The Globe-republican. [volume] (Dodge City, Kan.) 1889-1910, 1893-11-24

lOS1c8iIy, the mouucI IN 0uiSn OcCu
pied myself from dawn to pnnoet.
Sc a. m.-Wa1e and see that Tim IA
already disappeared and tolded up hi
hammock. Observe the morning SUI
looking In with fresh, CHEEKY coun
tenance at the window. Turn owe
again with a yawn. and 60 to sleep TO
! another five minutes
''7:15 a. m.-Wake again, and dis
cover. by looking at rly watch, that
instead of FIVE minutes, have slept Al
hour and quarter. Spring up at once
and slip on shirt and trousers; ther
pass out, barefooted, into the open air
No sign of Tim, but a fire is lighted
close to the caravan. which shadows II
from the rays of the morning sun
Stroll down to the lake and, throwing
off what garments l wear. prepare fol
a bath. Cannot get out for swim or
account of the reeds The bath over
return and finish my toilet in the cara
van.
IS a. m.-Tim has reappeared. He
has been right down to the seashore
walk of about two miles and half
He informs ne to my disgust that
there is some sort of human settle
ment there. and life-boat station
He has brought back in his baglet. as
specimens of the local products. doz'
en- newlaid eggs. some milk and Loaf
of bread. The last. | observe, is in a
fossil state. ask who sold it him.
He answers, William Jones.
$3.50 a. m.-We breakfast splendid.
ly. Even the fossil loaf yields susten.
ance. after it is cut up and dissolved
in hot tea. Between whites Tim in
forms me that the settlement down
'yonder is. in his opinion. a poor sort OF
place. There are several whitewashed
cottages and a large, roofless house,
for all the world like church. Devil
the cow or pig did he see at all, barrin'
a few hens. Any boats, ask? Yes,
one. with the bottom knocked out, be-
lonring to William Jones.
Tim has got this name SO pat that
Who the deuce is William Joncs?'
Sure. thin says Tim, he's the man
that lives down bcyant, by the sea-
demand, somewhat irritably, if the
place contains only one inha 5itant?
Devil another did Tim see, he explains
-barrin' William Jones.
$3.50 a. m.-Start painting in the
open air, under the shade of large
white cotton umbrella. Paint on till
l p. m.
Il p. intake a long walk among
the sand hills. avoiding the settlement
beyond the lake. Don't want to meet
any of the aboriginals, more particu-
larly William Jones. Walking here is
like running up and down Atlantic bill
lows, assuming said pillows to be solid;
now l am lost in the trough of the
sand. now rc-cmcrge on the crest of
the solid wave. Amusing. but fatiguing.
hare starts from under my
feet and goes leisurely away. re-
an old amusement of mine in
The west of Ireland, and / track Puss
by her footprints-now clearly and
printed in the soft sand of
the hollows, now more family marked
on the harder sides of the ridges. The
sun blaZes down. the refraction of the
heat from the sand is overpowering.
the air is quivering, sparkling and
pulsating. as if full of innumerable
sand crystals. A horrible eroak from
overhead startles me, and, looking up,
see an enormous raven, wheeling
Along in circles and searching the
ground for mice or other prey.
Looking at my watch. find have
been toiling in the sandy wilderness
for quite two hours. Time to get back
md dine. Climb the nearest hillock,
and look round to discover where am.
Can see nothing but the sandy pillows
On every side. and am entirely at a loss
which way to go. At last. after half
IN hours blind wandering, stumble by
accident on the road by the lakeside
md see the caravan in the distance.
"a p. m.-Dinncr. Boiled potatoes,
boiled eggs, fried bacon. Tins cook
ing is primitive, but I could devour
William Jones' fossil
bread. asked if any human being
has visited the camp. 'Sorra one, Tim
says. looking rather disappointed. He
has got to feel himself public char
acter. and misses the homage of the
vulgar.
Paint again till six p. m.
"A beautiful sunset. The sand hills
grow rosy in the light, the lake deep
ems from crimson to purple, the moon
comes out like silver sickle over the
sandy sea. A thought seizes me as the
shadows increase. Now is the time
to entice the pink trout from their
depths in the lake. get out my fish,
ing rod and line. and. stretching two
or three flies which seem suita BILE, pre-
pare for action. My rod is only
small. single-handedo one, and is difficult
to cast beyond the sedges, but the fish
are rising thickly out in the tranquil
pools. and. determined not to be beat
en-, wade in to the knees. Half q
dozen trout. each about the size of
small herring. reward my enterprise.
When I have captured them. the moon
is high up above the sand-hills, and it
is quite dark.
''Such is the chronicle of the past
day. BY the light of my lamp inside
the caravan l have written it down.