Ashtabula telegraph. (Ashtabula, Ohio) 1874-1880, 1877-10-05

our ewes with its glare. The pines
in the canon below were olive CULTS
of heat, over which hawk here and
there drifted lazily, or rising TO our
level, cast a weird and gigantic shad-
ow of slowly moving wings on the
mountain side. the superiority of
the strangers horse led him often
far in advance, and made me hope
that he might forget me entirely, or
push on, grown weary of waiting.
But regularly he would halt by a
boulder, or reappear from some
ChimiSGI, where he had patiently
halted. l was beginning to hate
him mildly, when at one of those re-
appearances he drew up to my side,
and asked me how l liked Dickens!
He had asked my opinion of Hux-
lev of Darwin, | could not have
been more astonished. Thinking 1t
were possible that he referred to
some local celebrity of Lagrange, L
said, hesitatingly:
| "YOu mean--E
"Charles Dickens. OF course
you've read him? Which of his
books do you like best?"
l replied with considerable embar-
rassment that l liked them alas |
certainly did.
lie grasped my hand for a mo-
ment with fervor quite unlike his
usual phlegm, and said, "That's me,
old man. Dickens amt no slOuch.
You can count on him pretty much
all the time"
With this rough preface, he
launched into criticism of the novel
list, which for intelligent sympathy
and hearty appreciation had rarely
heard equaled. Not only did he
dwell upon the exuberance of his
humor, but upon the power of his
pathos and the all-pervading element
of his poetry. looked at the man
in astonishment. | had considered
myself a rather diligent student of
the great master of fiction, but the
strangers felicity of quotation and
illustration staggered me. 1t is true
that his thought was not always
clothed in the best language, and Of
ten appeared in the slouching, slangy
undress of the place and period, yet
it never was rustic nor hOmespun,
and sometimes struck me with its
precision and fitness. Considerably
softened toward him, l tried him
with other literature. But Vainly.
Beyond few of the lyrical and
emotional poets, he knew nothing.
Under the influence and enthusiasm
of his own speech, he himself had
softened considerably; offered to
change horses with me, readjusted
my saddle with professional skill,
transferred my pack to his own
horse, insisted upon my sharing the
contents of his whisky flask, and,
noticing that was unarmed, pressed
upon me silver mounted derringer,
which he assured me he could "war-
rant" These various offices of good
will and the diversion of his talk be-
guiled me from noticing the fact
that the trail was beginning to be-
come obscure and unrecognizable.
We were evidently pursuing route
unknown before to me. l pointed
out the fact to my companion little
impatiently. He instantly resumed
his old manner and dialect.
"Well, 1 reckon one trails as
good as another, and what hev ye
got to say about it?"
l pointed out, with some dignity,
that preferred the old trail.
"Mebbee you did. But your jiss
now takin' pasear with me. This
yer trail will bring you right into
Indian Spring, and no questions ask
ed. Don't you mind now, Ill see
: you through"
1t was necessary here to make
some stand against my strange COM
panion. 1 said firmly, yet as polite
Iy as l could, that proposed stop
ping over night with friend.
EEWhar?"
l Ihesitated. The friend was an &C.
centric eastern man, well known i'll
the locality for his fastidiousness
and as a recluse. A misanthrope of
ample family and ample means, he
had chosen a secluded but pictur-
esqe valley in the Sierras, where he
could rail against the world without
opposition. clone Valley" or
''Boston Ranch" as it was more fa-
military called, Was the one spot
/ that the average miner both respect
ed and feared. Mr.. Sylvester, its
proprietor, had never affiliated with
"the boys" nor had he ever lost
their respect by any active opposi-
tion to their views. If seclusior
had been his object he certainly
was gratifed. Nevertheless, in the
darkening shadows of the night,
and on a lonely and unknown trail,
l hesitated a little at repeating his
name to stranger of whom | knew
, so little. But my mysterious com
panion took the matter out of my
hands.
"Look yar," he said suddenly
''thar amt but one place twixt here
J, and Indian Spring whar ye can stop,
; and that's Sylvester's."
l assented little sullenly.
. "Well," said the stranger quietly
). and with slight suggestion of con-
, ferring favor on me. OFF your
) pointed for Silvester's-why-
don't mind stopping thar with ye
, It's little off the road-Pl loose
some time-but taking it by and
\ large l don't much mind"
4 l stated as rapidly and strongl,
r as could, that my aoquaintanc,
q with Mr.. Sylvester did not justify
: the introduction of strangers to hi:
4 hospitality-that he was unlike most
of the people herein short that h,
q was a queer man, &c, &c.
- To my surprise my companies
I answered quietly, "Oh, that's al
g right. I've heerd of him. Eff yol
! don't feel like checking me through
. q or eff you'd rather put G. o. D. OIL
my back, why it's all the same tc
/ me. I'll play it alone. Only yol
); just count me in. Say Sylvester al
. the time. That's me-"