Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1878-03-05

| RCdA llOAl oOAlC CIttHCCcttt3 WhC1C AO A0S
patiently halted. I was beginning t.
hate him mildly, when at one of thos'
reappearances he drew up to my side
and asked me how I liked Dickens!
| Had he asked me my opinion of HuX
| ley or Darwin, I could not have beer
more astonished. Thinking it were pos
sible that he referred to some local celeb
rity of Lagrange, said, hesitatingly:
You mean -?'
"Charles Dickens. OF course you've
read him? Which of his books do you
like best?n 81 -5+
Ireplied with considerable embarrass
ment that I liked them alias I Ger
tainly did. He grasped my hand for 8
moment quite unlike his usual phelgm,
and said, "That's me, old man. Dick
sens amt no slouch. You can count Oh
him pretty much all the time - - r-s-7
With this rough preface, he launched
into criticism of the novelist, which
for intelligent sympathy and hearty ap-
probation I had rarelyHheard equaled.
Not only did he dwell upon the ex-
uberance of his humor, but upon the
power of his pathos and the all-pervad-
| ing element of his poetry. had con-
sidered myself rather diligent scholar
of the great master of fiction, but the
strangers felicity of quotation and illus
tration staggered me. 1t is true that his
thoughts were not always clothed in
the best language, and often appeared
in the slouching. slangy undress of the
place aad period, yet it was rustic or
homespun, and sometimes struck me
with its precision and fitness. Consid-
erably seftened toward HIM, I tried him
with other literature. But vainly. Be-
yond a few of the lyrical and emotional
poets he knew nothing. Under the in
f1uence and enthusiasm of his own
speech, he himself had softened consid-
erably; offered to change horses with
me, readjusted my saddle with profes-
sional skill, transferred my pack to his
own horse. insisted on my sharing the
contents of his whiskey flask, and, no
ticing that was unarmed, pressed upon
me a silver-mounted Derringer, which
he assured me he could warrant. y
These various offices of good will and
the diversion of his talk baguiled me
from the fact that the trail was begin
ming to grow obscure and uni ecogniza-
BILE. We were evidently pursuing a
route unknown before to me. I.pointed
out the fact to my companion a little
impatiently. He instantly resumed his
OiA AAiaihhOA ttDd dldlCCp.
'Well, | reckon one trail is as good
as another, and what hev ye got to say
about it?"
pointed out with some dignity, that
I preferred the old trail.
"Mebbe you did. But you're jiss row
takin' pdsear with me. This yer trail
will bring you right into Indian Spring,
and aaaaaOticed, and no questions asked.
Don't you mind now, I'll see you
through"
1t was necessary here to make some
stand against my strange companion
I said firmly, yet IS politely as I could,
that had proposed stopping over night
with friend.
"What?"
hesitated. The friend was an eccen-
trio Eastern man, well. known in the
| locality for his fatidiousness and his
| habits as recluse. A misanthrope of
ample family and ample means, he had
chosen picturesque but secluded valley
in the Sierras, where he COULD rail
against the world without OPPOSITION
"Lone Valley" or "Boston Ranch" as
it was more Familiarity called, was the
one spot that thp average miner both
respected and feared. Mr. Sylvester, it's
proprietor, had never affiliated with
1.-THE boys" nor had he ever lost their
| respect by any active opposition to their
ideas. # seclusion had been his object
he certainly was gfatiGed. NeYerthe-
less in the darkening shadows of the
night, and on a lonely and unknown
trail I hesitated at repeating his name
| to 6 stranger of whom I knew so little
But my mysterious companion took the
matter out Of my hands.
"Look yar," he said, suddenly, "thar
amt but one place 'twixt yer and Indi-
an Spring whar you can stop, and that's
Sylvester's."
asssnted, g little sullenly.
"Wel1. said the stranger, auistly, and
with slight suggestion OF comforting q
favor on me, EFF you're pointed for
ping thar qUith ye. It's little off the
road-Pll lose some time-but taking it
by and large deG't much mind"
stated, as rapidly and as strongly as
I could, that my acquaintance with Mr..
Sylvester did not justify the introduc-
ton of stranger to his hospitality
that he was quite unlike any of the peo-
pie herein short that he was a queer
man, &C., &c.
To my surprise my companion an
swered quietly: "Oh, that's all right,
I've heard of him. Eff you don't feel
like cheering me through, Or you'd
rather put C. O. d. on my back, why
it's all the same to me. I'll play alone.
Only you just count me in. Say 'Syl-
vester' all the time. That's me-"
What could I oppose to this mans
quiet assurance. | felt myself growing
red with anger and nervous with embar-
rassment. What would the correct Syl-
vester say to me? What would the
girls-I was young man then, and had
| won an entree to their domestic circle by
my reserve-known by less compli-
mentary adjective among the "boys"-
what would they say to my new acquain-
tance. Yet certainly could not object
to his assuming all risks on his own per-
sonal recognizances, nor could resist a
certain feeling of shame at my embar-
rassment.
We were beginning to descend. In
the distance below us already twinkled
the lights in the solitary rancho of Lone
Valley. [ turned to my companion,
"But you've forgotten that don't know
your name. What am 1 to call you ?n
"That's so," he said, musingly.-
"NOw, let's see. 'Kearney' would be a
good name. It's short and easy like
| Thar's street in Frisco the same title.
Kearney it is"
"But -" I began impatiently.
"Now you leave all that to me-" he
interrupted, with a superb self-confi-
dence that I could not but admire
''The name amt no account. It's
the man that's responsible. Eff I was
to lay for man that I reckoned was
named Jones, and after fetched him I
found on the inquest that his real name
was Smith-that wouldn't make no
matter, as long as got the man."
The illustration. forcible as it was, did
not strike me as offering prepossessing
introduction, but we were already at the
rancho. The barking of the dogs
brought Sylvester to the door of the
pretty little cottage which his taste had
adorned.
l briefly introduced Mr.. Kearney.-
"Kearney will do-Kearney's good
enough for me-" commented the soidi-
SAINT Kearney half aloud, to my horror
and Sylvester's evident mystification
and then he blandly excused himself
for a moment that he might personally