BY MAC A'RONY.
You do ill to teach the child such words; he teaches him to
kick, and to hack, which they'll do fast enough of themselves;
and to call horum;--fye upon you!--_Merry Wives of Windsor._
Frequently since crossing the Mississippi Pod had received letters
from proud parents informing him that they had named their latest
boy after him. At that time in Cripple Creek, several boys ranging
from a day to six weeks old, whose destinies were thought to be
promising, were afflicted with my master's ponderous name.
A little green-eyed Irish girl, five days old, was named
Pythagorina Podina Mulgarry. The happy father called personally on
Pod and asked him to act as godfather at the baptismal service,
Sunday afternoon. The impressive ceremony took place at the cabin
of Miss Pythagorina, as the aged grandmother wished to witness it.
Pod said he was somewhat embarrassed about attending, since he had
forgotten almost all his Latin, but he arranged with one of the
pall bearers to give him nudges and kicks when it was expected of
him to make a response, and so he got through fairly well--better
than the kid did. He said the babe was an unruly child, and kicked
so frantically when the priest took her in his arms that two
flatirons were tied to its feet to keep them down. It was simply
nervousness, because the high altitude affected the child's
nerves. So when the priest was handed the tiny thing in swaddling
clothes and held it over the barrel that served as the font, the
poor girl was frightened and squirmed, and suddenly slipped out of
the priest's arms into the barrel and sank out of sight. There was
great excitement and surprise because the flatirons didn't float,
and the undertaker, or what you call 'em, overturned the barrel of
water and set everybody afloat, drenching the sponsors and guests.
Pod said the scene was without a parallel; he was soaked to his
equator; the half-christened, half-drowned Pythagorina Podina was
picked up from the flood with a tablespoon, and the ceremony
finished; then she was rolled on the barrel to get all the water
out of her, and put to bed with hot flatirons at her feet to
prevent croup and mumps. Then the wake broke up. I don't believe
the child understood a word that the priest said; Pod didn't.
That night he got up a fine supper, and invited some old friends.
He bought a big porterhouse steak, thick and tender, and
personally broiled it on his patent folding stove. Just when
everything was on the table and the guests were finding stones and
tin plates to sit on, Don, not having had a thing to eat for an
hour, coolly pulled the hot steak off the platter and dropped it
on the ground. Pod didn't say anything, though, but just forked it
on to the platter and scraped off some dry grass and a sliver and
a bug, and carved it up and generously put it on the ladies'
plates. The ladies looked at the dog, and then at Pod, not knowing
which to thank, then feeling sensitive about accepting the best
part of the steak, insisted upon Pod's having one of their pieces
and Coonskin the other; and both men being kind and gallant
accepted the compliment, and all fell to eating. But the guests
didn't eat much. They said they had just had dinner. You could see
plainly from their appetites that they were telling the truth.
After supper Don feasted on the tougher parts of the steak, and we
donks were fed the scraps of potatoes and bread and tin tomato and
peach cans. When the banquet was over the guests went home.
Pod devoted Monday morning to business, and took in a good stock
of supplies, and after lunch we set out on the trail to Florisant,
about twenty miles away. About six o'clock we went into camp on
the margin of a famous petrified forest. Pod objected at first,
because of the scarcity of fire-wood.
"Lots of petrified wood chips lying around," I remarked; "and
they'll last. Ordinary wood burns up too fast."
"Bright idea!" exclaimed Pod. And Coonskin went to work gathering
petrified wood for the supper fire. "The only trouble will be in
starting the fire," said Pod. "Just as soon as it's once going, it
ought to burn smoothly enough--might pour coal oil on the chips.
What do you say, Coonskin?"
Coonskin's opinion didn't benefit Pod much. His hard-wood fire
wasn't very satisfactory, but with some dry brush the men got the
meal under way. Next morning we visited the noted petrified stump,
measuring upwards of forty-five feet in circumference. Several
saws were imbedded in it, for many futile attempts had been made
to take off some slices for the Denver Exposition. It has been
estimated by various ornithologists, botanists and entomologists
that the stump is millions of years old. I think they were
guessing at it, for I couldn't see the rings, and even if I had
seen them with a telescope a fellow couldn't live long enough to
count them.
