TELEGRAPHING AN EXPRESS. A NIGHT'S ADVENTURE IN THE AMERICAN BOTTOM.
The great struggles to obtain early news in the east, between the proprietors of daily journals, has infused a spirit of rivalry in their western brethren, and they have been of late, prating all along the Mississippi valley, about expresses to Washington, railroads to Oregon, regular lines to California, telegraphs connecting St. Louis with the east, &c., and sundry other new-fangled methods of getting ahead of time. We do not much wonder at it, for this is the age of expresses, and the man who lingers along in the old “sure-and-easy” method, is certain to be lost sight of in the rapid whirl of the new order of things. In the matter of news, now-a-days, it is not news unless expressed, and we hesitate not to say that the President's message, received in the old fashioned wait-till-you-get-it manner, would not be read with interest.
At St. Louis, on the night of the 17th of December, the President's message was expected in town, and many were the suspicious rumours in circulation, about private expresses, magnetic telegraphs, and “enormous” arrangements to spread the intelligence with rapidity. Every body knew that the old slow-and-easy line through Illinois would be along sometime that night, and allowing it ten days from Washington to the Mississippi, it was very probable that among its contents' would be found a copy of that important document. Col. K., a veteran conducter of the city press, called a few of his boys together, that evening, and quietly remarked to them:—
“Boys, that terrapin team will arrive to night on the other side of the river with the message, and as it generally remains there until next morning, unless we can persuade the driver to cross the river, we will get no message until to morrow, so I wish you to start as an express, and see if you can't coax him to cross.—Use the persuasive, liberally, but bring him and the mailbags, anyhow!”
Orders were positive, and a “team” of three started to execute the Colonel's orders. The river was a sheet of solid ice, upon which the full moon poured down a flood of radiance. Across the ice they dashed, gained the Illinois side, and chartering a wagon and horses belonging to a couple of suckers, started to meet the stage. The drivers of this express were dubious about taking their passengers, because they would not disclose where they wished to go. “Keep dark!” said one. “Mum is the word!” said the other. “They intend to steal sum gal on the road,” whispered one sucker to his friend.
“Well, they've got a cussed poor taste, fur I'll swar thar aint anythin' on this yeur road to the bluff' wuth shucks, 'cept Nancy Birch, and her temper would tarn the stomic of the d——-l.” In the course of a few minutes one express passenger remarked to his companion, “We'll meet the stage this side of the brick house.”
“Certain,” was his friend's reply. “It's out now,” said the biggest sucker, “thar goin' to rob the mail,” and he cast a fearful glance over his shoulder to see if they had pistols in their hands. The stage was now heard lumbering along, and in a few minutes they met, when out dashed the expresses. “Stop!” cried one, to the driver—up mounted another to the side of the stage. “I'm d———d, gentlemen, ef we belong to that arr crowd!” screamed the sucker driver, “I'll jest swar on a stack of bibles, that them fellars ony hired our team.”
The express who mounted the side of the stage, thinking he might obtain a copy from some passenger, thrust his head through the door, and finding one “insider” he demanded:—
“Have you got a message?”
“Dake all mit you, mine Got!” exclaimed a German passenger in answer, “but dont gill de fader of dirteen little babys,”—at the same time he handed his wallet to the express messenger.
“To the d———l with your old leather, give me a message paper!” shouted the express.
“May I go to der duyvel, if ish got any oder baper but Indiana!” exclaimed the Dutchman, still holding forth his wallet.
The driver now informed them that he had the message along, but “he'd jest see them and the city of St. Louis in h——l, afore they'd git him two steps further than the law pervided he should go,” and that was to the Illinois side of the river. He said this so bitter, that the chance looked hopeless for moving him, but one of the boys, with a tongue “iley as a sarpint,' quiet as a mole, and civil as a pill pedlar, climbed up on the seat beside him, and placing himself in a good position, he commenced whispering close to the ear of the driver, and Eve never yielded as easily to the serpent's temptation, as the mail driver now began to melt' under the soft whisper floating around him.
“You said it would be hot!” exclaimed the driver.
“I did,” replied the whisper, “and lots of it, besides a dollar under the pitcher of punch, and sundry comfortable fixens around it.”
“Don't say any more,” said the driver, “that's jest the kind of snap I want to git into to night.” So, putting up his horses he shouldered the mail bags, and across to St. Louis the party travelled.
