Bisbee daily review., 1914-01-04

date: he csa suck Dre-wood If tend him with spurs and qulrt: but his dish washing needs more reheaysals. and he ain't word perfect yet at scrubbing floors. He's less fraotious and slothful since he was up-ended and spanked in presence of lady. but on the other hand. there's a lack of joy, cheerful ness. and application.
 sent a cable message by Fearful George to the song and dance artist who's running the swines' opery, just inquiring if he'd remitted Salvador 10 collect my wife. The reply is indig. nant to say that the swine is a liar Likewise there's a paragraph in the Vancouver papers about the illustrlous young composer, Salvador Milani, who's disappeared, it seems. into the wilds, His wife is desolated, his kids Is fran tic, the Salvatori, musical society, Is offering rewards, which may come in useful, and the rest of mankind throws fits. This paper owns up that the de parted Is careless and absent-minded and juet pause to observe that he hasn't made my bed. He'll have some quirt for supper.
 As to my wife, shed never believe that the swine wasn't sent Co fetch her. or that he's deserted his wife and family. She thinks he's little cock angel. and me cock devil. She'll have to find him out for herself.
 VII.
 My wife has run away with him.
 VIII.
 I could pick stars like apples. Here's me with my pipe and dog in my home, and my dear wife content. The Dock Of London has no more. except frills. l hardly know whar to begin, 'cept whar l left off without mentioning how they run away. The illustrious didn't have the nerve, so 1t was my lady who stole over to stable in the dead of night, and harnessed the team so si. lent l never woke. She drove of with her trunks. the puppy piano, and her swine, on a bitter night with eighty mile ahead before she'd get any help
 
 pure grit, my great thoroughbred lady, and it makes me feel real good to think of the way she followed her con. science along that unholy trail through the black pines.
 By dawn she put up for breakfast at O'Flynn's. The widow had broke her leg representing a COW. and sent of her son to the carpenter at Hun. dred and Fifty Mile House to get the same repaired. Her bed was beside the stove, with cord-wood. water, and grub all within reach. It was real awkward though that the stove had pc tered out, and the water bucket froze solid while she slept. so she was ex. pecting to be waited before her son got home, when Kate arrived in time to save her from Heaven. The signor volunteers to make fire and cook grub while Kate fed and watered the team so my wife has the pleasure of chop ping out five-foot well at Bent Creek, while this unselfish cavalierio stayed in the house and got warm. Naturally he didn't know enough to light the stove. until the widow threw things and he got the coal-oil. Then he disre. membered how to soak the kindlings before he struck match, so he lit the fuel first, then stood over pouring oil from the fve-gallon can. When the fire lep' up into the can. of course he had to let go, and when he seen the cabin all in flames, he galloped off to the woods, leaving the Widow O'Flynn to burn comfy all by herself.
 By the time Kate reaches the cabin, the open door is all flames; but, hay. ing the ice ax, she runs to the gable end, and hacks in through the window. The beds burning quite brisk by then, but the widow has quit out. climbed to the window and gone to sleep with the smoke, so that Kate climbs in and alights on top of her sudden. The fire catches hold of my wife, but she swings the widow through the window, climbs out, lights on top of her again then takes a roll in the snow.
 When the illustrious comes out of the woods to explain. dye think shed listen? can just see him explaining with dago English, paws, shoulders, and eyes. She leaves him explaining in front of the burning cabin.
 My wife huInped this widow to the barn. and got warm clothes from her trunks for both of them. She fired out her baggage and the puppy piano. bed ded down the widow in clean hay hitched up the team. and hit the trail for home.
 She hadn't mile to go before she met me. and what with the smoke from O'F1ynn's. the widow in the rig | and the complete absence of the swine | I'd added up before she refined her team. She would want to cry In my arms.
 So she's in bed here, her burne dressed with oil from a bear who held me up once on the Skyline trail. It's good oil. The widows asleep in my cabin, and I'm right to home with this l letter wrote to you, Mother. guess you know, Mummy, why me and my pipe and my dog are welcome now which you've lived in your time and loved
 So hoping you're in Heaven, as this leaves me at present.