The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1898-04-28
MOOSE LED TO A FORTUNE.
A STACK OF HAY THAT GAVE A
START TO .BIJAH WILKINS.


Joke.
Sebec .Ode) Letter in New York Sun.
On a bleak March day four weeks ago
a New York travelling salesman was sit
ting i'm East Greenmount. Me, trying to
sell the proprietor bill of goods, when a
prosperous looking farmer came in. The
farmer made some purchases and stood
by the stove a few minutes while he lis
tened to the latest news of the Cuban sit
uation. Outside the snow lay four feet
deep on a level, not counting the drifts,
which in some places came up to the caves
of the barns, while the roads were punch
ed deep with holes made by the slumping
CT horses feet during a recent thaw, rem
dering the travelling difficult and even dan
gerous.
II must be gittin' back home to my din
ner," said the farmer at last. ITS
mighty hard doin' with all this snow.
Never saw. the road wuss."
Don't you set to grumbling about deep
snow, 'Bijah,' remarked the merchant
I've known man to dig farm and pair
of horses right out of snow deeper than
this"
his horse and sleigh before the door and
started away over the hills The mer-
chant tucked couple of sticks of wood
into the stove and sat down opposite the
commercial traveller. He had a story TO
tell.
You heard what I said to the man that
just went. out" he began. "Thats 'Bijah
wilkins, and he's got the best farm in
Greenmount-200 acres. well stocked. and
he has money Dut Ouf a interest besides
That's his l1ouse-you can see it over on
the hilsde-the one with all the barns
and sheds round it. Let's see; it's 1898.
Twenty seven years ago everything that
Bijah Wilkins owned was a rife, a pair
of snowshoes and a moose sled, and he
owed for the sled at that. He was a
young fellow of % or "a then; good hab-
its, willing to work. but somehow he
could never make any money stick with
hini If he got little ahead 1t always
seemed TO slip away from him in some
sort of foolish venture He wanted to
marry old Hiram Crommets daughter
Hetty. She was willing enough, but her
father wouldn't hear to it, and guess he
was about right, the way 'Bijah's pros
| poets looked at that time.
''The winter and spring of 1871 was a.
/ good deal like this year, only worse. 1t
| began to snow in the beginning of March,
| piling up and piling up until there was
| five feet of snow on a level in the woods.
| On the lakes and rivers it was worse still
| "a foot of slush above the ice, with three
| feet of snow on top of that to keep it
| from freezing, and no horse or man could
| travel through 1t. There was no getting
supplies into the lumber camps and the
crews had to get out of the woods. They
| could travel on the snow crust, but the
| horses in the camps couldn I, and where
| the camps were a long distance from
| settlement and hadn't laid in plenty CT
| fodder for the season the horses had to
| be killed to save them from starving.
Things had got to this state when Bijan
| wilkins struck the woods round the Twin
Lakes crust hunting for deer and moose.
| He was alone, and as he Slapped along on
| his snowshoes, hauling his long moose sled
| behind him, one morning, he came upon
| the path made by a big moose wallowlng
| through the snow He followed the tracks
and in the course of two or three hours
came into queer little valley among
steep hills, whose existence no one would
suspect until he came plumb upon It,
| There was a cabin in the valley, and it
| was the home of Peter Lablache, French
| Canadian. He was a hermit, who chose
/ to live away from people. Three or four
| times a year he would appear in the set
| Elements leading his horse packed with
| peltries, which he would exchange for gro
| ceres and two jugs of rum that would
| balance one on each side of the horse, and
| then he would go back to his home in the
| woods. There were few people, even
| among the woodsmen, that knew where
| Peter lived or had visited his lonely home
''This winter Peter Lablache had taken
| 1t into his head to go visiting and had
| started off bSfore snow fell to see his peo-
| pie in Madawaska. What Bijah wilkins
| saw when he came to the valley was the
| little cabin and shed and the stack of ay
| that Peter had moved from the swale be-
| fore his door to keep his horse through
| the year. Everything was almost buried
| in snow, but at the haystacks the moose
| had paved away the snow so as to get
| at the hay, and there he was too busy
eating to notice that anybody was COM
ing. Bijah shot the moose, and as the
| day was only half gone, started with one
| of the headquarters on his sled for the
| next township to sell the meat at Crab
| trees logging camp.
| HE got 10 the camp all right, and
| found that everybody there was packing
| up to start out from the woods next morn.
ing There was no fodder for the horses
| and way OF hauling any in from the
| settlements, so work was stopped and the
men were going. The ten fine horses that
had hauled the logs that winter had to he
| left behind. CTabtree himself was at the
camp
| L m glad you've come, ne Salo 10 Bl-
| jah. Those horses have got to be killed
to save their starving to death. It's a
nasty job knocking them in the head and
| I'd like you to shoot them.
| ct was on The tip of Bijah's tongue to
| tell about the haystack that he had found
! But he thought twice and held his tongue
There's -four and pork and beans and
tea that well leave behind, enough 10 Last
you three months, and you're welcome to
these and the use of the camp as long as
| you want to stay If you'n dispose of those
| horses Crabtree went on. Only this Is
part of the bargain; you must lead them
well away from the camp before You
shoot them. We don't want their car
cases round here when we come back
next fall
All right said Bijah. I'll see 20 that
WHAT are you going to offer for this moose
meat that I've broughtY
Can't afford to buy moose meat. It's
too expensive, said Crabtree, who was
wel-to-do, but great joker. and he
thought he could beat the world at bar
gain. TN dicker> with you, though, Ten
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