The proprietors of the anxious city journals, alarmed at the delay of the express, resolved to despatch telegraphs in search of them; and, having charged three with the electric fluid, off they started—and Morse's invention aint a beginning to the way the St. Louis specimens travelled. Across the ice—slap—dash—up the side of the ferry boat, and up the hill. Here were collected about fifty Illinois market wagons, and a corresponding number of suckers. A group of these latter were gathered around a large fire, discussing the probability of being able to cross the ice to St. Louis, on the succeeding day. A telegraph inquired of one of these, if he had seen anything of the express. “No, I haint,” says he, “but I hev got first rate butter, at two bitts a pound!”
“Melt your butter!” shouted an indignant telegraph. “Come and show us the road out to Pap's house, captain,” said another. The marketeer started a few rods with him, and then, as if a sudden thought hit him, looked at the telegraph gent, and, pointing his finger at him, he slowly remarked—“No you don't hoss! I jest see right through you.”
“Why, you fool, don't you see by my appearance that I am a gentleman?” inquired telegraph. The sucker marketeer drew off a few paces, to be ready to run, and then shouted—“Yes, I've seen jest sich gentleman fellars as you in the penitentiary!” and off he dashed, congratulating himself on his escape from robbery.
Away went the telegraphs again, heading for Pap's house, a stopping place about one mile from the ferry, and while one led the way, the other two, wishing to slip him, hid on the road-side, but the rival telegraph seated himself in the road to wait for the appearance of his company. As there was no way, in the clear moonlight, to get round him unobserved, they came out and again started. Now for it!—best man at Pap's first! Away they started, “lickety-click,” and arrived at the winning-post within touching distance of each other. After rapping up the bar-keeper they seated themselves by the stove, leisurely warmed up, and then inquired how soon they expected the stage along. “It passed here with the message, full twenty minutes ago!” was the answer.
Clear the track!—hey!—here was news. Three important aids of two printing establishments, two miles from their offices, and the message there! Now commenced a stampede unknown to Fashion—down to the river—on to the ice;—pit—pat—pat—pit—slip—slide—bang!—and down he goes “up, boys, and at it again.” The island was reached in safety. Here was a dangerous gap, at which stood a foot passenger afraid to cross. “Look out,” he shouted, “you'll get in there.”
“Get thunder!—get out of the road!” shouted the foremost—through they dashed—the last sticking his leg through a feet, and the city side was gained like a flash of lightning. The leading telegraph reached the composing room of an enterprising city paper, just as the foreman was shouting—proof!
THE PRE-EMPTION RIGHT; OR, DICK KELSY'S SIGNATURE TO HIS LAND CLAIM.
Dick Kelsy was one of the earliest settlers in the Upper Missouri country, and a more open-hearted or careless son of Kentucky, never squatted in the “Far West.” He had wandered from his parent state more for a change of location than any desire to improve his condition, and if a spot offered easy hunting facilities, it mattered not what contingencies were added, Dick “sot himself down thar.” Tall, raw-boned, good-natured and fearless, he betrayed no ambition to excel, except in his rifle, and the settlers generally conceded that his “shooting-iron” was particularly certain! A spot upon one of the tributaries of the Missouri won Dick's heart at first sight—it bordered upon a beautiful stream;—had a far spreading prairie, skirted by a fine grove of timber, for a landscape, and abounded with all sorts of game, from a prairie fowl to an Indian. Here Dick built his cabin, beneath the shadow of his own cotton tree, and he used to tell his neighbours that nature had, after practising on the rest of creation, spread her finishing touches on his claim. Its wild beauty deserved his lavish praise.
In this western habitation our hero held undisturbed sway, his only companion being a negro slave, who was at once his master's attendant and friend. Kelsy and the negro had been raised together, and from association, although so opposite their positions, had imbibed a lasting affection for each other,—each would have freely shed blood in the other's defence. The bonds of servitude were, consequently, moulded into links of friendship and affection, securing to them a feeling of confidence in their lonely habitation in the wilderness. Their nearest neighbours were situated at a small trading settlement, some ten miles distant, where Dick always repaired to exchange his furs for ammunition and other essentials. Here he also learned the news from the far-off seat of government; but the busy world beyond little interested these roving sons of the western forests,—a brush with the red skins, or a challenge shooting match, possessed much more interest for them. At length, however, these western pioneers were aroused from their quietude and inactivity by the news that Congress had passed the famous Pre-emption Law. As yet none in the region we write of knew its provisions, or, distinctly, what rights it conferred; each squatter, therefore, laid out the bounds of his claim in accordance with his own desire, and stood ready to defend the title against all encroachments. The fever of emigration became an epidemic, and soon that speculating mania, which, in imagination, built fortunes in a day, spread even to the confines of civilization. The axe of the pioneer soon began to startle the wild denizens of the forest, where for ages the hunter alone had disturbed their repose.
