The Madison daily leader. [volume] (Madison, S.D.) 1890-current, 1893-09-28
THE BOOMHOUSE MAN.


winter or two ago in little lumber
hamlet of the hill region of Kentucky
For a moment at least it was quite
thrilling-rather too thrilling indeed to
straight and simple art standards. i
have groveling fondness for reproduc-
ing only the usual features of life, and
this little episode, though it was pitiful-
ly commonplace in its setting had about
it something that was not only unusual,
but nearly sublime.
had gone down to the village in aues-
ton with the ambitious design of seeing
a ''tide" in the river. Tides are peculiar
to wintry months. They are useful to
lumbermen and incidentally to writers,
but they have their unpleasant features.
My little hill hamlet, having doffed its
green livery. was cowled in dark mud.
Rain sheeted the air The inn seemed to
be saturated, and the roar of the river on
the skirts of the town corroborated the
innkeepers assurance concerning the
magnitude Of the special tide which
was in progress.
''She's booming for all that's in her."
declared the innkeeper, an elderly man,
summer the happy privilege of being
useful to me in many ways. They look
for the boom to bust tonight Thou
sands of dollars afioat. You see that
man by the stove? He's one of the big
timber fellers from up north. Just come
down. He'll lose heavy if she busts.
Say, miss, take a look at that feller!
You remember me telling you about the
boomhouse mans daughter? Well, that
feller-he was the mamie was Idy's
beau"
remembered the story. On certain
day in the previous June / was standing
at the head of mill chute looking down
at the sunken river. Suddenly dug
out shot round the bend. The man in
the rude thing seemed only half human.
He was bent and shrunken, with a clay
colored skin, matted red hair and such
woebegone vacuity of face as startled
one. The innkeeper had related that
this poor creature lived alone in the
that his duty was to cook for the log
gers IN time OF LlueS.
He's seen trouble" said the innkeep-
er. Used to own nice little farm up
yonder and live well. He had an only
daughter. Pretty as a peach, Idy was.
Slim wasted, with kinky red hair and
big eyes. He sat store by Idly. Moth
ing was too good for her. And one sum-
mer son of one of the mill owners was
down here settling up the mill books,
and he took fancy to Idy, and folks
said it'd be match. The boomhouse
man was proud as peafowl. And aft
er the young feller went north again,
why, Idy's paw he narrated around that
the wedding was to come off on Christ
mas day and how't Idly was going up
north to live in great style. But the
young feller never came back, Henever
came back" repeated the innkeeper,
with graphic sort of pause. "And Idly
well, always said if she'd of had a
mother things would have been differ
ent. I always said she took the best
way out OF it, For bout the time Tongues
was beginning to wag fdy was missing
one day, and they found her tangled up
in the river drift yonder where the sand
bar reaches across the shadows"
"And what did her father do?
do? Oh, he acted like he'd got it be-
tween the eyes. Kind of daft. Amt
been just right ever since"
This tragic narrative, which the ina-
keeper related with the equanimity OF
an epic poet, recurred to me vividly as
observed the man by the stove.
He was middle aged. The story lay IL
years behind him, but he had chin
which made me believe the innkeeper an
honest chronicler.
He was stohd and we'll fed. Apparent
iy life had laid no heavy penalty upor
him.
He seemed too vulgar and heavy
type of humanity to invite exceptiona
treatment of fate, yet ! saw him tina
night in rather notable situation.
Just after dark the inkeeper and hi
daughter and / set out across the cliff
path to see the river in active operation
We walked in the winds teeth, with
splitting rain in our faces. 1t was col,
and bleak. Then in an instant the rive
flashed in sight. Its whole freshe
swollen current famed with red iron
countless fire baskets and lanterns. Lon
shafts of vermilion stabbed the packe
timber in the boom, struck across tn
climbing banks and made fiery lances O
the pike poles in the loggers's hands.
Men Were leaping about on the logs
In flare of crimson / saw on til
wedged in float the man who had bee
Ida's lover. He was working sturdil
M any logman about, handling til
heavy cables and shouting directions.
1t was worth seeing, that mountai
stream as it mouthed at the strainin
timber in the boom. twas worth seein,
but the air was cold and wet, and in I'll
second hour Of our watching the in,
keepers daughter, being upheld b
neither hospitality nor ambition. b
sought me TO accompany her to IL