The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1897-04-11
THE SPITlNG OF May BAXTER.
BY a. c. GARRIGUs.

BY 4. &. GARRIGUS.
We sat on a truck on the shadow side of
the little depot---we three-all smoking
pipes. pipes that were old and brown. but.
nevertheless. pipes that soothed and COM
forted. All along i'm front of us stretched
the low-lying Kentucky hills. fringed with
scrubby trees. Above their tops hung
long bank of thin blue mist that might have
fioated there from our pipes. Up their sides,
as far as patient horse could pillow. reached
fields of corn and wheat, bounded by fences
built of powders that the stony soil had
spewed up. Above them cropped out the
bluffs. rain-rutted and redly barren. From
out of the western horizon. melting and
wavering in tremulous heat waves the twin
lines of shimmering steel approached us,
and. passing the station. crossed the river
on long iron bridge, and suddenly disap-
peared in a tunnel whose black throat
yawned dismally for more. At this end of
the bridge, and across the road from us,
stood the water tank and pump house. The
huge water pipe. that was ever and anon
jerked from its insecure pedestal TO pour its
torrents of water into the capacious stom-
achs OF the iron horses, now stood upright,
and from its broken joint water dripped
into clear puddle below, presently escap-
ing from it in a tiny rivulet that sparkled
and faltered on its way through the cin-
ders and, moment later tumbled in glee
over the precipitous bank down amongst
the cool willows and on to the messy rocks.
Just now dog Tapped from the pool with
eager tongue, and then, with a sigh of in
finite satisfaction, stretched himself again
in the shade to doze. From some place far
down the line came the clink of the sledges
on the rail, and ii sounded loud and clear
in our ears
1t was nearly time for the fast mail from
Cincinnati. and had just finished suspend
ing the mail pouch on the crane, where it
now hung bound and pinoned and as it
twisted and turned in the gentle wind 1t
looked not unlike a man on the gallows,
about to be snatched into eternal damna-
ton.
The end man of our trio suddenly ad-
dressed the interlocutor: Mister Bawb,
how come you fotch ther mail down ter
day? low hits not yore july"
The man next me looked langudly at his
questioner
Il low he said with studied indifference,
''as hits my july ter do as l pleases."
Shop Bowlby chuckled. Seems ter me-"
he went on maliciously, at you air roost-
in roun' Mis- Bakers moughty steady
here of late. reckon you air cotin' May.
An l low yuh need ter. From whut ev'y-
body says hit air good as a old trail fer
yuh now, Mister Bawb. Case May air head
| over heels in love 18th railroad Teller at
runs through here on the keers.''
| Bob Grayson walked to the edge of the
platform.
Trains late" he said peering anxiously
up the track. =" Pears like she air late pur-
| ty reg'lar now
Shep gave me a broad wink. "Ill agree"
he went on, with wag of his head, I'll
agree, no gal nd play fas' n loose 18th me,
p'etendin to be mine un' all tn carryin' on
like she does 18th mother man. I'd put er
eend ter hit. speedy at, at
"Yuh shet up cried Bob fiercely. COM
ing toward him. "Yuh has got no call ter
consarn yo'self 18th this case. be tn doc
tor, and hits all 'twixt May an me. an
what's more, low at somebody nigh
boutn yore size, Shep Bowlby, air goneter
meet trouble squar' betwixt the eyes eff
they amt less jowerin'.''
Bob lowered TO the height of his six feet
and clenched his huge fist very suggestive
ly, it seemed to me. Shep sat perfectly still
for a moment and then slid easily off his
perch and wandered over to the pump
house. whistling bravely. Beat retreat
under flying colors, it were. which was
about the only thing he could do with
safety. Just then, as if to cut off further
conversation the engine of the fast mail,
with a resounding blast of the whistle.
thrust its nose suddenly out of the tunnel
and thundered across the bridge toward us.
The mail sack was whisked off and it's mate
tumbled unceremoniously into the road,
lod nd Then with
a rush and hiss of steam. the waving Of
familiar hands and the flash of rows of
sash-framed faces, the train sped by, the
coaches rocking and bounding in rapid mo-
ton and in their wake a maelstrom that
sucked bits of paper and leaves after it,
in a cloud of dust. Bob gingerly picked up
the pouch and brushed the dirt from it. AS
he swung it upon his shoulder note that
had been thrust into the staple fell to the
ground. He picked it up, glancing at the
superscription, and the helpless look he
gave me told me the story of it all.
IL.
That evening sat on my chair in the lit
tie alcove. listening to the monotonous Click
of the telegraph sounder. The window was
open and the air, warm with gentle languor
ard sweet with the perfume OF wheat bios
som. Crepl III. DTcdliiily L ndtShcN ehS ihooh
as it's blood-red disc mounted gradually
over the brushy hilltops. From far up the
hill a whippoorwi.l sounded his lonesome
cry. and a screech-owl, standing guard over
his prey, perhaps, hooted defiance in un-
canny accents to the slumbering forest
world. Having nothing else TO do strolled
out and sat down on the platform. Down at
the end of the siding the switch lamp
winked and blinked. as If almost nodding
in slumber Presently foot crunched on
the gravel close hand. 1 had guessed the
identity of its owner ere his voice struck
my ears. 1t was Bob Grayson. L made a seat
for him at my side and proffered match
for the pip, he about to light. In my
years stay at Sandersville had formed a
strong attachment for Mister Bawb,' as
he was generally called. and knew he re-
turned my affection. In a small place like
Sandersville railroad official of any rank
is an important parsonage When the way
train stops for passengers the crowd OF
loungers which would, L have no doubt,
stand unmoved in the presence of king,
unceremoniously falls over itself to make
way for the blue-coated conductor as he
runs III for orders. Small boys gather
around the engineer and gaze at him in
Iii. lion, rad