One bright morning a ripple of the advancing tide, in the persons of two strangers, was discovered by Dick about a quarter of a mile from his cabin, where, apparently, they had rested for the night. The first was a man about middle stature, of a dark swarthy complexion, with an uneasy eye, prominent teeth, and clad in a dilapidated suit of Kentucky jean;—an old chip hat surmounted his figure, and in his right hand he held the sceptre of the pioneer—a rifle! His companion was a pale, sickly-looking little woman, clad in a coarse linsey-woolsey gown, and in her hand she held a faded calico sun-bonnet; close by stood a small wagon, with a quilt cover, to which was harnessed a horse, bearing evident marks of long travel and hard fare.
“How are you, strangers?” was Dick's first query. “Judgin' from appearances, you're lookin' out a location.”
“Yes,” replied the man, in a surly tone, “I've been lookin' all along, but I aint found any yet fit fur a white man.”
“Well, you've jest got to the spot now,” says Dick. “Creation aint laid out any place prettier, and arter takin' a view of it, you'll say so. You and the missus better go up to my cabin and rest till you can take a good look at its best pints, and I predicate you'll come to a conclusion.”
“Well, guess I'll stay a spell,” was the stranger's response, and following Dick, he was introduced beneath the Kentuckian's hospitable roof, after which Dick started to the settlement for some notions with which to entertain them more comfortably. On his arrival the whole conversation at the settlement was the pre-emption act, and during the debate on its merits, he mentioned the “new arrival” in his neighbourhood, of the strangers. They had passed through the settlement, and as all new comers are a subject of interest, various opinions were expressed in regard to these.
“Judgin' from that stranger's frontispiece,” said one, “I shouldn't like him fur a near neighbour?”
“He's rayther a sour lookin' customer,” added another; “and how dreadful poorly his wife looks.”
“I've invited him to locate near me,” remarked Kelsy, “and I can't say he's got a very pleasin' look; but the rough shell may have a good kernel, boys.”
After providing necessaries, Dick gave the settlers an invitation to come up and help the stranger to raise a cabin. All agreed to be thar on the next Saturday, and homeward he started. On his arrival, Sam was cooking the evening meal of wild game and corn bread, all the time expatiating to the guests what a good man “Massa Dick” was, and particularly impressing upon their minds that he, (Sam,) was “Massa Dick's 'strordinary niggah!” Sam's efforts at amusement failed upon the strangers, for one was quietly weeping, while the other wore a scowl of anger. Dick noticed their looks on entering, and endeavoured to cheer them—
“Don't look down hearted, strangers,” said he, “you aint among Ingins ef you are near 'em—thar aint a spot in the universal yearth calkilated to make you feel better than whar you are now. Sam and me never felt bad sence we located here,—only when the Ingins penned us in the cabin fur three days, while all our bar meat was hangin' on the outside.”
“It's this cussed woman,” answered the stranger,
“that makes me feel bad—she's etarnally whimperin' about bein' so fur from home—I wish she was in h—ll!”
“Stop that, stranger,” said Dick, in a determined tone; “the love I have for an old Kentucky mother won't permit me to see or hear one of her sex abused beneath my cabin roof, ef it is in the wilderness,—I don't like red skins, none of 'em, but even a squaw couldn't be abused here!”
“Well, I'm done,” was the reply. “I'll git a cabin of my own, and then I guess I'll do as I please.”
“No you won't,” said Dick; “ef you stay in these diggins and abuse her, you're in a hotter place than whar you jest now wished her.”
It may be supposed that the host and his guest retired, the first night of their meeting, with no favourable impression of each other; and while Sam and his master were making all right for the night, the former ventured to remark—
“Dar aint much good in dat white man, Massa Dick.”
“Not a heap, Sam,” was his master's reply; “but he shan't pisin us long with his company;” and with this comfortable resolve they turned in for the night.
