The Jackson standard. [volume] (Jackson C.H., Ohio) 1847-1888, 1884-02-07

eS0S eNo w Aio O"h PhOPSA iOA
whereupon, lifting his own cherished
plug" from the earth he held it in
his hand, brim up, and grunted inter
rogatively:
"Uh, Jack put um hat on? No put
um hat on?-me no sabem
"Yes; put um hat on"
"Uh! yash, me heap put um hat on.
All right-all same modisum (medi-
cine) White-a-man. Heap sabe!'' and
relapsed into silent observation.
The parson did not enjoy his sup
per. His day had been one Of tire
some, nervous preparation for a new
kind Of life; but Mr. Small was in
hearty sympathy with all nature,
which includes good appetite (if it is
not founded on a good appetite), and
he ate with rapid action and a keen
relish, talking as he ate, in way to
provoke appetite, or if not to provoke,
at least raise a sigh of regret for its
absence.
"Thar!" said Mr.. Small, with sigh
ing emphasis, "that let's me out on
creature comforts, in the grub line,
till to-morrer. Yer don't waltz in
very hearty on this grub, Parson. All
right; I'll bake yer an oatmeal cake
soon's I git done with my bread. an
mix yer canteen O. milk for to-mor-
rer's lunch"
"Thank you, indeed, Mr.. Small" ="
'Yere, Gov said Mr.. Small, as he
piled the CREASED frying-pan full of
broken bread, and poured out a tin
cup of coffee, 'yere's your hash, to
which Gov responded silently by car
rying the pan and cup to the fire, and
then sitting down between them on
the ground, to eat and drink in his
own fashion.
''These yer Injins is curious" said
Mr.. Small, in his running commenta-
ry on things in general, as he actively
passed from one point in his culinary
duties to another; "they wun't eat ba-
con, but they'll eat bacon-grease an
bread, or beef an bacon-grease; an
they won't eat cheese, but they'll eat
dead hoss. [ b'lieve the way to con-
quer Iniins would be to load cannons
with Limburg cheese an blaze away
at 'em!''
GAS the Chinese shoot their enemies
in war with pots of abominable
smells"
Eyes; I've heerd before O. the Chi
nese way O maxim war, but | reckon
faint the smell Injins keer for-it's
mighty hard to knock an Injin with a
smell! Injins, leastway this yere
tribe, haint got no nose for posies.
They got some kind O. superstition
about milk an cheese, though I reck-
on they must hev drinked milk when
they're little"
And Mr.. Small chuckled at the del
icacy Of his own allusion to the font
Of aboriginal maternity.
Don't yer smoke, Parson?"
"Not of late years. replied Mr..
Signal; and paced up and down medi-
tatively past the fire, gazing up at the
darkening sky. II formerly enjoyed
a cigar, occasionally, but my dyspep-
sia has cut me off from that vice."
well, I've got this bread bakin',
an reckon I'll take smoke. Yere,
Gov, done yer support? Scoot up thar
an throw down them beds, SO we kin
ueV d SedG. lie SlleuG duu T6duy
compliance Of the Indian enabled Mr..
Small as he tossed the rolls of bedding
over by the fire, to remark: 'Yere,
Parson, take a seat. This yere's high
style-front settin' room, fust floor.
You'll want yer legs to-morrer, though
yer kin ride eff yer want to; but it's
powerful tejus, ridin' a bull-wagon."
And he sat down on his roll of bed
ding to cut his plug tobacco, fill his
short pipe, and watch the process of
bread-baking while he enjoyed his
smoke.
The reverend also sat down on his
bed.
The Indian sat on the ground, at
the opposite side Of the fire, humming
the low, dismal ditty of his remote
ancestors.
The stars came out in the clear sky,
and the dry, still air seemed to listen
to the coming on Of the innumerable
host. So still-O, so crystalline still
is the summer night in Nevada!
TO BE CONTINUED.