The Evansville journal., 1870-09-12
BY THE CAMP FIRE

alkali and drifting sand; but the sum
mer had only Just opened, and we were
well on our way. The days were no
vet ct their longest, bat We had made
thirtv-five miles since sunrise; and We
took care of the stock. and turned ii
10 supper with the pleasing conscious
ness that we had done we'll.
We were a motley group; old miners
two or three tTappeTs, half a dozer
"tender feet''-enjoyiDg their expert
ences of Western lite-a few malt
breeds, and the usual amount OF mule
skinners."
This was several years ago, and
do not mind admitting that / was one
of the ''tender-feet, to whom every
thing was wonderful, and the Rocky
Mountains the acme of earthly mag.
nifcence. I was deeply impressed
with the grandeur of these Western
solitdues and delighted with the wild
new world which was opening with
every step. Then, too, / was sur.
rounded with men Of whose life and
habits I knew as little as if they had
been Esquimaux; and In spite of Its
hardships aud dangers, it was delight.
full summer.
Our plan of travel was to be on the
way soon after daylight; and, as the
sun grew stronger. to lie by for three
or four hours in the middle of the day
and continue our journey until after
long the moon had risen. But the
day on which we reached Virginia
Dale had been rather cloudy, aud we
had been able to travel until sunset,
- -. the chnHnxw nf Tfd
wonderful rocks.
By the time supper was over 1t was
quite dark, and we heaped brush on the
camp fire, and lounged around it,smok-
ing, telling stories, or going to sleep.
lit cigar, and managed by the flick
ering light to arrange few flowers L
had gathered aud was pressing 10 an
old diary, for-some one at home. L
was trying to make the flowers stay 10 a
good position against the leaf, when a
shadow came between me and the FIRE,
and a rough voice said:
'Suthiu' for women folks, [ reckon2"
Yes, IansWered, closing the book
Il promised my sister to bring her
some flowers from the Rockies. :"
"Humphl young man, ye needn't
blush so for your sister, an to an old
chap like me u
l offered him a cigar.
Don't care eff / do: your terback-
er's alters hrst-rate.
"Of course, it came from hOme,"
said, with a little sigh, thinking of
some one in that home. which just
then seemed long way off.
The old man looked up wistfully.
"Ef ye'Ve got home, set heap Of
store by it, young man; 'tain't every
one that has"
It was quiet about the FIRE now, and
/ had been thinking of home, and was
in rather a softened mood but l was
surprised to hear Indian Bill" (fa-
nous for his hunting and wild exploits)
speak liz that gentle tone.
I smoked on in silence.
81 never had any home T. speak of"
he continued after a short pause, IAN
more's the pity: but / feels ef every
youngster like you, who's got a home
an women folks to care for, oughter
think heap on EN-"
"Yes," / replied, Il know how
much they are worth. now [ am so far
away, and / feel as though | could die
In their defense"
Dyin' s all very fne." said Indian
Bill dryly, knocking the ashes from
his cigar; but folks amt often called
on to die fur folks. .leastWise not where
gou was raised-an' bein' kind an
keerful Of EN- every days more count
sometimes than all yer dyin'. Ye may
have a wife an home of yer own some
day; yell do we'll to think ont"
ssfANd GRO NJ ~ l coId aoFffv
The fire was deadening a little, and
Bill gathered the falling brands, put
on fresh wood, aud sat down again
in the glare Of the flames.
Il dunno what brought it to mind"
he began again, but I've been think
in of suthin that happened onst,
when l vas crossin' few years ago."
Something that happened to your"
I asked.
Not to me, but to some women
folks In our train. j haint thought
ont before for a good spell. an L dun
no why / do nOW-only twas nigh
this time O. year, an jest sich a night
as this.
Suppose you tell me about it. |
suggested. as / threw away the stump
of my cigar aud wrapped myself up
in my blanket.
"Tain's much to tell, he answered,
''only il makes a wanderin' fellar like
me feel kinder lost to see folks have
all an more'n they want, and kinder
riled to see m throw il away like fools.
But that's neither here nor there" |"
and he began:
Nigh three years ago I was at
Omaha, Jest goin' to start for the
west.
There was some fuss at first about
a woman that wanted t. go's cook
wanted tc cook the grub T. pay fur
goin; and some of the chaps woulden't
take her cause the IUjuns were goin' t.
be on the path, and they diden,t want
no women. Ses I, EFF she's got pluck
enough to 60, take her she won't do
no harm, an eff tn lDjuns gets us, l
kin put a ball through her head.
Thank you, ses a voice behind me. L
turns round, and there she stands.
When / sees her | want sorry / said
what / did. / knew she woulden't I
be no trouble, an eff the IDjuns come
she woulden't yell, but ask me to kill
her eff / didn't. She wasn't afeard O.
nothin, I see it in her eyes, an she
wanted to 20 bad. Folks out there
Ireokon, ses |. Yes, says she. shy
like an. turnin' red, my mans out
there. Guess you'd better take her,
says to the men; her mans out there,
an she won'bee no trouble. She
looked at me grateful-like, an they
said she might 60
Well, we started. Hannah-that
was the woman's nsme-Haa't mite
of trouble. She was a mighty good
cook, an done a heap O. work; an she
alters had pleasant face, ana smile
that made the cakes as good aein
When we sat around the fire st night
see she alters looAed to the west, an
her face would git bright-like when
the Captain said how fur we'd gone