At daylight Dick started out with his rifle on his arm, to observe the foot-prints around his dwelling, and note whether they were biped or quadruped, the close proximity of the Indian tribes and their frequent thefts, making caution and care necessary to preserve, not only property, but life. As he was returning to his cabin a scream startled him from his careless gait—it was a new sound in that wilderness; and many a day had passed since Dick heard anything akin to it. He started forward with a bound, convulsively clutching his rifle, while his blood urged into rapid action by the movement, was again forced back to his heart, chilled by another fearful scream of a woman in distress. In a moment he emerged from the strip of woods, within view of his cabin, and there beheld the stranger with his arm raised to strike; fronting him stood Sam, poising a large hunting knife in defence, while upon the other arm of the muscular negro, hung the trembling form of the stranger's sickly wife. A few moments and Dick was beside the combatants, inquiring the cause of their hostile attitude. When Sam informed him that the stranger had twice, with his fist, felled the woman to the earth, his rifle raised instinctively to his shoulder, as if justice demanded instant and dreadful punishment for such a dastard act. Dick slowly remarked, as he directed his aim—“I'll sarve you out, you infernal savage!”
Original
The stricken wife observing the action, threw herself before the weapon, imploring the enraged host to spare her husband's life.
“Well, woman is woman,” soliloquised Dick; “for they'll stick to the devil, ef they ever take a notion to him. If you have the least hankerin' arter the mean varmint, in course I'll let him slide; but he must clar out of my diggins—I can't be near whar anythin' of his breed grows,—so arter breakfast we'll separate.”
When the morning meal was ended, the stranger drew up his wagon, thrust his companion into it, and sullenly departed, muttering a threatening farewell.
“God help that poor creatur,” said Dick, as his late guests disappeared from view, “she's got a hard row to hoe, and as for that sarpent with her, he'd better keep out of my tracks. I should be mightily tempted to sarch his carcass to see ef he had a heart in it. Sam,” continued he, “you're a nigger, but thar's more real white man under your black skin than could be found in an acre of such varmints as that sucker. Give me your fist, old fellar; while Dick Kelsy's got anythin' in this world, you shall share it!”
While this bond of closer friendship was being formed between master and slave, malice was holding her revel in the heart of their late guest. He had observed Dick's love for the spot where he had squatted, and judging rightly that he had neglected to file his claim to it in the Land Office, he stopped a short distance below him, intending to remain, and, if possible gain possession of it. Kelsy had his dislike for the stranger increased by finding him remain on his section, and he ordered him to leave forthwith. The stranger gave as an excuse, that his wife was so sick that she couldn't travel, and ended with a request that he would let him erect a hut to shelter her, while he went in search of a permanent location. In pity for her, Dick consented, and the stranger proceeded to prepare timber for a small cabin. The following Saturday the neighbors gathered, and by nightfall placed a roof over their heads, kindly supplied them with some necessaries, and left, each more confirmed in his dislike for the stranger. The next morning he started off, as many supposed, never to return; the natural kindness of the settlers was immediately manifested towards his wife, and nothing that would conduce to her comfort, was lacking in the cabin of this heart-broken woman.
After the lapse of several days, contrary to all expectation, the stranger returned, and a visible change was manifested in his manner—his surliness assumed a more impudent and offensive character, and on receiving a further intimation that it was time he was moving, he insolently told Dick to “clear out,” himself, for that he, (the stranger,) was the rightful owner of the claim. Dick laughed at him, and told him to be off quietly, that his carcass was safe while that woman clung to him.
Kelsy was laughing next day, down at the settlement, as he related the stranger's words, and described his insolent bearing; but his smile of scorn was turned to a frown of wrath, when the Land Agent, who happened to hear him, informed the unsuspecting squatter, that the stranger had, indeed, entered the claim his cabin was upon. Dick, on hearing this news, shivered the bottle in his hand to atoms, and drawing his breath through his teeth until it fairly whistled, he remarked—
“That stranger may have some of my claim, but his share shall be my signature to the title.”
The sun was fast sinking when Dick started home, rather limber from the effects of wrath and liquor. Having resigned himself to the care of his horse, he swung from side to side, in a state of dozing unconsciousness. When he neared his cabin, it had become pitch dark, to which, if possible, the woods bordering his claim, added a gloomier shade. The instant his horse entered beneath the foliage, a sharp pain shot through the side of the rider, so acute as to wake his powers suddenly into full consciousness. The spring he made in the saddle startled his horse forward into a rapid gait, and in an instant more, a sickly sensation robbed him of all consciousness. When he opened his eyes with returning animation, his look fell upon his faithful slave, who was bending, with an anxious countenance, over the rude couch of his master.
