Sullivan republican. [volume] (Laporte, Pa.) 1883-1896, 1895-09-06

Xy-sD day behind with
I" his shaving. His
companion, who rode with difficulty
his rough gated Kentucky mare. was
obtrusively British. Everything, from
his deer-stalker cap to his yellow pig
skin CATERS, with their buttons down
the shin, betrayed him for recent
importation from the islands beyond
the sea. They we're not friends,
scarcely acquaintance they had fore.
gathered some few miles back at cross
roads, and, finding that they were
heading in the same direction, had
logged along in company.
For the past hour the multitude of
trails had bothered them much, and
there had been a good deal of toss up
in their choice, and ut last neither had
any further ideas to offer about the
route, and there was no question that
they were most satisfactorily lost.
The last blue of the sky was turning
to cooler purple, and couple OF
tree toads were already commencing
the overture of their nightly opera.
''Say," remarked the American,
"have you ever ridden down strange
trail of this sort after nightfall?"
Cant say that I have"
''Then, sir, you've an experience in
store which won't be all molasses.
You wait till the trees begin to sneak
up and hit you on the knee-cap, then
you'll-Great Columbus! see that?"
''What, these green shrubs"
"Corn, sir. Indian corn, you call
it way back in the old country. And
here's house.
They wheeled round the edge ofthe
corn patch, their horses picking way
cautiously over the outshooting roots
of the timber, and pulled up before a
small frame dwelling. As though
their arrival had been expected, the
rough door swung open and a man
stepped out and faced them. He was
an old man, and heavily bearded. He
stood quite four inches above the
fathom in his boots, and in the hol.
low of his left arm he carried a
weapon, single barreled and hammer
loss.
He pointed to this and introduced
it.
Gentlemen, he said, "that is
about the latest Rawnsley's 10-fire
repeating shotgun. The first of you
that slips hand toward the sly poe
ket of his pants will get hole let into
him that yoke of steers could drive
through. If you want to stay. you've
got to fight it ont.
He of the yellow CATERS laughed.
"What quaint people you Ameri-
cans are!' he said. "Why you should
threaten war IN this unexpected fash
ion, I can't imagine |"
'Ho! you're Britisher?"
"Enslish-quite English.
"And your companion, isn't he an
oxcise-man, either?"
The Englishman shrugged his shout
ders, and the New Yorker answered
for himself.
IS. L. Vanrennan, real estate
agent, Irving place, New York City.
Stick to my own trade, Colonel, and
shouldn't know what blockade still
was if were shown one."
For moment the old man seemed
inclined to resent this last remark, but
only for moment. Then Southern
hospitality asserted itself.
"Well, gentlemen" he said, show
can l serve your
''By putting us on the road for
Asheville.
II could not do it. Asheville's good
thirty miles beyond this, and the
trails far too bad for strangers to fol-
low in the dark. You must bunk with
me, gentlemen, this night"
There was little more talk, and
then the horses were led round to a
barn at the back, unsaddled, rubbed
down roughly, and presented with six
corn cobs apiece; after which the two
adjourned to the cabin, supped of
heavy corn bread and strong favored
bacon. After tho meal the Yankee,
pleading tiredness, retired to the far
room and slept. The Briton, who was
travelling in the mountains to pick up
character, was glad enough to sit up
with his host and talk beside the
smelly kerosene lamp over granulated
tobacco and corn cob pipes.
Their conversation was on the whole
desultory. Only twice was it inter.
rupted. On these occasions footsteps
make themselves heard on the hard,
red ground outside, and then, after a
pause, u silver half-dollar rolled in
under the door. The old man pocket.
cd the coin, lifted the latch,
and, reaching a hand out into the
darkness, brought in quart bottle,
which he proceeded to fill from keg
thnt waited through the hut strong
smell of smoky spirit Afterward he
thrust out the bottle into the night,
and the heavy footsteps recommended
and died out in diminuendo.
On the first occasion. the old man
commented to his guest: "Say, sir,
you're what they call in the mountains
q tenderfoot, but, from the face OF