Shepherdstown register. [volume] (Shepherdstown, Va. [W. Va.]) 1849-1955, 1896-02-20

peaceful. 1t was the pleasant season
of the early autumn. Jimmy put a
line in the water hole and had fish
whenever he wanted. Twice he shot
antelope coming down to drink and
reveled in fresh meat. He shot every
thing of any size that had wings and
feathers, and being unversed as to
what was good or bad to eat, cooked
and tasted all. Some he ate, and some
he threw away. The buckboards came
by with prompt regularity, dumping
off a sack of -four or meal, and the re-
port came weekly to headquarters that
the "feller with the fiddle out on Lost
creek hadn't been pestered yet.
The 'feller" put in his days watch
ing his stock, fishing, hunting, cooking
and eating, and when the chill Of the
evening came after supper he would
throw a little wood on his fire, draw
up a soapbox seat and play on the fd-
die until he was sleepy enough to roll
up in his blankets on the clay floor
and sleep the sleep of the man perfect
in health and conscience.
But one evening when the shadows
had fallen on all the valleys and the
upland, when there was but lighter
shade over the west to show where the
sun had bidden its daily farewell, there
came sinking up Lost creek Crawling
Wolf and seven of his dirty, lll-smell-
ing brethren, foul birds of the night
ready for anything, from petty larceny
up to murder, provided the situation
allowed crime without danger to the
criminal.
They had herd Of stolen ponies
corralled some miles below and were
coming up to see what No. Is might
afford in the way of diversion. In sin
gle file they fitted along noiselessly
as shadows, now and then stopping,
heads up, to listen, as is the wont Of
beasts of prey. Suddenly Wolf stop
ped shorter and more suddenly than
usual, giving vent to a startled grunt.
All stopped, rigid as statues, to listen.
A faint wind rustIed for moment,
died down, and then from atar came an
unwonted sound in the wilderness. 1t
was the sound Of Jimmys fiddle.
Cautiously the Indians crept closer
and closer, stopping now and then to
listen, until they reached the foot of
the bank at the water hole. Just above
them shone the light from the dugout
entrance. The noise Of the tortured
fiddle was loud and clear, and at times
Jimmy's voice was uplifted in old
hymns and camp-meeting songs reml-
niscent of other days back in Mlssou-
ri. Quiet, but swift as crawling snakes,
the intruders swept up the incline Of
the clay bank. y moment later they
swarmed in on the musician. Jimmy
was sitting at the side of his fireplace,
and his Winchester was near the door.
Thus he was cut off from his only
weapon.
When those Indians came in, filing
up the little dugout, l doubt if III all
the world there was a more surprised
and frightened being than the keeper
Of No. Is. The music stopped. The
hand that welded the bow dropped as
if paralyzed. Jimmy stared at the
apparitions, while old Wolf smiled
hypocritically and grunted, How =
Somewhat reassured by this apparent
sociabiIity, Jimmy managed to gasp
out, "Howdy do?"
The sons of the desert deliberately
sat down on the bare floor, and old
Wolf once more grunted out:
PLAY fiddle more. We like.
jimmy played something at once,
and of course after awhile wound up
with a flourish, as all performers do,
and stopped.
The somber audience gave no sign
of approval or dislike. They sat per-
fectlv still, except that their little eyes
glittered and shone in the freight like
diamonds. But when Jimmy stopped
Wolf grunted again
"More."
Jimmy played more and kept on IN
response to the request after each ces-
sation. Finally he lowered the bow
and protested:
I'D like to be obliging, but I'm get
ting too tired.
Wolf simply loosened Winchester
from the folds of a dirty blanket, cooked
it and presented it at the protestOr's
body, grunting again:
Play more. Much heap. Damn
quick"
There was an immediate revival OF
musical activity.
And so they kept the frightened