“Bress God! Massa Dick, you knows Sam, your ole nigga—I sees you does—dars life in you yet, massa,—dar is, but dis poor nigga had amost gib you up, for sartain!”
An unseen hand had, in the darkness, plunged a knife into Dick's body, as he entered the wood; he had clung to his horse's mane, until the animal stopped at his cabin door, where Sam, waiting for his master, had caught his bleeding and unconscious body in his arms as it fell reeling from the saddle. The faithful negro had staunched the blood, and applied every restorative his rude knowledge could devise; but it was long ere the eyes he so loved opened to the recollection of past events and present injury.
“That was a foul dig in the ribs, Sam,” murmured his exhausted master; “but ef I don't trail up the sarpint and pull his sting out, it'll be because I and that ar old rifle of mine has to part company!”
The natural strength of the patient, together with Sam's careful nursing, soon restored him to his legs, and a few days' gentle exercise imparted strength enough to his frame to support the weight of his rifle. A fixed resolve to trace the assassin added a severe cast to Dick's pale features—Sam, as he observed him, quietly shook his head, with the remark—“Ah, ah! Massa Dick's soon goin' Ingin huntin'—sure!”
One morning, early, Kelsy ordered Sam to saddle his horse, and proceeded himself to clean his rifle; with more than usual care he adjusted each particular of his accoutrements, and started off to the settlement, taking the road leading by his neighbor's cabin. On his arrival, he gathered a few of his cronies together, who all knew of the dastardly attempt on his life, and imparted to them a scheme he had been maturing, for discovering if the stranger was the “stabber in the dark,”—which few seemed to doubt, but of which he wished to be certain.
As the sun inclined to the west, Kelsy made preparation for return, and changing his dress for a suit belonging to one of his friends, he stuffed his own with straw, surmounted the figure with his fur cap, and mounted it upon his horse before him, where it was secured to the saddle; four of his friends accompanied him, and thus prepared, they bent their course towards Dick's cabin. Night set in while they were on their march, and soon the moon rose, casting her soft light over a prairie landscape, as beautiful as ever the eye of man rested upon. It was a western scene of wild and picturesque loveliness, grand in its vastness of extent, and rich in its yet hidden resources. Its lonely quietude was calculated to subdue the wild passions which throbbed in the hearts of those who now broke its stillness; but a glance at the firm features of the party, proved that its beauty was unheeded by them as they swept onward to the dread business of their march. When Within a mile of Dick's habitation, they halted in a secluded hollow, where they resigned their horses to the care of one of the party, with instructions to turn Kelsey's horse loose about the time he supposed they, by a circuitous route, on foot, had reached the woods, and when he heard a shot, to follow with their other horses. Dick and his companions stole unperceived beneath the shadow of the wood, and cautiously approached the trail leading to his cabin; ere they had reached the spot, however, one of the party descried the horse leisurely wending his way across a strip of prairie, the figure seated upon his back swaying from side to side, so like his owner when “half sprung,” that they could with difficulty suppress a laugh. The sound of the horse's hoofs brought from concealment another figure, whose form was indistinctly visible, emerging from behind a thick covert; and the excitement of the moment, at thus having securely trapped the offender, had almost discovered them—their game, however, was too intent on his purpose, or he would have heard the slight exclamation which burst from the lips of one of the party. Moving stealthily to a good position he awaited horse and rider, and taking deliberate aim, fired. No movement of the figure indicated a hit, and the party could hear his exclamation of disappointment. The horse sauntered along undisturbed by the report, perceiving which, the assassin hastily reloaded, while Dick and his friends crept up unperceived almost to his side. Raising his rifle again, he steadily poised his aim, and pulled the trigger—erect the figure held its place, and resting his rifle upon the ground, he exclaimed—“I've hit him, or he's the devil himself!”
“I guess its the old gentleman come for you, stranger,” said Dick, as he snatched the rifle from his hand, and the whole party closed in a circle round him.
The detected squatter looked paralyzed—his tongue refused its office, while his form, quivering with apprehension, could scarcely keep erect, and his usually cold, uneasy eyes seemed fixed balls of light, so dreadful were they in their expression of coward fear. The party proposed to settle his business at once, and this movement loosened his tongue—he broke forth in piteous accents of supplication—“Oh, God! oh, God!” cried he, “you won't kill me—will you?”
“Well,” said one of the party, “we won't do anything else!”
