The Northern Pacific farmer. [volume] (Wadena, Minn.) 1878-1885, 1884-11-20


| When coffee's served and wine runs low,
When conversation WAKES slow,
| What brings the after dinner glow?
The weed? Life.
DYING FOR ITS MASTER.
An old man and young man met in
an uptown museum the other day and
found mutual interest in discussing a
den ofsnakes. "Hyou would care to hear
it, said the old man, who was old only
in years, his sturdy form indicating that
not more than three-quarters of his life
was behind him. IF you would care to
hear it will tell you story about a
snake, not one of these foreign reptiles,
but home-bred rattlesnake, too COM
mon, I suppose, to find a place here"
"Tell it," said the young man.
"Snake stories are always interesting"
And so it came about that fifteen min
utes later the two sat at table in the
quiet corner of quiet restaurant with
bottle of Tokay, for which the place
is famous, between them. The old man
lifted the wine glass between his
thumb and finger, watched the exquis-
tie light playing in the red depths Of
the glass, and thus began:
"My name is Thomas Wilman, and I
live in Philadelphia, where my son
Harry, is a prominent business man.
Thirty-one years ago yesterday mar
ried in Great Darlington, Mass, as
pretty a girl as that village, Famous
for It's pretty girls) ever sheltered. She
had been we'll brought up, but had no
fortune. I had 81, 500, which I had
made by running asaw-mill. We were
young and had the world before us,
and we concluded to go west. Going
west in those days didn't mean, as it
seems to now, going beyond the Mis-
sissippi Going into York state was
going west then. I had a cousin in
Cattaraugus, little village on the Erie
railway, thirty miles east of Dunkirk,
and We concluded to 60 there.
ut was late in August when we
reached Cattaraugus. My cousin gave
US hearty welcome, and set about
looking for a spot to build. The vii
lage is surrounded by hills and the
wonder to me is that it doesn't slide
down into the washbowl-like valley on
the side of which it is built. A little
creek runs through the village, and a
mile to the west find itself in deep
narrow valley, with almost perpendicu-
lar sides, 100 feet high. This valley is
called Skinner Hollow, and is one of
the most picturesque spots on the Erie
| road. I went down into the hollow
prospecting. The sides, where they
were not steep, were covered with a
heavy growth of first class pine, and
for miles around the hills we're thick
with the same timber. [ saw there was
money in saw-mill right down in that
hollow, and built one on the stream
which I could see was good sized creek
most of the year. It is one of the
branches of Cattnraugus Creek, which
empties into Lake Erie, thirty miles
west of Buffalo.
II built my mill there, and close to
it little house, so close, in fact, that
the two joined. took Katie, that is my
wife, down there, and we began house
keeping. That was we'll in the winter,
aud began logging at once. hired a
gang of men to help me, raised money
by contracting my lumber ahead and
started in. We cut logs on the hills
close to the mill, rugged up slides, and
ran them down to the log-way. I tell
you it was music to me when the saw
ripped into the first log and clean cut
slab dropped away fran the teeth. We
had little Notification. That was the
first log ever cut in Skinner Hollow,
and people drove ten miles to see it.
Business was good. There was lots of
snow, which made it easy work getting
logs to the mill and drawing lumber out
to the village, besides giving me all the
water I wanted. In fact water was
running over the tail of my fiume every
hour from the time turned it into the
race until the middle of July. Then a
dry spell came on, and had to shut
down for two or three hours every day
to let my race fill up.
':But I didn't mind that. I had had
tip top season and had made money.
I had logs enough at my door to keep
me busy for year and I knew where
there were plenty more when they ran
out. And besides I had two to look
after instead of one. You wouldn't
think if you'd see Harry, with all his
refined ways and education, that the
first music he ever heard was saw
through pine knot. But it's so. He,
was a pioneers son and knocked around
saw-mill till he was in his teens.
"Well, when business was slow I
worked around the house, fixing up
things here and there for Katie, so as
to make her more comfortable. She
couldn't have been more contented.
She used to think that saw-mill was
Just about the pleasantest place in the
country. Hour after hour she'd stay
out there with me, and we'd keep up
the conversation while the log was run
ming back and stop when it went up to
the saw. Dear me! Dear me! Why,
I can see her as she used to look in
those days in that little saw-mill just
as plainly as if stood there with her
to-day. She used to jump on the log
and ride up pretty close to the saw, and
then, just as I would get scared and
jump to drag her away, off she'd go.
Nobody was ever happiar than we were,
and we nave never been as happy since,
though we've been pretty happy, and
are yet"
The yellow sunlight fickered into
the room where the two sat, and the
wine looked like blood as the dancing
rays shone through it. The old man
was lost in happy reverie: and the young
man ventured to remind him that there
was snake story promised.
"True," said the old man, starting.
"I'm just coming to that. 1 lost myself
thinking of those old days. There were
snakes then, and we had killed them.
Rattlers used to come out on the lodges
of rocks and lay in the hot sun. Cne
or two had come around the mill, and l
had shot one in our door yard. But
we thought nothing of that. People
living in the woods or in wild places get