The Brunswick times. [volume] (Brunswick, Ga.) 188?-1900, 1897-12-19


of the great world.
Last September | got the blues so bad
that quit work one day and went down
to the toll road, timing my trip SO as to
SEQ the stage pass and to git from some
passenger something to read. A Teller
give me book called "Dombey and Son"
one day. Gosh, them old seafaring felers
was the gamest crowd ever see. Cuttle's
my choice. know the book by heart. and
Florence and Walter, and that shop and
Soil ellis Is jest as material as If l he'd
knowed 'ern. Why, / set and read that
over 80 much seemed like | could Jest see
em come into life and be real folks in the
freight. Like to know Dickens, the Teller
that wrote 'em. Dead, is he? WAL, waal,
he'll never know what a comfort he was
to me. When / git the charnce, I'm going
to lay wreath of posies where he Is plant
ed and tell him them books he's writ has
been more'n a gospel to us miners In the
mount ins, and III say come clear from
one Of the newest states in the new world
to give him my humble thanks
Where was II Oh, on the toll road !
set there and smoked my pipe looking
down the gulch on the Uncapaghre spar
king like a silver cord fur below and lis
tening to the wind whispering through the
pines, and then / heard "a sound The road
is so sun dried and hard it echoes This
was sorter pattering and wan t no shod
creature either. 1t CAM be mount'in
lion, says to myself He wouldn { dare be
here felt for my gun-revolver, you
know-and then | see this was a dorg, o
Gordon setter and thoroughbred, white
and black, with the humanest eyes ever
see in n animal l called him and after a
survey he come and seemed friendly
enough. He was footsore and lean and
looked like he'd come long way. picked
cactus thorn out of his paw and want
he gratefulY l kept a watch round turn
Of the ground for his owner, and pretty
soon l see four burros, heavy loaded, and
walking behind them n youngish Teller
He was tall and broad shouldcred, dressed
like the most of us in rough clothes, wooden
shirt sombrero and long boots He was
bronzed some, had curly hair, pleasant
blue eyes and a struggling mustache trying
hard to cover mouth pretty as woman's $.
Good day, " he says hating tho pack
animals Thanks for helping the dog
1t was careless in me not to look when he
limped "
"Howdy," I says, looking him over
"Stranger in these parish
NuBliiut lG duSMGTb, bGuJlIl& uOWu
on rock and hopping his forehead
"Miners'
"Going to be. BY the way, am l any
where near the claim of man named
DayP'
"You be- says cautious, NEAR Bige
Days tunnel. It's up that trail.
"You must know himP"
"Sum at. Do your"
ono ba claim 7 haua Of Cop
eral Raymond of Denver Is a half mile
farther up the mountain than his.
"Poker SAM" gasps. and mebbe
swore some, for the young Teller looked
sorter s'prised. THAT'S his old gag, sends
'em here, mentions my name and gifts me
into his schemes. Stranger, last month
there was seven men I'd never set eyes on
afore travelling up that trail on tho look
out for Bige Days claim. They come
different ways and times, and swore in
different langwidges, but all was directed
by General Raymond-where he got the
general he don't know hisself-aEd had
all bought claims of him / answered EN-
civil at first, but my dander got up and l
took the last one-a slim fellow from New
York-and | says: See that speck up
there, that pint half milo up mount'in
wal, that's 1t. If you don't kecr for
yer life and has good legs, you might reach
1t alive If you've breath left then, you
kin diskivcr tunnel six foot into the
mount in and rock, all the rock you want
but there never was, nor never viii be, any
strcaks of pay dirt there and no way of
Citing it down if there was Some of her
secrets this old mount'in won give up
and whore a human gits ovcrbod in
climbing up and trying to find ont, why
she Jest shcts down on him at the start
Poker Sam played you for sucker i
looked him overland guess you was
easy to play
Possibly. he says carclcssly He
drawcd out cigar and give me ono He
set back then smoking coolly, his hat slider
him and the little rings OF hair curling
round his forehead chcwed my cigar
awhile to git the taste
"Bustody' | asks
"ln the vernacular of the country, just
that, he laughs
erich folks mcbbo9'
Haven't a soul to care whether l live
or die, " He looked kinder far away then,