Ottumwa tri-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1903-1916, 1914-06-11
A TALE OF THE OLD FRONTIER
BY Edgar Beecher Bronson

were made away with by men or
bosses. They were dandifed- cane.
swinging little chaps whose presence
we resented.
AS we were descending the canon of
a hot day, one Of the mules gave out.
and fell apparently hopelessly exhaust
ed in it's harness. Curses, whips and
clubs had no stimulating effect on him.
Apparently the beast was about to die.
So he was Embarrassed, pulled out of
the swing, and another mule lassoed
to take his place.
But when, just as we were about to
drive on, leaving the mule dying, as
we thought, one the clerks gave him a
hard kick and struck him with cane !;
10, resurrection! the moribound mule
struck out with both feet and caught
ach that first doubled him up, and then
left him writihing like snake with
it's head shot of.
And then what do you think that
CORY old wonder Of a dead one did?
Why, he just bounded to his feet like
two-year-old, and with alternate
shorts and whinnies, head turned and
looking back at us, went buck-jump-
ing toward our enthusiastically
laughing at us, If any creature, human
or brute, ever in this world laughed
before!
Arriving at last at Salt Lake, all of
the outfit were paid off-all except me.
Probably because his commitment to
furnish me an outfit touched the peck
cts of himself and his assistants, the
1x,o raf, ~ kn 0n06
vowing he had only offered me free
passage as the reward of my work.
Indeed all got out of him, by his own
consent, was permission to live at his
house until could find work.
And right there in Salt Lake might
have been stranded indefinitely, but
for the kindness of his wife, who re-
scented my i'll treatment at Green's
hands, and whose good heart led her
to supply me literally with provisions
and clothes, to give me good saddle
and mule out of their own stable, to-
arm me with fine cap-and-ball pistol,
after which she told me 1t would be
my own fault If did not win through
to California.
Dear Mrs. Green, she was one of the
first 1t was my privilege to know own
ing a heart and hand ever ready to
help the needy or the wronged.
Poor woman! Not long afterward
I heard that her place as favorite wife
in her Mormon husbands household
was supplanted by younger and
more beautiful woman, who lolled IN
the comparative luxuries her predeces-
sor had labored for years helping to
accumulate.
II So one dark night I was thus en-
abled to slip out of Salt Lake, well
mounted and equipped, and but for my
lack OF experience in the saddle should
have had easy enough going.
But, totally ignorant Of how to cover
distance and still save my mules en-
ergies, for hundred miles believe 1
broke all records, then dragged wear
lily through the second day-and
camped that night beside my poor
mules dead body!
I For most men this situation, afoot in
the Nevada desert, would have been
a crusher; but for me all life had come
so hard that found no difficulty in
contenting myself with the riches that
still remained to me-my pistol, sad
die, and fairly generous stock OF
grub.
So 1t was that the next sunrise
found me merrily hitting the trail,
packing my saddle on my shoulder,
happy as king. Nor was it later than
evening of the same day before l
bumped into piece of real good luck;
I overlook a party Of emigrants who
had been laid up hunting strayed
stock, and who were kind enough to
let me throw in with them.
And on I travelled with them along