The Dupuyer acantha. [volume] (Dupuyer, Mont.) 1894-1904, 1894-09-29
TWO
A Journalistic Story.

Verify, what induced me to establish
the Weekly Herald at Calabash City
is more than I can say. No n in
vited me to come, welcomed me wher
I arrived, or expressed a wish to have
me stay.
The place had no newspaper, it is
true, but it seemed to need none. Most
of the population were silver miners,
who were so much under ground as to
be little interested in affairs on the sur.
face. Again, a large part of the in.
habitants could not read; another large
part did not want to, and a majority
of the remainder objected to paying for
the privilege.
Subscribers being so few, you may
imagine that advertisers were not very
plentiful. Those I secured insisted on
paying wholly in goods that were new
er of use to me.
One advertiser was a saloon-keeper-
l never drank. Another was a tobac-
onist-I did not smoke. A third was a
harness maker-I had no horse. A
fourth dealt in gunpowder, rend-rock,
dynamite, and other explosives-while
/ blew up anything or anybody
in my life excepting figuratively.
Nevertheless, 1 managed to live, or
at all events, I did not die. At the end
of the first year I had 1856 subscribers,
210 of whom remained such because
l never attempted to collect their bills.
A few paid for Eastern advertisements,
and some job printing enabled me to
keep my head above water as a general
thing. For the rest of the time L had
to hold my breath.
At last I reached such prosperity
that, after paying off my n journey
man on Saturday night, I occasionally
found a dollar or two left for myself.
Just at this time an opposition paper
was set up.
"The Calabash City Spy, George
Rowe, editor and proprietor" appeared
in all the glory of a secondhand type
mine was third hand-and a grade Of
paper somewhat resembling real
~"news"-mine did not resemble it at
all. The Spy had a brand-new Wig
nette head, representing the town as
seen from Gringo Mountain. This ut
terly eclipsed my worn-out woodcut
of the Goddess of Liberty sitting on a
large cog-wheel surrounded by ploughs,
anchors and steam-engines. She held
q book in one hand, and in the other a
wheat sheaf, which looked so much
like a bfrch-rod that it gave her the
air of an old-fashioned school-ma'am
holding a session in a m~ach;ne-shop.
Rowe was a good-looking, bright, ac-
tive, well-educated young fellow, with
whom + should certainly have been
friendly under different circumstances;
but this was now quite impossible.
Aside from natural rivalry, it is a part
Of the business of country editors to
be irreconcilable foes in order to sat
isfy the public's demand for excite
ment.
How we did quarrel! We quarrelled
about politics, though We belonged to
the Sc he party; about law, religion and
medicine; about the amount of silver
to the ton in the last cleanup at the
Muchacho mine; about the distance of
the earth from the sun, and the dis
lance of Juan Moreno's ranch from the
town plaza; about all things celestial,
terrestrial, and subterrene.
BY practice, we grew so expert that
[ really believe we could have carried
on a lively discussion about the four
rules Of arithmetic.
When this war had gone on for sew
eral months, I detected a falling off
in the vigor of the Spy. 1t was as true
ulent as ever, but written with a GER
tain languor which seemed to show
that Rowe was losing courage. This,
of course. inspired me to renewed eff
forts, and I began to hope that l should
drive the foe off the field.
One publication day 1 sat down early
to do up the customary batch of scat
tering exposures" and ''unanswer-
able arraignments" of the Spy, when
Bud Haskins. my editorial assistant,
compositor, job printer, mailing clerk,
and man-of-all-work, came in, beaming
with joy.
''Got some good news for you, Mr..
Warren!" said he, grinning. "Cording
to the way it looks now. there won't
be no Spy this week-p'r'aps not mex
week-p'r'aps never"
'How's that?" / inquired, much
pleased.
'Rowe's sick abed-fever or sunthin'.
He can't do n stroke of work, m that
fellow Mckay he has with him amt of
no great use. No Spy this week, l tell
you"
He triumphantly slammed the door,
and retired to begin his days work.
For a moment. mean as the emotion
was. / felt glad. If Rowe missed an
issue or two he would lose the ground
he had gained, and probably have to
give up altogether. Then 1 should be
left with the whole field to myself.
Yes, I actually felt glad.
I'm going out for a few minutes,
Bud" l called to Haskins.
Coin far" he asked, cycling me
with an exceedingly penetrating scru-
tiny.
"Oh, no, just up the street a bit" I
answered. embarrassed.
My reception at the Spy office was
chilling. AS I entered the dingy, pine
boarded room, Mckay, a big, stupid
looking man. stared, and then sided to-
ward a mallet on the composing stone.
II want to see Mr.. Rowe" said I.
Hes in bed up stairs" growled Nc
Kay, lifting the mallet. Hes too sick
to fight to-day"
Nobody wants to fight" said I,
laughing. Il came to see if l could do
anything for him"
You don't want to fight him."
NO"
You don't want to fight me"
Not a bit of it,"