We journeyed until ten at night, stopping at Florisant only a few
minutes to buy a crate of peaches. Several times I had a
suspicion that we had been misdirected. When we came to the end of
a narrow wood-road I was sure of it. We went into camp, and before
breakfast a timberman called on us.
"You kin trail through the timber to Pemberton," said he to Pod,
"and then cut through to Fairplay, er you kin go back the way ye
came."
"What do you say?" Pod inquired, turning to Coonskin.
"I think best to go through the woods," said the valet.
So we were headed for the timber. Our tramp through the forest I
cannot soon forget. Up and down the rocky heights, through
thickets of quaking asp and pine, tangled roots and fallen trees,
we climbed and panted and coughed and brayed for some four miles,
when we stopped to rest and realized we were lost. Coonskin said
he was an experienced woodman, and would blaze the trees so we
would get out again. Wonderful! the amount of learning he had
gleaned from dime novels. He lagged behind to do the blazing; and
pretty soon I smelt smoke. The Professor snuffed.
"Smells as if the woods were on fire somewhere," hinted Pod.
"Look behind you; they are!" I exclaimed. And Pod caught that
erudite valet-back-woodsman in the act of setting a tree on fire
with oil and matches. Fortunately for us the wind wasn't blowing
strong, but we had to change our course some, and hustle faster,
for the blazing trail chased us. Coonskin learned a new lesson,
and turned down the corner of the page so he'd recollect it. After
Pod had explained the meaning of the word "blaze" in this case,
the fellow was more put out than the fire.
At length we struck a trail which led to a couple of cabins in
the canyon. A board sign informed us it was simply Turkey Creek. I
couldn't see any turkeys, but there was good pasturage around. The
hot trip through the timber made us all hungry.
It was three o'clock when we donks were picketed and allowed to
graze. Then Coonskin went fishing. He said he had seen some trout
in the stream; by supper time he had caught a nice mess. Pod said
he would fry the fish, and went at it so enthusiastically that he
forgot to put the bag of corn meal back in its place. After the
meal was over, he began to look around for the bag. It was nowhere
to be found; I had eaten the corn meal and bag. It was comical how
those two men puzzled their brains about that missing commodity.
When Coonskin detected some meal stamped in the ground, Pod
pointed at me and said, "That's the thief, there."
Next morning, Coonskin was the first to return from fishing, and
looked much excited. When Pod returned he told him he had seen
huge bear tracks; he was going bear-hunting. Pod laughed at him.
"Now let me tell you," said the boy, "we aren't likely to get any
big game on this trip if we are looking and gunning for it. That
was my experience in the woods of Wisconsin. The men at the
saw-mill said we should see bear in this forest, but where are
they? It's my opinion if we loiter around this here canyon a day
without guns we will see a bear pretty soon. A silvertip would be
a boon to you, Prof; its skin would fetch fifty dollars or more.
Let's look for bear."
"What would you do if you saw a bear?" Pod asked.
"Well, now leave that to me," said Coonskin. "In the first place,
it would be worth a hairbreadth escape to see one wild; I've only
seen bears in circuses, or traveling chained to Italians; in the
second place, I can run. I've plenty of medals for sprinting, but
if I saw a real bear I could beat all records."
Pod looked at me and I looked at Pod; I hadn't anything to say on
the subject; it didn't interest me as much as it did Coonskin. Pod
went fishing that afternoon with a gun, and took the whole arsenal
along with him, including the axe.
Somewhere about five o'clock Pod came into camp with a good mess
of trout. After cleaning the fish, he took off his guns, and laid
down on the grass, and wondered if that crazy valet had run across
any more bear tracks. He wasn't there long when, suddenly, I heard
yells issuing from the canyon down stream round the bend. The
shouting sounded nearer every second, and I soon distinguished
Coonskin's voice. Pod got up from the ground excitedly.
"Coonskin's in trouble, plain enough," said Pod aloud to himself,
"I must run to his aid." So he started on a trot down stream to
the bend, and then quickly turned, falling all over himself, and
ran toward the cabins faster than I ever saw him run before or
since. And immediately Coonskin came flying into view with the
biggest bear at his heels I ever want to see.
That sight paralyzed me; I couldn't get on to my feet for a minute
or two, then I broke the rope and kited up the canyon a hundred
yards, where behind a tree I waited to see the interesting
finish.