Essex County herald. [volume] (Guildhall, Vt.) 1873-1964, 1916-05-26

| preachers dL d GULL IeHce.- leT2OI
to tell that at one end o. the fire we
drove down some stakes, bout six
feet high an clost together so't it
made kind O. fence. The wolves
hung 'roun' that fire and howled
and every time they felt a gripe O.
hunger inside they'd let out bloody
bowls. They was jest starvin' crazy
to get at US. The Frenchman was
jest wild to get the fight started, n
he stepped out to one end o the fire
into the little alley way we'd left
'twiXt fire n rock, n he yelled,
Come on you cuss!' Some O. the
big ones make a spring at i'm. He
stepped back a leetle and let one on
'em snap at his bundled arm. No
sooner'd the beast snapped his jaws
into that VOLTS fur than he got a
jab that drove that long-bladed
knife right inter the seat O. life, n
he gin yelp and wasn't consumed
about his supper no more. |
watched the other side, but SEEM
the wolves want tryin' that quarter
where them stakes was, | stood
alongside O. the Frenchman and got
the knack O. his underthrust. The
wolves got crazier n crazier n
more on 'em seemed to rally. 1t
was snap, jab and yelp, snap, jab
and yelp, n every jab n yelp meant
a wolf dead or badly hurt. The
more the wolves came on, the more
that Frenchman liked the fun; he'd
laff and joke when a big wolf'd
come up n take his med sin; the
Frenchman'd say, Ho, no, my fren,
| been want veesit of you dees long
tam; | geev you de gran deener;
las you all you laife.' Bimebve the
bigger wolves lay dead in front of
US, quite a winrow, and the rest O
the pack begun to show they was
cowed. Then the Frenchman, he
picked up some O. them dead wolves
n hove 'em outside. They was
bloody n the live ones got a smell
ont n you orto seen 'em scramble
fer them carcasses. OATS all right,
sung out the Frenchman, when you
hoongry heat up you brudder. OATS
better for you dan de cold steel
what | geeve you"
After breakfast the relish for
which was somewhat abated by the
interest in Uncle Ezra's story OF
the night with the wolves, the party
broke camp. A brisk march, and
noon found them on the summit OF
a rocky ledge in the midst of heavy
timber. The party had reached ir
their southwark march the mair
stream of the river Lamoille, fol.
lowed down the hills on it's northern
side, crossed over and passed
through a picturesque village and
assembled the wooded hills to the
southwest, where, in a shady maple
forest, they went into camp early
in the afternoon.
While resting, a physician or
horseback with plethoric saddle-bags
on each side of his ANIMAL sturdy
sorrel, came to their camp. 1t was
Doctor Wilton, an old friend Of
Judge Markham, who greeted him
warmly, invited him to dismount
and partake of their rude supper.
He was one of those active minded
wide-awake, companionable gentle.
men of the old school, whose faith
in calomel, after years of eclipse
has again revived in many of oul
medical colleges. Hes was breezy
CHEEKY and sweet-hearted, and hi:
presence in a sick roomH brought
hope, that best remedy for many ar
ailment.
Well, well, Judge Markham" he
said, as he drew near; they toIc
me at the village that you haC
turned gypsy and was rowing arounC
dwelling in tents as a nomad, anc
I've come up to see whether you've
, turned savage or fortune teller, o.
whether you've just grown sensibl,
+ and are taking a kind of tiresom,
| &c