The daily morning journal and courier., 1894-09-20
The Paisley Luck.

dred pounds Of avoirdupois with the aid of a highly educated mule and a fine display of dignity. along the banks of Twelve Pole" Creek towards the boundaries of Logan county. Ahead Of him the mountains stretched in seem- ingly endless chains and peaks till they faded away, lost In the blue distance. On either bank of the creek spread out the primeval forest. green now in It's spring covering. IL was absolutely ne- cessary for him 10 follow the devious windings of "Twelve-Pole" in order to avoid obstacles which would have made progress by any other means than ballooning well-nigh impossible. The silence of an untenanted country was all about and over the traveller.
 But as the colonel allowed his mule to pick Its way along the mere bridle path which, perforce. did duty as a road. these blandishments of nature exercised little If any effect upon him. He was on business bent. and, besides, the scenes and incidents of the West Virginia mountains were by no means new to him. In this sparsely popula- ted region he was on terms of intimacy with nearly every one of It's lonely in- habitants, men, women and children They liked the colonel and he liked them. He was welcome in their hum- ble dwellings,; and into his patient ear were poured all of their little troubles and cares. He knew, too, their grave conceits and quaint sense of humor He was their guide, philosopher and friend"
 And so the sight of an intruder upon his solitude did not disturb the colonel as it might have another less we'll &C., credited. The intruder was in every way typical specimen of this race of mountain people, now so rapidly disap- bearing before the march of progress. He was man of imposing height six feet five or six-and riding, as he did, one of the little native horses, his long legs almost reached the ground. Long, lank and lean was he, clothed in a brown calico shirt and rusty jean trousers thrust into the tops of raw hide boots. On his head was a broad brimmed slouch hat, much the worse for wear; and over the pommel of his saddle lay carelessly long, old-fash- toned, muzzle-loading rifle.
 'Mornin', kurnel," said the man, proud ter see ye ag'in up this way. Crick? Yaas, it's rig consid-able Dun know ez ye git ,cfost 1t up thar; but, kurnel. it aren't nothin' to what I hev knowed it. I re-collect onct-I guess it war in thirty-two-when the crick rig so high-I war grubbin' an grinnin' round the place a tryin' to yearn a. honest hvin,--Nance Paisley she kim over from the, head O. Beach and hollered ter me ,.thet her man he'd got inter onpleasantness with one O the Peterses about a dog or somethin' and that I war respectfully invited ter sot up with the corpse. ..-
 Tn them thar days sottin' up with corpses and huptin bee trees war about the only recreation we had, so felt moughty proud O the compliment 'an' I warn't long in acceptin O the bid. I told the widder ter jis git on back the nigh way, an I'd git ready an go by the stilEhouse on Grapevine, fur seed it war goin' ter turn cold, an l couldn't dew jestice ter the ca sion 'ceptin' he'd gourd CT so full O Uncle Jake's 'sillin'. I got inter the best clothes I hed-they war powful scace-an' I follered the widder, her a goin' the highest way an me a goin' the furderest ter get the whiskey.
 Tt somehow 'peared ter me thet grub thought be 'ce at the Paisley residence and sottin' ID with corpse without grub is sorter like dancin' without a fiddle. So tuk ole Danger field along-Dangerf1eld war the rifle what ole Si Hawkins made fur me thinkin' I thought run acrost some thin in the shape. O provisions, It war a-drizziin' like when started, but l knowed from the way the wind war a-blowin' thet afore reached the eend O my journey thar would be a pow'ful turn in the weather. Sure 'nough, jis' arter got my whiskey an lef the still begin ter wish I war a fo'-y'ar-ole bar. Cold warn't no name fur it. Howsomeever I went along kinder hopin I'd git some game ter bind up the widder's heart, but nary a. Twin thing did see.
 "It war gettin' late, an he'd jis' about made up my mind we'd git moth. in ter eat when I suddintly looked up inter blackgum a standin' 'twixt the crick bank an the hill. Thar, a-settin' on a limb, war seven O the incest tur- keys ever seed. Quicker nor lightnin' I pulled trigger on a gobbler, but nary turkey moved. I loaded ag'in an shot, an nary turkey moved kept a-shoot- in tell my bullets war gone, an thar sot all seven O the turkeys right whar they war a-sottin' when commenced ter shoot, an all ez natural ez life. was skeered, an war jis' sartin my ole gun he'd been spelled. I trapped it an commenced a-throwin' rocks, but thar sot the seven turkeys jis'' like they war a-gettin' their picters tux. .';' ~
 "When I seed thet throwin' rocks didn't dew no good clim the tree an rech out ter whar the first turkey war. Then l knowed what war the matter. Them thar birds, forgittin' fur the time bein' the instincts O their natur', he'd waded round in, the crick, an not thinkin' O consequences, he'd lit on thet thar limb ter roost without -dryin, O their feet; an the. .suddint cold a. comin' on. they jist. friz ter the limb In course they war all dead, fur every one O 'em had bullet through him.
 "Ter cut my yarn, short. kurnel. I'll t1~f fell ve thet o,,k fhof fhor Iiy,, b V, Ne