The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1894-04-21

Some Episodes of Her Early wes.-
ern Life.
From the New York sun.
Once, long time ago, Mrs Robert Louis
Stevenson lived out in a western mining
camp. That was before the brilliant
English essayist and novelist saw her
and fell in love with her, but even then
she must have possessed some at
attraction for the stronger sex, since she
was the recipient of frequent presents.
Ihese presents. which were of simple
but touching character. such as red ap-
pies and sage hens" were always made
anonymously, and, try as she would, Mrs
Stevenson never succeeded in surprising
one Of the donors in the act. Although
The white men in the camp were thus gal
liant, she received rather bad impression
OF the courtesy of the noble red man, as
may be guessed from the following Incl
dent which Mrs. Stevenson relates with
considerable enjoyment:
Il had always been led to believe that
the Indians called their wives sauaws,'
that their conversation was principally
Ugh ughn ana that first last and all
the time they demanded 'frewater.' In
stead OF this, the unsophisticated savages
with whom 1 came in contact shuddered
at the taste of spirits, had a fair com
mand of English and called their wives
'mahalas' and themselves 'hombres' My
cousin Ben, a remarkably handsome
youth, whose few years came To an I'M
timely end in that forlorn country, was
always very good in helping me with my
household tasks, much to the disgust of
Shoshone Jim, an Indian VINO often came
to the cabin. He regarded with extreme
disfayor the spectacle of Ben washing
dishes
-" Why you wash dishl he demanded.
oh, the mahala makes me- was the
careless reply.
" You mahala2' " inquired Jim.
Ben replied in the Affirmative. where
upon Jim rose, walked out of the house,
and disappeared on trail leading to the
distant hills. Late in the evening he re-
/ turned, greatly fatigued with his long
I tramp, carrying young sapling carefully
peeled and denuded of its leaves and
branches. Stick, said he, Offering it to
Ben, You whip you mahala; no good
hombre wash dish
I His face clouded at Ben's refusal
then frightened with hope as he said, in
a most insinuating voice. You like
Whip
My first, last, and only dinner party
in camp was an occasion of much tribula-
ton. We had no vegetables, but, as there
were plenty of cattle, l made roast beef
the piece de resistance, while of calfs
brains, sweetbreads, and tongue | made
a presentable vol au vent. Vegetables
there were none, but made an imitation
plum pudding which did very well.
In the pride of my heart | refused all
help in my preparations for the dinner
party, only allowing Ben in the kitchen
after everything was well under way
As opened the door for him, a hen that
had long been my bane iuttered in be-
tween his feet. This hen belonged to a
gang OF Cinnamon, who were fattening
her for their coming New Years celebra-
ton. l had several times found her in
the house, doing more or less damage
but was afraid to complain to her owners
She began Topping about in the idiotic
manner OF hens, upsetting dishes, and ut
terly refused to 60 out OF the door we had
set open for her exit Never was a creature
more exasperating than that hen Finally
she plunged into pan of dough | had set
to rise. Ben let fly a Ratchet he had
picked up from the hearth; it went
straight 10 the mark, and the hen was
decapitated 1t was good throw, but
the result filed us with Consideration
We closed the door, shot the bolt, drew
the curtains, and sat down in council to
consider the question of what we should
do with the body of the hen. A fowl in
Reese River was an article of untold
value. Its price might ruin us. Ben sug-
gested installments.
''And become bond slaves to China for
the rest of our lives, returned l. Besides,
we found that neither of US had the
courage to confess the deed and say, like
George Washington. 1 did it with my
little hatchet.' Burning in the kitchen
stove would not be safe, for the odor of
burnt feathers might betray u.s. Time
pressed, and we had come to no decision.
Steps must be taken cried Ben and
catching up the fowl he buttoned il inside
his coat, snatched up his hat, and disap-
peared. In a short time he returned, un-
buttoued his coat, and produced the
fowl, plucked and ready for roasting.
- Into the oven with it,, said he, 4 had
meant to shy it down that old shaft be-
hind the house, but hadn't the heart to
waste the good meat. 1t will look well
at your dinner party, and guests do not
ask questions
" But the feathers and the restp l
asked, doubtfully. No danger, returned
Ben. i lay down behind a big boulder,
and plucked it into my handkerchief;
then put in a stone, tied up the hand
kerchief, and flung it TO the bottom of the
shaft. There's not so much as a pin
feather OF evidence against US. After
dinner III send the bones the same road
II detected a look of surprise in the
faces of my guests when the hen was
served but l think l was the most startled
when a miserable child who had been
spying on US unobserVed (who would have
suspected treachery from an imp hardly
weaned9) piped up with oh, is that the
chicken you and Ben stole2'
WILD FIGHT WITH A REAR.