Walker Lake bulletin. (Hawthorne, Nev.) 1883-1926, 1894-06-27

somewhat stale and monotonous, and
there was excellent game in abundance
in the vicinity. Sanders and Goodwin
made two of such party one pleasant
May afternoon. Often during their
hunting they noticed crow circling
near them. They were about return
ing to camp when Goodwin, striding
across some low shrubbery in search of
fallen bird, thrust his foot into an
open foxtrap, which closed around his
ankle, the sharp points penetrating deep
into the flesh. His cry for help was
echoed by the "cawl cav" Of the crow.
1t was with infinite difficulty that his
companions released him. Pale, and
half fainting with pain and loss of blood,
he looked up at the crow, still near.
81 believe it's WITCH" he cried.
"Peg Wesson, by heavens" exclaimed
Sanders, recalling the witch's curse. He
lifted his loaded fowling piece, took
steady aim and fired. "Cawl cawl cawI'
screamed the crow, derisively winging
its onward way unhurt Martin San
ders was renowned shot and never
known to miss such mark before. His
companions noted his failure with
amazement, and though they thought it
poor use for good powder and shot,
another and another fired, but with the
same result.
at is surely WITCH" cried Goodwin,
who, lying on the grass with hastily
bandaged ankle, was looking grimly on.
at is surely witch, and not to be
brought down by leaden bullet. Moth
ing but silver will bring down WITCH"
"That's true" cried Martin Sanders.
He hastily tore his silver sleeve buttons
from his wrist. He wrenched them
asunder. 1t was the work Of minute
to load his gun with one Of the pieces.
The crow was still within gunshot He
took deliberate aim and fired. Wounded
in the leg, it futtered downward in
lessening circles and apparently fell in
some bushes close by. But careful and
prolonged search failed to discover 1t.
For some days the woodmen who
passed Peg NELSON'S hut morning and
night on their way to and from their
work in the forest noticed that there was
no smoke in the chimney.
"Peg's off ON her broomstick," said
one.
"Theres i'll luck for somebody some
where" said another.
1t was a mild and sunny May after
noon and they were busily hewing in
the woods when they heard faint moan
ing. They heard it repeatedly, and at
length, following the sound, they came
upon Peg Wesson lying on the ground
and unable to get up.
How came she there? They could
have sworn that she had not passed
them on the path, and who could have
made her way through the impenetrable
jungle beyond?
Though loath to touch her they helped
her to her feet She was unable to take
step. Her leg was broken. A rude
litter was made and she was taken
home, uttering maledictions all the way.
A doctor was called. When he ex-
amined the fracture he extracted there
from small piece of silver which he
carefully preserved.
When the soldiers returned from
Louisburg, victorious and jubilant at
having destroyed the hornets nest that
had long been torment to Gloucester,
they heard with amazement what had
befallen Peg Wesson, for in comparing
dates they found that she had fallen
with the broken leg at the very time
that the crow had been shot.
Sanders produced his part of the
sleeve buttons. The doctor produced
his. They were precisely alike.
They were linked together again and
carefully preserved by Martin Sanders
and his descendants. Indeed they are
kept to this day in the family for aught
l know to the contrary. They were
brought out and exhibited whenever
this remarkable story was told, and it
was very often told.
Peg Wesson never recovered from her
injury. She died soon after and received
decent burial, but there is no stone bear
ing her name in the old graveyard.
Poor maligned, prosecuted Peggy For
thee and such as thou there should in
deed be, there must be, some happier
sphere where the shadows of earth may
be forgotten in the glad sunshine of hap
piness unknown before.
Peggy's cot, untenanted after her
death, long the sport Of the elements,
has fallen to decay. But if one cares to
know where it stood, its site near the
old garrison can be pointed out by any
of the older inhabitants, for this is no
tale of the imagination, but one in which
our forefathers and foremothers implic-
lily believed.-Sarah g. Dudley in Bos-
ton Transcript.