The times. (Owosso, Mich.) 1882-1897, 1883-03-09
Sandy Of Roaring Fork.

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Sandy of Roaring Fork.
One of the real good men in our camp
on Roaring Fork was j. M. Sanders.
1t was years afterwards before any one
knew that he was anything but plain
"Sandy," but il man has front name
1t is bound to come out sooner or later.
TWAS later when it turned out that
SANDY" was not only Sanders, but j.
M. Sanders, and like as not some of his
letters had Esq" at the end of the
name.
Well, Sandy was good mana real
good man. He always had a remedy
for every complaint, from chills and
fever to being SO homesick that the pa
tent would have given his left arm for
a sight Of the old red farmhouse in the
States. He was also . praying man,
and on Sunday, when he didn't have too
much patching and darning to do he
read from the Bible and exhorted us
that the road to Heaven led through
trial, and tribulations and over hills
where a man shod with the strongest
faith had to look out for his footing.
Which may remark right here was
also the belief of several others in camp
including your humble servant.
Sandy didn't play cards nor drink nor
howl around with his hat on his ear and
his teeth on edge, and for this reason he
was despised by some and admired by
others II he had weak point it was
his too forgiving spirit Once in while,
when one of the men rubbed him little
too hard, there was warning of danger
in his big blue eyes, but he let half
drunken miner spit in his face without
betrsying the least show of anger.
The same was talked over in camp
and we were divided as to whether IL
was fear of the miners fist or pity for
his befuddled condition which prevented
knock-down. However, there came
day when the old man settled the
long-standing query of whether he had
fight in him or no.
Two miles above us was the camp of
the "Howling Wild Cats" One day big
Jim Stevens, standing six feet two in
his boots and having fist as big as a
two-quart jug, got hold of some partic-
ularly good whisky, and after licking
the best man in his own camp came
down to give us a whirl. Some of our
men, probably out of mere deviltry, told
Jim that Sandy was our fighting man
and the hardest hitter west of the Ne
braska praries.
What did big Jim do but hunt up our
parson and give him TO understand that
most desperate struggle ever known on
the face of this globe was about to take
place.
James Stevens, you 60 home," re-
piled Sandy.
"Sandy, I'm going to lick you till you
can't beller!" chuckled Jim.
go away, I've nothing against you,
warned the parson.
SANDY, prepare to be driven head
first into the sile!' yelled Jim, and with
that he spit on his hands and turned on
full head of steam.
We were all there, you know, but there
was a sort of understood law or custom
in the mining camps that fight must
be fought out without third party
chipping in. And besides, some of us
had sneaking suspicion that Sandy
would astonish the country il cornered
and compelled to use his muscle.
Big Jim rushed in like locomotive
going for spring lamb, but he didn't
get there. When he came within strik-
ing distance Sandy shot out and keeled
him over in such style that some one
called for three cheers. Jim got up
slowly, made another rush, and the re-
suit was the same. He wouldn't have
tried il again but for the jeers and
taunts of the men. The third round
was a beautiful affair." Jim advanced
slowly, hands up, prize ring fashion, and
for minute we weakened bit on our
man. Foot to foot they eyed each
other, and spared for an opening.
Then, like streak of CREASED lightning,
Sandy shot out with his left and Jim
went down like log and had enough.
Then who washed tho blood from his
face? The parson.
Who brushed his clothes and brought
him a drink? The parson.
Who lifted him up and walked him
away, speaking Us kindly as womanP
The parson.
Yes, it was, and it was the same par
son who walked to his camp with him,
and on the way up the trail sowed such
good seed that Big Jim changed from q
drunken, brawling good-for-nothing to
q sober, Industrious miner; and when
he struck u pocket and had the
wherewithal to return home, the parson
was the first to congratulate him and
the last to shake his hand and bid him
God-speed.
(Which / desire to explain" OBJ
served our camp shoemaker one day,
some months after the fight, "some
men can be coaxed or reasoned into be-
ing good, and some others never begin
to mend their ways until after the third
knock down. Detroit Free Press.