Kelsy interposed, and suggested that his death be deferred until daylight, in order that the stranger might see how it was done, and be put to sleep respectably. They immediately adjourned to Dick's cabin, where they found Sam holding the straw figure in his arms, and looking in a state of stupor at the horse; he thought his master was “done for;” but great was his joy when the well-known sounds of Kelsy's voice assured him of his safety.
The party seated themselves in a circle in the cabin, with the culprit in the centre, and his shrinking form, trembling with fear, and pallid, imploring countenance, looked most pitiful. As Kelsy gazed upon him the form of his sickly wife seemed to twine her arms around his neck, beseeching as when she before interposed herself between him and death, and the vision of his mind searched out a tender spot in Dick's heart. He resolved to give him a chance of escape, and, therefore, proposed to the party that they should decide by a game of cards, whether the stranger should die or be permitted to leave the country. Dick's friends protested against such mercy; but after an earnest appeal from him, in behalf of the woman, they yielded—cards were produced, and one of the party selected to play against the culprit. By Kelsy's entreaty, also, he was allowed the choice of his own game, and he selected euchre. All seated themselves closer around the players—breathing seemed almost suspended—a beam of hope lent a slight glow to the pallid countenance of the stranger, while the compressed lips and frowning brow of his antagonist, gave assurance that no mercy would temper his play for this fearful stake. The rest of the party shared his dislike for the culprit, who was looked upon as a common foe, and their flashing eyes were bent upon his swarthy countenance with an expression of deadly hate, which forced out the cold drops of perspiration upon his sickly brow, and sunk his heart with fear. The cards were cut, and the stranger won the deal—he breathed with hope—he dealt and turned up the right bower—his antagonist passed, and the stranger raising the bower, bid him play. The hand was soon finished and the stranger counted two! His visage lighted up, and he wiped his brow with a feeling of confidence in his luck The next hand the stranger ordered the card up and was euchered—they now stood even, and he again looked anxious. In the next two hands they successively won, each a single count, and it was the stranger's deal again—he turned up a king, and held in his hand the queen and ten of trumps, together with the eight of diamonds and the king and ten of clubs. His antagonist ordered the king up, and as the stranger discarded his diamond, a gleam of certain success overspread his visage—the rigid face of his antagonist betrayed no sign of exultation, but his brow, on the contrary, became closer knit into a scowl, which, by his party, was looked upon as a presage of defeat. Dick's friend led the jack of clubs—the stranger followed suit with his ten of clubs—then came the ace of trumps—the stranger paused a moment, and played his ten spot—out came the right bower, and he yielded his queen—the left fell before his eyes, and his last trump, the king, was swept away! At each play his countenance grew more and more ashy in its expression of despair and dread; his lips had lost their color, and his eyes had gained an intenseness of expression that seemed as if they could look into the very soul of the frowning figure before him, and read there his impending doom. For the first time a slight smile played upon the features of Dick's friend as slowly he spread before him the ace of clubs! The stranger crushed his King within his trembling hands and threw it from him, as he sunk into a state of stupor, the very counterpart of death.
“Your game's up, stranger,” coolly remarked the winner; “yes, it's up—played very neat—but it's up! And you've jest won a small patch of Kelsy's claim—about six foot by two, or thereabouts.”
The sun had begun to tip the tops of the forest trees, when this exciting contest was ended, and all the party adjourned to the outside, with the doomed stranger in their midst. They moved with silence, for a deed of blood was to be enacted. The law of the wilderness was about to offer up a victim for common safety—the midnight assassin to expiate his guilt upon the spot, and by the hand of him whom he had there endeavored to consign to death.—The music of the morning songsters met no harmonious accord in the hearts of those who now strode amid their melodies—the sweet morning air kissed brows fevered with passion, and the light breeze that played amid the forest grove and skipped innocently across the far spread prairie, was about to bear upon its pinions the shriek of agony. Having arrived at a suitable spot, they bound the culprit to a sapling, and he hung in his bonds already, apparently, bereft of life.
“Stick him up at a hundred yards, boys,” said Dick; “ef he is a snake, give him a 'small show' for life, and ef I miss him at the first fire we'll let him slip.”
The culprit aroused on hearing this, and plead for the smallest chance in the world.
“Don't shoot me like a mad dog!” he exclaimed, in most piteous accents.
“You're worse, you hound,” said his late antagonist; “and if Dick don't wind up your business for you, I will.”
