The McCook tribune. (McCook, Neb.) 1886-1936, 1894-01-19

ence. independent he was. No prince
ever ruled with sway more potent than
this bachelor planter, surrounded by
his blacks and acknowledging none
other han his own will.
This marked character was a man be-
low medium height. His figure inclined
very decidedly to portliness. and be-
yond ii long, narrow mustache and thin
imperial of black and gray his face
was clean shaven. Iron gray hair in
abundance crept out from under the
white felt hat he generally wore, and
his mixed suit Of gray was illumined
by a ruffled shirt and broad spreading
cuffs of the finest linen.
Self willed and eccentric are weak
words with which to stamp this gentle
mans actions. In the long days of his
idleness. when the legislature was not
i session, the negro was an unfailing
source of amusement and study to him
and his sole diversion, for he despised
books from the day he left college, and
beyond a sporting journal and a paper
from a neighboring city he had no
periodical. Of course he was a Wing.
g.. Upon the day which l have selected
to open a page in the experience of
Major Crawford Worthington he was
sitting upon his broad veranda, which
swept back from the front around to
the shady eastern exposure and over
looked the spacious back yard. Two
score pickanninies in short shirts had
scrambled in front of him for small sill
yer coins as he scattered them upon
the ground beneath. The tears wrung
from him by their contortions and fun
ny postures had dried upon his cheeks,
and weary of the sport he had turned
away the black athletes by means of a
few gourds Of cold water skillfully ap-
piled to their half clad forms. had set
tied back to enjoy the afternoon and
fell a-dreaming.
He remembered, in that easy method
common to dreams, how years before
he had sat upon that same porch watch
ing a favorite old negro catching chick
ems in the yard. "Isam!" he had said,
and moving with jerky little motions
that seemed always to attune themselves
to his masters moods as expressed in his
tones Isam had minced up the steps.
"Isam," he had continued, you are
fixing to run awayl"
He remembered the startled look that
swept over the funny little mans coun-
tenance and his answer:
Lord mussy, Mass Craffud, who
ev'r hyah de like er dat?"
Eyes, sir, and you are fixing to start
right away"
There had been genuine grief in the
negro's voice as he replied:
"'Fo' Gawd, Mass Craffud, you dun
got de wrong niger dis time. Isam is
nigh onter so year ole, en- he ain nev'r
lef' de place on err run yet. No, sah!"
Isam, however, spurred on by the
suggestion, had really run off, and the
overseer had secured the country for
him in vain. The black was enjoying
freedom beyond recall, but one morn
ing while the major was breakfasting
alone, and his two servants who attend
ed the table were busy with flybrush
and wa1fles, Isam suddenly stood in the
doorway. His clothes were torn and
soiled, and his face wore a hangdog
look that was in truth comical. Since
that day old Isam had run away an
nually about the same time of the veal,
and this without any apparent cause.
Evidently this was what the major
wa thinking of, for smiles came and
went upon his face like shadows I'M
der the swaying minosa. And when at
last his eyes fell again upon the old ne
gro:
"Isam!' he said, just as he had spo-
ken years ago..
Yes, SIR" and the jerky little tones
were the am
"You are fixing to run away, Isam!"
MET" and again that reproachful,
protesting voice.
Eyes, you; just as you have for
years. You are getting ready to start.
I have had my eye on you for a week.
But" said the major, fixing his lips
after the Worthington fashion. 81 am
going to know this time where you go
and why you CO."
There was silence a full minute; then
the negro spoke: