Wolfville Days

orer's Ax

d within myself as to the whereabouts of my Old Cattleman, and was in a half humor to hunt him up. Just as my thoughts were hardening into decision in that behalf, a high, wavering note, ev

lle, D

n an' a

har is in al

I took a chair near the venerable m

d the Old Cattleman. "If I was to feel an

singer, I

mer Hines, over on the 'Possum Trot. Mollie Hines is shore a poet, an' has a mighty sight of fame, local. She's what you-all might call a jo-darter of a poet, Mollie is; an' let anythin' touchin' or romantic happen anywhere along the 'Possum Trot, so as to give her a subjeck, an' Mollie would be down on it, instanter, like a fallin' star. She shorely is a verse maker, an' is known in the Cumberland country as 'The Nightingale of Big Bone Lick.' I remembers when a Shylock over to the Dudleytown bank forecl

t divine. Well, that night in them parlors, when he reads some rhymes in a book,-whatever is that piece he reads? Locksley Hall; right you be, son! As I was sayin', when he's through renderin' said Locksley Ha

a set-back America ha

ys, 'that you never h

replies; 'is this ye

e. 'Mollie Hines could make that Locksley Hall gent you was readin' from, or even the party who writes Watt's Hymns, g

's plumb mute. He confines himse'f to turnin' up his nose in disg

ce of five minutes, as ones who pondered the genius of "The Nightingale of Big Bone Lick"-

ff folks you-all was t

ju

doubtedly the Indians and the

me more'n I'd eat off en the same plate with a snake. I shore has aversions to 'em a whole lot. Of course, I never sees them Japs, but I savey

was that?

in a mood to listen to my rambling gr

s in Roanoke, Virginny. They splits up in their yooth, an' Jim goes p'intin' out f

resolves lie takes a rest. Also he concloods to travel; an' as long as he's goin' to

Bill cuts Jim's trail 'way out yonder on the Slope at a meetropolis called Los Angeles. But

ather than a house, an' belongs with a hay ranche. In the door is standin' a most ornery seemin' gent, with long, tangled ha'r an' beard, an' his clothes looks li

ace where I can camp d

i

to the next wickeyup,' s

ke it none to-nigh

oopercilious gent, for Bill's p

ys Bill, ` I'd bet

t sleep yere,' says the soope

not?' a

f tobacco. 'This is my camp, an' force'ble invasions by casooal hold-ups like y

on these yere plains,'

ou-all slept on them plains,'

bats his eyes, about this soopercilious gent that sets

r name R

s Rawlins,' says the

wlins of

nt reaches inside the door of the dugout, searches

lidin' to the ground with the hoss between him an' his

his face. 'What!' he says; 'you my brother Bill? Well, don't that beat grizzly b'ars amazin'

ensooes doorin' them forty years they've been parted. Jim wants to know all about Roanoke

Bill heart failure. Son, you-all can't have no idee how turribie this person looks. She's so ugly the flies won't light on her. Yes, sir! ugly enough to bring sickness into a fam'ly. Bill can feel all sorts o' horrors stampedin' about in his frame as he gazes on her. Her eyes looks like two bullet holes in a b

red like, 'whoever is this yer

gusted, 'I hope my gun may hang fire, if I don't

s of this female, an' holds forth alarmin' of an' concernin' her virchoos an' loveliness

er chips. I'm co'tin' both of 'em mighty near four years before ever I can make up my mind whichever of 'em I needs. They're both so absolootely sim'lar for beauty,

tail of his eye: 'Well, Jim, far be it from me, an' me your brother, to go avouchin' views to make you feel doobious of your choice. But candor's got

ls about Japs an' Injuns like Bill does about Jim's wife that tim

were produced. For a time the smoke curled in s

s No'th an' South clost in by that camp of ours, but you bet! they're never that locoed as to rope once at Wolfville. We-all

wo. At last I reckons he allows he'll eelope off into the foothills ag'in. As carryin' out them roode plans which he forms, he starts to scramble onto the Tucson stage jest as Old Monte's c'llectin' up his reins. But it don't go; Injuns is barred. The gyard, who's perched up

izes up the remainder. Then he gets back on the

plant your game or pack it with you. I'm too busy a gent to let you or any other blinded drunkard go leav

s Old Monte, as French an' a hoss-hustler from inside the cor

herd on the play yourse'f, yo

l; cusses till a cottonwood tree in front of the station sheds al

nce at Old Monte; 'framin' up a tomb, I say, in this yere rock-ribbed landscape ain't no child's play, an' I'm not allowin' none for t

onless Old Monte is thirstin' for trouble

n' the passengers hangs this yere remainder up in a pine tree, at an Injun crossin' in the hills, as a warnin'. Whether it's a warnin' or no, we never learns; all that's shore is that the remainder an

e skulkin' up on the wind'ard side of the herd, flap a blanket, cut loose a yell, an' the next second thar's a hundred an' twenty thousand dollars' worth of property skally- hootin' off into space on frenzied hoofs. Next day, them same ontootered children of the woods an' fields woul

re some easy, havin' no more jedgment as to the valyoo of a hand than Steve Stevenson, an' Steve would take a pa'r of nines

ck in my Texas days-one time I'm camped for long over on the Upper Hawgthief. It's rained a heap, an' bein' as I'm on low ground anyhow, it gets that soft an' swampy where I be it would bog a butterfly. For once I'm took sick; has a

an old compadre of mine who's a trader thar by the name of Johnny Florer. This yere Florer is an old-timer with the Osa

whole lot. This tune I'm with Johnny, what you-all might call Osage upper circles is a heap torn by the ontoward ri

as ever comes slippin' from the palm of the Infinite. Also, the gov'ment is weak-minded enough to confer on every one of 'em, each buck drawi

the 'Astor Injun,' takes a heavy fall out of the opp'sition by goin' over to Cherryvale an' buyin' a sooperannuated two-seat Rockaway buggy. To this he hooks up a span of ponies, loads in his squaws, an' p'rades '

oes streakin' it for Cherryvale, like a drunkard to a barbecue. An' he sees the Rockaway an' goes it several better. What do you-all reckon n

se'f on the box drivin', an' puttin' on enough of lordly dog to make a pack of hounds. Which he shorely squelches the

seats, they would be lookin' out o' the winders at common savages who ain't in it an' don't have no hearse. Meanwhiles, the buck Vanderbilt is drivin' the outfit all over

h drink, an old buck comes trailin' into the store. His blanket is pull

ther?' says Jo

ty tender, 'your father is plenty sick. Your father gets up this mornin', an

ew on that, which he does prompt an' satisfactory, like cattle on

tter with this savag

he gets gaudy an' quaffs it all up on a theery she's a new-fangled fire water. He gets away with the entire bottle. It's no

in on Johnny ag'in. 'Must have stronger medicine. That medi

ther' over a double handful of

'an' he'll feel like a bird. It will make him gay

tribe abounds in wagons, thar must shorely be a market for axle grease. That's where them New York persons misses the ford a lot. Them savages has wagons, troo; but they no more thinks of greasin' them axles than paintin' the runni

which the savage has not yet clambered, an' them optimists, Eas

iles its disp'sition; shore it is at any rate that at the time I'm thar, that onguent seems fretted to the core, an' is givin' forth a protestin' fragrance t

to be reached by cinnamon or pimento, comes frontin' up for a

you; a medicine meant for full-blown gents like you an' me. Come, father, come with

xes, arms the savage with a chip for a spoon,

a minute to live. When he's got away with half the box, he tucks the balance onder his blanket an' retires to his teepee with a look of gratitoode on his face. His heart has ceased to be bad, an' them illnes

pesos an' beats a retreat, carryin' away ten boxes. Then the fame of this big, new medicine spreads; that axle grease becomes plenty pop'lar. Other bucks an' other squaws shows up, changes in their money, an' is made happy with axle grease. They never has sech a time, them Osages don't, since the battle of the Hoss-shoe. Son, they packs it off in blankets, f

hard experience. Axle grease is like music an' sooths the savage breast. It is oil on the troubled waters of aboriginal existence. Its feet is the feet of peace. At the touch of axle grease the hostile abandons the war path an' surrenders himse'f. He washes off his paint an' becometh with axle grease as the lamb that bleateth. The greatest possible uprisin' could be quelled with a consig