The Van Buren press., 1894-09-15


miskus like. and ask him to give ne-
tive talent a show ] sez, why. Did
man Bangs would be right thar.
They lowed I'd better Try"
| Old man Bangs, with studied COM
posnre. stretched out his hand and
took up the papers on the table He
recognized note in his own spidery
handwriting, which Jake had pinned
on the top.
Il kinder told EN-" said Jake.
speaking with slow insistence, II
kinder told 'em ez I'd only to take old
man Bangs down some native produce
and he'd rear up on en1 an print it
straight Off
Old man Bangs rose without word,
walked to the composing case and rap
idly began to .sct up the verses
which Jake had brought. his fingers
flying with all the precision of ma
ehinery. After half an hours hard work
he screwed up the type in form, :"
took pull and brought it to Jake,
who laboriously spelt through the
words. still keeping one hand on his
revolver and critieising the spelling
with sublime disregard for conven-
tional methods
"Will that dos" growled old man
Bangs. with sullen res eminent at his
emf orced labor.
Jake gazed admiringly at the poem
SO rapidly called into being. 'Sorter
pretty, amt it? I'll tell the folks at
the Corners You amt no slouch when
you get chance at native produce, /"
he added admiringly.
He tucked the printed paper care
fully away into his vest pocket and
sprang for the door. Old man Bangs
rushed for bis revolver in the drawer
of the distant table, and with dex-
terity acquired by long practice, took
a flying shot at Jake as he disappeared.
then blew out the light. and waited
for reprisals. but none came.
The brown mare scented her master
as he crawled slowly through the
darkness anu iiauiei himself with dif-
fculty into the saddle. Gently, VIM
ny. gently" he said. Guess you'd
better era vi sorter keerful; old mans
planted a bullet in my arm. He alters
shoots straight when he's blind drunk. :"
The mare walked with her burden as
it swayed from side to side. Some
thing warm ran down her flank and
made her start. For three hours she
paced slowly along the narrow path,
halting every now and then when her
rider clung to the saddle and groaned,
for he was faint from loss of blood.
The wind fell as suddenly as it had
risen. Through the straight trunks of
the pines the swollen river glimmered
here and there with faint streaks of
light. A rift in the sky betokened the
coming dawn. With careful steps the
mare plodded onward, hating now
and again to look around at her mas
ter, who motioned her OH with feeble
wave of the hand.
When they reached the clearing
Jake slid out of the sad die and crawled
into the hut, leaving his mare stand
ing at the door. Selling a whisky bot
tie. he drank long and eagerly, then
prepped himself up on his stool by the
boys bunk and frightened his sash.
ITS sorter lucky that old coon missed
the papers," he muttered, and waited.
tim all right now; my arms stopped
bleedin'"
Presently a ray of sunlight stole
into The hut. and the shadows fed
away before the cheerful singing of
the birds.
The boy awoke with glad little cry.
Jake, where are you? Jake, I've had
such dream"
Something white glistened on the
rude blanket.
ia why, sakes alive, Jake, how
did this come here?"
He fell to reading the verses with
delirious enjoyment. A soft, pink
flush came into his cheek
'Why, Jake, they're printed! Song
to . Chipmunk, by our gifted fellow
townsman, the Shelley of Muskrat
swamp"
fit Of coughing interrupted him.
Jake, leaning back SO that the boy
could not see his face, lied with tran
gull indifference:
''Oh, old man Bangs came up after
you'd dropped Off"
"Yes, Jake, yes?'
''He printed 'em an brought 'em
over, and planked down $40 bill.
Here's the money"
The boy gave another cry.
| Jake! Jake! that's fame! Hang the
money! No, let me see it. Where is
it?"
Jake handed him the money with
difficulty. The boy pressed it to his
feverish ips.
Jake! Jake! there's blood on IL.
| Wha-"
Jake tried to raise his head, but in
vain. A little later the mare, alarmed
at her masters silence, thrust open the
door with her velvet muzzle and
walked into the hut. The dead boy
lay on the arm of his friend. and Jake,
with rude piety, natural in one not
acquainted with conventional forms,
was conducting an improvised but
fervid funeral service over the remains
of "The Shelley of Muskrat Swamp"
st. Louis Globe Democrat.