Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1884-12-31
A Western DrOVer's Story.
tFrom the Philadelphia News. ]

lrIOu Tic fu1Idue1pnld NEWS.
My name is Anthony Hunt. l am a
drover and live miles and miles away
upon the Western prairie. There
wasn't q house in sight when I first
moved there, my wife and I, and now
we have not many neighbors, though
those we have are good ones.
One day, about ten years ago, went
away from home to sell some fifty head
of cattle-fne creatures as I ever saw.
was to buy some groceries and Cry
goods before I came back; and above
all doll for our youngest, Dolly. She
had never had store doll of her own
only rag babies her mother had made
her.
Dolly could talk nothing else, and
went down to the very gate to call after
me to get big one. Nobody but par
ent can understand how full my mind
was of that toy, and how, when the cat
tie were sold, the first thing I hurried
off to buy was Dolly's doll. I found a
large one with eyes that would open and
shut when you pulled wire, and had it
wrapped up in paper and tucked il
under my arm while'I had the parcels
of calico and delaine and tea and sugar
put up. Then, late as it was, started
for home. It might have been more
prudent to stay until morning, but /
felt anxious to get back and eager to
hear Dolly's praises about her doll.
/ was mounted on steady going
old horse and pretty well loaded. Night
set in before [ was a mile from town,
and settled down as dark as pitch
while [ was in the middle of the dark
est bit of road I know of. ] could have
felt my way through, remembered it
SO well; and when the storm that had
been brewing broke, and pelted the
rain in torrents, I was five miles or
maybe six miles from home.
[ rode as fast as could, but all OF, a
dden I heard little cry like childs
dice. I stopped and listened. [ heard
it again. I called and it answered me.
I couldn't see thing; all was as dark
as pitch. got down and felt around
in the grass called again, and again
was answered. Then I began to won
der. I'm not timid, but was known to
be drover and to have money about
me. It might be trap to catch me un-
l.
not superstitious, not very, but how
could real child be out on the prairie
III such a night, at such an hour? It
might be more than human. The bit of
coward that hides itself in most men
showed itself to me then, but once more
I heard the cry, and said I:
IF any mans child is hereabouts
Anthony Hunt is not the man to let it
die"
I searched again. At last I be-
thought me of hollow under the hill
and CROPPED that way. Sure enough, I
found a little dripping thing that
moaned and sobbed as I took it in nv
arms. called my horse, and the beast
came to me and mounted and tucked
the little soaked thing under my coat
as well as I could, promising to take it
home TO mamma. It seemed so tired,
and pretty soon cried itself to sleep on
my bosom.
It had slept there over an hour when
I saw my own windows. There were
lights in them, and I supposed my wife
had lit them for my sake; but when I
got into the doorway saw something
was the matter, and stood still with q
dread fear of heart five minutes before
I could lift the latch. Al last I did it.,
and saw the room full of neighbors, and
nay wife amid them weeping. When
she saw me she hid her face.
ooh, don't tell him." she said, cit will
kill HIM"
"What is it, neighbors ?" [ cried.
Nothing, now, I hope. What's that
you have in your arms?"
GA poor, lost child" said I; "I found
it on the road. Take it, will you? I've
turned faint" And lifted the sleep
ing thing and saw the face of my own
child, my Dolly.
It was my own darling, and none
other, that had picked up on the
drenched road. Ny little child had
wandered out to meet papa and the
doll, while the mother was at work, and
they were lamenting her as one dead. I
thanked Heaven on my knees before
them.
It is not much of story, neighbors,
but I think of it often in the nights and
wonder how could bear to live now if
I had not stopped when I heard the cry
of help upon the road, hardly louder
than a squirrels chirp.
That's Dolly yonder with her mother
in the meadow-a girl worth saving-I
think (but, then, I'm her father, and
partial, maybe, the prettiest and sweet
est thing this side of the Mississippi.
WILLIAM TURNER, the American