San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1895-05-19
HIRAM GUM, FIDDLER.
The Unhappy Ending Of His Re-
markable Romance.

The Unhappy Ending Of His Re-
markable Romance.
The last red rays of the evening sun
disappeared below the mountains and
the gray twilight settled over the val
ley. The stone mill at the end of the
village street ceased it's rumbling and
the mower, that all day long had been
blinking merrily in the meadow behind
the store, stood silent in the swaths;
the horses that had drawn it were play
fully dipping their noses in the cool
water of the creek. The birds = the
plover, lark and snipe that had whis-
tied since daybreak over the fields, the
robins and the sparrows that had
chirped overhead in the trees-had long
since made themselves comfortable for
the impending night. The hawks
alone remained abroad; high above they
scared, mere black spots in the darken-
ing heavens. Then, above the quiet
evening, sounded, like the twang of a
mighty harp, the ringing note they
made as they swooped down upon
some belated insect.
By and by the woods across the way
assumed a formless blackness, and
from their dark midst came the call of
theulonely whip-poor-will. The horses
splashed out of the creek and clattered
up through the village to the white
barn at the end of the street. The mill
er securely padlocked the heavy door
Of the mill and bid good night to his
helper, who, swinging his dinner pail,
trudged away over the bridge. Then
ne beat the -four out of his cap over
the hitching post and Lounged up to
che store.
Gathered there upon the porch were
che School-teacher, the Chronic Loafer,
the G. A. z. man and the Patriarch, an
old man with a long white beard, who
was seated on the oak bench, leaning
forward and resting his chin upon the
head of his cane. The miller threw
himself along the floor, and, propping
his back against pillar, lighted his
pipe
when it comes ter fiddlin'," the
Chronic Loafer was saying, ''they is
few men kin beat Sam Washin'ton,
Why, I've know'd him ter set down at
. party at seven o'clock at night an
fiddle tell seven next mornin', and play
q different tune every time"
"Did you ever hear of Hiram Gum?"
asked the Patriarch.
"Hiram Guml" cried the G. A. Il.
man. Pap used often to speak of him.
But he was before my time. Drowned
in the canal"
"Wonderful! wonderful I've heard
tell" exclaimed the miller. II kin Jest
remember SEEM him oncet when I was
q boy-a leetle man with long hair an
big eyes an withered arm"
"Yes, yes" the old man murmured,
beating his stick on the porch, IAN a
wonderful fiddler was Hiram Gum.
They was few about these parts could
handle bow with tibet man."
But Sam Washin'ton's the best i'd
dler they is" interposed the Loafer,
emphatically.
my dear man" the Patriarch began,
"Hiram Gum was more'n an earthly
fiddler. He he'd charms; he l1now'd
words"
81 don't believe in them charms fur
der an they feet snakes an bees"
But Hiram Gum was more'n an or
d'nary man. No one know'd where he
come from when he settled up the val
ley, acrosst the Juniata. Thet was
nigh onter sixty years ago, an was
only fifteen. 1 remember him well,
though. He was a leetle man, as the
miller sayd, an he'd long black hair
an red beard tibet waved all aroun'
his neck, an big black eyes an white
cheeks, tibet shined as eff they was
secured like milk pals. Then his left
arm was all withered, an wasn't no
use, exceptin' tibet he could crook it up
like, an work the long fingers on the
fiddle strings. No one ever know'd Jest
how old Hiram was, no more'n they
know'd where he come from, fer he
never sayd. No one ever dast ask him
more'n oncet bout sech things,
fer he'd jest look black like, an
say nothin' an give You sech O
glance with them big eyes tibet you
felt all chilly. He was allus pleasant,
CHEEKY kim of man aside from tibet,
an he talked entertainin', fer he'd
travelled heap.
"Hiram settled in little log house
that stood on the south ridge near
where Luckenbach's peach orchard is
now. He used to live from ham to
mouth, for ne couldn't work, an what
he made he got from his fiddle playin,
An sech a fiddler. You uns never seen
the beat Oh, 1 tell yer when Hiram
Gum drawed the bow over tibet old in
stermen' of his it was worth hundred
brass bans.
Peter Billings farm fined Hiram's
lot, an il wasn't long fore the leetle