornet How sweet the word sounded 1 Five years—only five, but they seemed twice aa many. He wondered how he had ever managed to live through them. The first two had not been so bard. He had been full of hope and vigor and had told himself it was only a little while—only a little while. Then when the reward for all his toil seemed to be no less distant than at first, it was hard. Sometimes he had thought lie would give it up and go home to confess himself beaten; then the picture of the little brown eyed girl who had cried so bard that day in the meadow lot—the little girl who, through her tears, had told him to be brave and pa¬ tient and all would be well—would come before him and he would set his teeth hard and “pitch” in again. Maybe it had soured him a bit. He wondered if sometimes he had not been rather unso¬ ciable, and rather poor company for his companions, and concluded he had. His thoughts turned again to Molly. How pretty and sad she had looked with the tears on her pink cheeks that day (for somehow he couldn’t for the life of him think of her except as she looked when he saw her last). He remembered how conscious he had been that she was watching him as he went down the road, and how he dared not look back for fear his courage would give out. And just to think! Only a few days more, and— “Hullo! Wa-al, I’ll be teetotally dog goned 1" The wind had shifted around into the north; dull gray clouds hid the blue aud gold that had made the early day so fair; two or three flakes of snow were visible now and then. It was one of Ihese striking Hen on the cheek that caused him to rein up his horse so suddenly and make the above inelegant remark. Not a living creature was in sight on all the broad plain. Hen they and had his horse were as much alone as if been on the open sea. Human habitation, be¬ tween the “L bar” and Jersey, there were none, Hen dismounted and laid his ear to the ground, and listened in¬ tently for a few seconds. Yes—’there it was—that dull, whispering, indistinct roar, which the plainsman knows and fears—the voice of the coming blizzard. The horse heard it, or felt it, and turned his head toward his master, whinnying softly. “Yes, ol’ boy, it’s cornin’ all right ’nough.” said Hen, as he rose from the ground, “an’ me n you’s got t' hustle a hull lot, Mister Pokey, Let ’er slide, ol’ chap! I reckon we c’a make it.” Only twelve miles or so, and yet Hen knew that the blizzard might overtake him before he had traveled four. He urged his horse faster, knowing the faith ful animal could easily stand the work, It was growing rapidly colder, and the few flakes of snow were being followed by countless thousands. The wind was increasing in velocity, and Hen, bend ing low ower his horse’s neck, could bear the vicious “swish—swish!” of the snow as it was hurled through the grass end along the ground. Very soon it was impossible to see more than a hundred yards or so ahead, but Hen knew the general direction, and for safety’s sake was heading for the stage road leading into Jersey from the soutuwest. On and on they went, Poker, alire to the situation, pounding alone; at his too traveling speed, steady as a dock. On and on came the storm, covering horae and rider with snow a3 fine a3 fl our, until they looked like ghosts, Ken, leaning back to get his overcoat, lost tna direction, but he had full faith in Poker, and knew that the little animal would d5 better without any piloting. hands and How cold it was! Hen’s toes were like lumps of ice—worse, they had hardly any feeling left in them. His ear and cheek on the side exposed to the storm, were getting nipped. W ell, be would soon strike the stage road, and then, if he had not miscalculated, there would be only five or six miles ‘•Great Scott 1” For Pokey had given a sudden high leap and stood still, panting. Almost under his feet lay a snow-covered ob ject, with a strange look about it. Hen leaned down from the saddle and turned it over. It was a dead man, holding tight, in the stiff right hand, a whip such as stage-driver3 use. deader'n Tom Jeffer “Srams-driver, son. Drunk, likely, an’ fell off; poor cuss!” But there was no time to stop and investigate. In another second Pokey was turned to the left and pound ing along up the stage road. A dark object loomed up suddenly as they shot past, and a sudden chill sent the sluggish blood coursing through Hen’s veins. He halted and turned Pokey’s unwilling head on the back course. Sure enough, it was the stage; there were no horses attached. Hen felt around and reached the door-handle. A cry—a child’s cry—came from within. Hen tied Pokey firmly to a wheel, found the door again, and entered. “Thank God!” It was a woman’s voice, and Hen al* most fainted to think that its owner should “6h, be in such a terrible predicament. sir, have you come to take us away? The driver fell off, I think, and the horses broke loose, somehow, and we’re almost frozen.” Hen could see her now. It was a young, good-looking woman, and she held, tight clasped to her breast,a child about three years old. Neither wa3 clad for such awful weather. Hen’s heart stood still for a moment. If that woman and child remained here it was almost certain death. It might be days before help could reach him, and even if aid could come to them to-mor¬ row, they would have frozen, mean¬ while. On the other hand— “Can you ride, missis?” ’“Yes, indeed.” . “Wal, come, then, quick 1” In another minute— V •• 1 V' ‘ I , “Ride straddle—so. Naow, hold t,h’ kid 'a let th’ hoss take ’is own road, Min’, naow.V’ “But what are you going to—” Hen was fastening the driver's robe; about her. “I’m all right. Naow, hang on an keep holt o’ th’ kid. Go on Pokey! Good-by, missus!” He was alone on the prairie in a de¬ serted stage coach,with the storm howl¬ ing about him, and his thoughts were of other things for a long time before he remembered that all his money wa3 in his saddle-bags. “Wa-al, chances is purty nigh agin my ever needin’ it,” he muttered, in his quaint way, “’Taint like I hed a stove an’ a hull lot o’ grub. She’ll save it fur me, likely, auyhaowv’ %' * * * * * It was two days later that the stage,, coming down from Jersey with, several Samaritans aboard, found him. It was two weeks and more before he came to himself in the hotel where he had had every possible attention. He was, as he himself remarked, “Glad to be alive, an’ fin’ I hedn’t lo3’ no han’s n’r feet.” But the woman and child had gone— they had left Jersey the very , day that Hen’s halt dead form was brought in by the relief party—and with them went Hen’s money; for the saddlebags had been taken to the woman’s room by the hostler, and no one else had had posses¬ sion of them, besides which, much to the landlhrd’s surprise, she had paid her bill with a $100 greeuback when she left. Hen’s money had been mostly in bills of that denomination. Hen “kept a stiff upper lip” and said little, when he got back to the ranch, which he did in a shoxt time much to our surprise. “ ’Twas all on ’caount o’ them blaraa saddlebag,” said he. “Ef I’d let new faD<?led notions alone, an’ carried th’ stuff an’ other things in my clo’es, I’d ben all right.”—San Francisco Examiner. How He Haudled Rattlesnakes. Dr. Wing, the Chinese corn doctor, is purchasing all the live rattlesnakes he can obtain, which he uses to make med¬ icines. An Indian brought him one last Saturday in a tightly secured can. The doctor had a forked stick and as soon as his snakeship was released he was held in such a manner with the stick that he could not bite; then Wing took him in his left hand holding him firmly about an inch back of the head and then pro¬ ceeded to sew the snake’s mouth up. He then placed it in a bottle containing alcohol and expressed himself thusly: “Heap good; alle same two tree day Kleele cure!”—Alturas (Cal.) Herald. 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