“Come, boys,” continued Dick, “you all know that this old iron's certain, so give the varmint this chance—it'll please him, and he'll die off all the easier!”
After some persuasion, Dick's request was acceded to, and the parties took their positions. Life hung, for the culprit, by but a thread, and that thread the will of Kelsy. Slowly the latter raised his rifle, while the party, breathless, intently fixed their eyes upon the victim. Dick's hand began to tremble, and his aim became unsteady, for the sickly form of the stranger's wife again seemed to rise and plead for mercy—he rested his rifle on the ground, without the heart to fire; but, in an instant the vision fled, and his eye fell clear upon the countenance of the stranger; a morning ray lighting up his features, exhibited a gleam of mingled triumph, hatred, hope, and revenge—there was no mistaking its dark expression of contending passions. The pity that had almost unnerved Kelsy and saved his foe, vanished, and raising his rifle sudden as thought, the weapon rung out the stranger's knell. As the ball from its muzzle sped through his brain, a wild shriek arose upon the air, and all was again still—they loosened his bonds, and he fell forward, dead!
His remains were consigned to the earth without a tear, even from his companion, to whom the tragedy-had been imparted. His cruelties had long since obliterated from her heart the last spark of early fondness; all she requested, when the grave had closed over him, was to be sent to her friends in Ohio, which was kindly done by the settlers—Dick bestowing upon her his whole stock of fine furs to defray her expenses.
Kelsy set himself down in undisturbed possession of his claim, and Sam, his faithful slave, often points to the small green mound at the edge of the grove, with the remark—
“Dat's Massa Dick's signature to dis land claim—dat is!”
YALLEK PLEDGES; OR, THE FIGHT ABOUT SALLY SPILLMAN.
It aint natral fur a fellar to tell of his gittin' licked, but I must tell you about that thar fight between me and Jess Stout—it war a screamer, by thunder! and ef I did gin in, it warn't in the course of human natur' to do any how else. That gal spontenaceously hankered arter Jess, and besides, he'd piled up the affection in her, by an amazin' long spell of courtin'. I did kinder edge into her likin', and gin to speckelate big on throwin' Jess, but that fight knocked my calculations all to fritters. I'm some in a bar fight, and considerable among panters, but I warn't no whar in that fight with Jess. In course, I'll tell you, boys, so sot yourselves round, and pass along that corn juice.
“You see, every time I come up from Lusiane, I found Jess hangin' round that gal, Sally Spillman, lookin' orful sweet, and a fellar couldn't go near her without risin' his dander—he was jealous as a hen with young chickens. I sot my eyes on her, to find out what Jess saw in her so amazin' inticin', and I swar ef a close examination didn't make me yearn arter her like a weaned yearling. She was all sorts of a gal—thar warn't a sprinklin' too much of her—she stuck out all over jest far enough without cushinin'—had an eye that would make a fellar's heart try to get out of his bosom, and then sich har;—her step was as light as a panter's, and her breath sweet as a prairie flower. In my opinion, the mother of all human natur' warn't an atom slicker model; she desarved the pick of a whole creation, and I jest felt that I was made a purpose for her!
“At all the frolicks round the country, down in the Missouri bottom, or up the Osage, Jess was hangin' arter that gal, lookin' honey at her, and pizin at the fellars who spoke pleasin' to her. I thort I'd try my hand at makin' him oneasy, so one night, at a frolick, I sidled up to her and axed how she wur, and ef that ailin' nigger of her daddy's wur improvin', what 'ud be the probable amount of the old man's tobaccer crop this season, and some other interestin' matters of talk. She said that she was thrivin', as usual, the nigger wur comin' on as well as could be expected, and the old man's crop promised to be purty considerable. Nothin' could be more satisfying so I kept on a talkin', and she got a laffin', and Jess begun a scowlin'. I seed he warn't pleased, but I didn't estimate him very tall, so I kept on, got a dancin' with Sally, and ended by kissin' her good by, that night, and makin' Jess jealous as a pet pinter!
“I wur agoin to start to Lusiane next day, with a flat load of tobaccer and other groceries, and afore I went, I thort I'd send a present of my pet 'bar cub' over to Sally, jest to have a sorter hitch on her till I'd git back; so I gits my nigger Jim and gins him the followin' note, with the bar cub, and special directions that he wur to give 'em both to Sally, herself:
Juin twenty 4.
