Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1902-05-10
SLEEPY CREEK FOLKS

The bass had been biting freely earlier in
the day and fourteen beauties were packed
away in the stern locker beside a Dig
chunk of ice but for half an hour or more
no one had had strike. Old Jim Mosely
sat browsing in the bow of the boat, his
thumb on the reel and listening to the
snla shing of the minnows in the bait bucket
hanging overheard.
The pa ssenger sat in the stern, pipe In
mouth, with solid comfort and enjoyment
expressed in every pose. 1t was rare DAY
on the river. They were anchored just OIL
the mouth Of Sleepy creek, which slipped
down from the hills in broad, blue hooo
of limpid water, dimpling in the sun with
a sheen as of silver and running azure like
under the shade Of the overhangng Will
lows.
A mellow haze softened the rugged sides
of Old Broadback, basking in the sun, miles
away. On the top Of a dead pine tree on
Sideling Hill, nearby, crow filled the
echoes with his raucous cry. big pass
broke water at the head OF the island, after
a fly and tell back with sullen plunge.
An express train, city bound, whlzzed
around the curve and sped down the track,
whstling for the block signal half a mile
away. The train was going back to town.
back to all from which the passenger mad
ESCAPED for a day. and the thought that he
was still on the river caused wave or
thankfulness to sweep over his soul. He
felt Just too good to keep quiet, SO he rolled
out a snatch from that old fishing ditty:
MANS life is but vain; FOR it's subject to pain
And sorrow, and short u bubble.
TITS hodgepodge Of business, and money, and care,
And care, and money, and trouble"
But we will take no care when the weather
Nor will we vex now, though it rain;
We will Danish all sorrow, and sing TIL tomorrow,
angle
That's a purity song for fisherman"
said old Jim Mosely. Where did you git
THAT was written by Izaak Walton him
SELF the king of fishermen"
Il know'd a fellow name Bill Walton,
onst," said Mosely. He lived up on Side
ling Hill mountain. Reckon he want no
kin to Izaak. however, because never
heard Of him writing no songs nor singin'
of 'em neither. It's mighty few men can
sing a song. They's only one song that l
ever could sing"
Lets have it, by all means" urged the
passenger So Jim cleared his throat once
or twice and fixing his gaze on the top OF
the blasted pine where still cawed the rau-
cous crow gave forth:
'Dogville, Dogville, tavern an stin,
AM that's all they is in ole Dogviile."
That's fine; where did you learn it?''
IT picked it up in the army, reckon. 1t
was on such subjects our thoughts was
mostly running in them days. But speaking
about the Walton's, not meaning any disre-
spect to your friend Izaak, these here Wal
tons knew, up on Sideling Hill mountain.
were shore the ightin est people I ever met
| up with"
''They were what"
1.-THE fightin'est set Of people-always
lookin' for trouble. This here Bill Walton
was the king-pin of the lot, and bein' the
best wrastler, the best runner and the best
tooth-and-toe-nail fighter, he had the whole
! neighborhood cowed. He used to come
down the mountain of a Saturday to Haz-
ards store, and from the time he hitched
his horse to the rack until the boys helped
him up on the saddle and started him home
ward there was nothfn' but turmoil.
HE dearly loved to meet up with strang-
er who didn't know his record, and get him
into fight. Usually he walloped the
stranger, but after it was over would al
ways shake hands and invite the victim and