Helena weekly herald. [volume] (Helena, Mont.) 1867-1900, 1883-03-08
Helena, Montana, Thursday, March 8, 1883.
SANDY OF ROARING FORK.
Improving a Mans Morals by Giving
Him Whaling.


Improving a Mans Morals by Giving
Him Whaling.
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 if
a man has front name it is bound to come
out sooner or later.
dy" was not only Sanders, but j. NJ. 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 remedy for every
complaint, from chills and fever to being so
homesick that the patient would have given
his left arm for sight of the old red farm
house 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 trials and
tribulations and over hills where man shod
with the strongest faith had to look for his
footing.
Which may remark right here was also
the belief of several others in camp includ-
ing 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 was de-
spised by some and admired by others. If he
had weak point it was his too forgiving
spirit. Once in a while, when one of the
men rubbed him a little too hard, there was
warning of danger in his big blue eyes,
but he let half-drunken miner spit in his
face one day without betraying the least
show of anger.
The same was talked over in our camp, and
we were divided as to whether it 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 not.
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 a fist as big as two-quart jug,
got hold of some particularly good whisky
camp he came down to give us a whirl.
Some of our men, probably out of mere
deviltry, told Jim that Sandy was our fight
ing man and the hardest hitter west of the
Nebraska prairies.
What did big Jim do but hunt up our par
son and give him to understand that the aw-
fullest, bloodiest. fercest and most desperate
struggle ever known on the face of this globe
was about to take place
James Stevens, you 60 home," replied
Sandy.
SANDY, l am 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 sort of understood law or custom in
the ming camps that fight must be fought
out without the third party chipping in.
And besides, some of US had sneaking sus-
picion that Sandy would astonish the coun-
try if 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 striking distance SAM
dy 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 result was the same. He wouldn't have
tried it 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 a minute we
weakened bit on our man. Foot to foot
they eyed each other, and spared for an
opening. Then, like a streak of creased
lightning, Sandy shot out with his left and
Jim went down like log and had enough.
Then who washed the 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 as kindly as a woman? The par
son.
Yes, it was, and it was the same parson
who walked to his camp with him, and on
the way up the trail sowed such good seed
that big Jim changed from drunken, brawl-
ing, od-for-nothing to sober, industrious
miner; and when he struck 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" observed our
camp shoemaker one day some months after
the fight, "some men can be coaxed or reas-
oned into being good, and some others never
begin to mend their ways until after the
third knOck-down."