Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1890-09-07
OVERTHE MOUNTAINS.
Alice MacGowan Starts on a Thou
sand-Mile Trip Horseback.
CAUGHT IN A THUNDER STORM,
In the Midst Of Which White Robed Luna.
tic Disputes the Way.
THE STORY OF A TENNESSEE HORSE
,conRIsroxprxor OF THE p1srArcH.i

Iu6 oIV1k We 1nnN1oonn AAS>sSH
tcoRRKsPoNDENcE OF THE DIsPATcH.i
BAKERsvILLE, N. c., September .o.-1
have LETT Cloudland and the hotel, aban.
doned my trunk and all 1t contained, turned
my back upon my faithful railroad pass
and sent it conveying the trunk to Chatta.
nooga; while I, with toothbrush. pocket
handkerchief and a rubber coat, ride q
roundabout way of some 1000 miles 70 the
same point.
The little, black, mountain-bred mare is
mine, and we two are going to make the
journey alone. am armed and panoplied
for the work before me. My riding cap has
given place to broad-brimmed soft felt hat
of the dashing, rebel cavalryman sort; and,
as Phe6e's beauty is decidedly Of the wild
and rakish style, am little afraid we don't
present an entirely staid and conventional
appearance. have pair of large calfskin
shoes. Everybody advised me to get them,
and I would advise everybody to get them
when starting out upon such trip. Their
weight, size and coarseness I bear with
Christian fortitude and meekness; but the
double barreled, four-horse power, steam
calliope squeak, which can be heard all over
large summer hotel and half way across a
village, is bitter pill for my proud spirit.
cringe inwardIy every rasping yap' they
fetch. I must find some way to stop it, or
they will destroy my mental poise, and
make me lose my grip on myself. But I
tell you as the beautiful and arlstocratic
looking young lady at the railroad eating
house said of the potatoes, ''Them's the
jockeys for me-" when going up or down a
wild mountain road l get to place so bad I
have to dismount and lead my horse over
rocks and through water. They know they
are indispensable; they have. as it were, the
dead wood" on me, 70 they yell demoni-
acallY whenever they get me "before folks. !"
TWO LITTLE TERRoRs.
There is, admit, one thing I do fear and
dread in setting out upon this trip It is
not wild beasts nor wicked men, not the
river roads, perllous mountain passes nor
the skittish mare. 1t is the nimble genus
pulex, vulgarly flea, and his able coadjutor
and fellow conspiratof, the sluggish but
persevering and multifarious cimex lee
tularius, vulgarly, bed-bug. I do not finch
from the "long days Of labor" but the
thought of the "nights devoid of ease, 3"
makes me groan. There would be some
glory in valiantly defending myself against
big snakes, or wildcats, or escaped convlcts;
there would even be some romance in going
over bluff or down ravine, and acquiring
q few picturesque injuries; but what satis-
faction can one derive from being slowly
eaten alive by a crawly-wawly, whose name
it isn't polite to mention.
am going down through Quallatown
too, along the Tuckaseegee and Oconaluftee
valleys, right through Los countryside
North Carolina Indian reservation-to hunt
up the legend of Vengeance Creek, and dis
cover the myths which gave Standing In
dian, Hanging Dog Greek, Blood Rock and
Chunky Gal, their respective names; and
haven't I often read, in various reliable
publications, the words of bitterness and
warning of those who had been there, and
who all stated, in terms of varying warmth
and emphasis, according to their religious
that where Lo is, there are feas
and bed-bugs galore-feas of great size,
ferceness and rapacity; and bed-bugs as the
sands of the sea for numbers, and with the
bull-dogged and revengefuI tenacity of Lo
himself?
HOW THEY OPERATE.
Between the two the unfortunate traveller
stands small chance. The flea possesses the
power of instant translation. He is always
there when he sisn't wanted; and when
wanted be is absolutely nowhere. He needs
none of Shakespeare's "fernseed." With
one leap he launches himself into very in
and, sitting secure in space, de-
bit of ether, he laugh ghs to
scorn his victims clumsy search, whereat
the bite that he has bitten itches horribly.
The bed-bug is possessed of no such &C
he is vulgar, ungainly and
but he takes horrible posthu-
mus or post mortem revenge. He comes
crawling over your hands and face-he, and
his large family, friends and acquaintance
and he says: "Yes, now, striker Hit
me if you darer' And you don't dare
You get up and make a light, by which
time the bed'bug has hidden you laughing
au revoir, and returned to his inaccessible
businesses.
o, have walked with them both many
nights, in my search after the beautiful and
the picturesque; and the absolute certainty
Of many more such nights casts a large
sized shadow of considerable density upon
my otherwise delightful anticipations of
the cruise.
THE MoUNTAINEER'S APOLOGY.
These people-the poorer mountaineers in
The little cabins-will say to you naively,
well, stranger" or in my case, isis Ill
Keep ye if We low We can put up 18th our
but ye know how tits yer
,elf; in bug-time folks has ter jest do the
best the kin p Upon which my hair stands
IN end, my blood runs cold, my tongue
cleaves to the roof of my mouth, and envy
Phebe, with her bundle of oats or armfu ful of
corn, which she is quite capable of defend
ing against all local intruders with her ears
laid fiat on her neck, and liberal bites and
kicks all around.
l was riding along the other day when
overlook young man mounted on pretty
salking horse, and he told me this little
yarn:
'aThere was a fellow here named Joe Taft,
about ten years ago, when was a boy OF 18
that had powerful nice mare he Dragged
heap on. He talked it far and near that she
could outrun anything in the valley. Jim
Eustis and some more fellows got together
5000 and took it over into Tennessee,
where I was raised, and bought a horse 1
knew of there, and brought him over here
Just all for the purpose of beating Taft's
mare. He was a quarter horse, and he
could just run like streak of lightning;
but he was the hardest-mouthed, most un-
beast you ever saw.
THE TENNESSEE FLYER.
"Well, we took him out to have a trial
the day after 1 got back, and all Jim's crowd
and hackers were there. l was to ride the
horse, and Jim showed me where to run him,
right across piece of bottom land, straight
TO him, while he sat on the other side.
told him that would never do; that no man
living could stop that horse when he was in
full swing, but he sort otsmiled and said he
reckoned was afraid to ride the horse. OF
course my blood was up then. never said