“'To the captivatin' Miss Sally Spillman:
“'Your tender adorer, Sam Crowder, sends you the followin'
fust trofy of a hunt on the Osage; the condition of this bar
are somethin' like him, the bar are all fat, he are all
tenderness! Hopin' that you will gin up a small corner of
your heart to the writer, while he is among the furriners of
Lusiane, he will ever remember you, and be sure not to
furgit to bring a pledge of affection from the sunny south,
to bind our openin' loves.
“'Yours, with stream, or agin it.
“'Sam Crowder.
“I studdyed that out with considerable difficulty, and writ it with more, and 'stick me on a sand-bar' ef that Jess didn't way-lay Jim and read the note! Maybe it didn't stir up the alluvial bottom of his love fur Sally—the varmint's countenance looked as riled as the old Missouri in a June rise.
“Off I started next day, with my flat, for the imporium of the south, and as I war floating along, I couldn't help turnin' over in my mind what a scrougin smart family the Crowders would be, when Sally and I agreed upon annexation. I jest thort I could see 'young Sam,' the fust boy, standin' on the other eend of the flat, strong as a bar—eye like an Ingin—spry as a catamount—fair as Sally and keen as his daddy—I swar, I yelled rite out, thinkin' on it.
“While I was in this way rollin' in clover, by pic-turin' what was to be, they wur tarin' my character all to chitlins up at home. My perlite note was raisin' a parfect freshet of wrath agin me. That display of larnin', about bringin' home a pledge of affection, from the sunny south, most onaccountably oversot my whole family prospects. It wur a stumper to Sally, so she got Jess to explain it, and the way he did it was enormous.
“'Why, don't you see,' ses Jess, 'he means to bring you up one of his nigger children, from the south, to nuss! Nothing can be plainer—thar aint no other 'pledges of affection' than children, that I know on.'
“Well, I swar ef she didn't believe him.
“'The nasty dog,' ses Sally, 'does he think I'm agoin to nuss any of his yaller pledges—ef them thar is all he's got to offer, he aint wuth shucks, and ef you don't lick him fur his onmannerly note, you aint wuth shucks, nuther.'
“Not dreamin' of the row at home, I was a huntin' through Noo Orlins fur presents fur Sally. I bought a roll of ribbon, a pocket full of lace, and a bran new, shinin' silk parasol, and was comin' along, slow and easy, by the St. Louis Exchange, when I heerd Major Beard cryin' off a lot of field hands. I jest sauntered in as he was puttin' up a picanninny 'yaller gal,' about five years old. The little gal had no mammy livin', and looked sorter sickly, so nobody seemed anxious to git her. I hollered fifty dollars, and the little creatur' brightened up when she seed who was a biddin'; I didn't look like a sugar or cotton planter, and the creatur' seemed glad that I warn't. Some cotton fellar here bid sixty dollars, and she wilted rite down—I thort what a slick present she'd be fur Sally, and how well she'd do to tend the children, so I sung out seventy dollars; she knew my voice, and I could see her eyelids trimble. No sooner did the Major drop the hammer on seventy dollars, than she looked wuth a hundred, she was so pleased at my buyin' her. She was a nice little creatur', but her har was oncommon straight.
“I started up home next day, with my purchases, and sich a time as I had on the way. I got dreamin' so strong about bein' married to Sally, that I was etarnally wakin' up huggin' and kissin' the pillows, as ef they wur gals at a huskin'. At last I got home, tickled all to death at my future prospects. I met Jess at the landin'—he gin me a starr, looked at the little yaller gal, and then spread himself with a guffaw, as ef he wur goin' into fits. I riled up a little, but thought thar wur time enough to sarve him out, so I passed on. The fellars in the settlement seemed to be allfired pleased at my gittin' back, fur they kept a grinnin' and bowin' and lookin' at my little yaller gal.
“'Wont you take a little suthin', Sam,' said Jim Belt, the grocery keeper.
“'Not now, I thank you, Jim, ses I.' “'What, you aint agoin' in fur temperance pledges, too, are you?' asked Jim, and then the boys all holler'd as ef they'd bust thar heads.
“'Not ex-a-c-t-ly!' ses I, rather slow, tryin' all the time to find out what the fun war, but I couldn't get it through my kiverin' of har, so I gin it up and went home. Next day thar wur to be a campmeetin' down in the bottom, and all the boys and gals wur agoin' to it; so, to make a shine with Sally, I sent over word that I would call that mornin' and bring with me my fust pledge of affection, meanin' the parasol, and hoped it would be to her mind both in textur and color. Back came this note in anser: