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How The Raven Died 1902, From "Wolfville Nights" By: Alfred Henry Lewis (1857-1914) |
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By Alfred Henry Lewis From "Wolfville Nights," copyright, 1902, by Frederick A. Stokes Company
"Which 'f you all is out to hear of Injuns, son," observed the Old
Cattleman, doubtfully, "the best I can do is shet my eyes an' push along
regyardless, like a cayouse in a storm of snow. But I don't guarantee
no facts; none whatever; I never does bend myse'f to severe study of
savages, an' what notions I packs concernin' 'em is the casual frootes
of what I accidental hears an' what I sees. It's only now an' then, as
I observes former, that Injuns invades Wolfville; an' when they does,
we all scowls 'em outen camp sort o' makes a sour front, so as to break
'em early of habits of visitin' us. We shore don't hone none to have 'em
hankerin' 'round. "Nacherally, I makes no doubt that if you goes clost to Injuns an'
studies their little game you finds some of 'em good an' some bad, some
gaudy an' some sedate, some cur'ous an' some indifferent, same as
you finds among shore enough folks. It's so with mules an' broncos;
wherefore, then, may not these differences exist among Injuns? Come
squar' to the turn, you all finds white folks separated the same. Some
gents follows off one wagon track an' some another; some even makes a
new trail. "Speakin' of what's opposite in folks, I one time an' ag'in sees two
white chiefs of scouts who frequent comes pirootin' into Wolfville from
the Fort. Each has mebby a score of Injuns at his heels who pertains to
him personal. One of these scout chiefs is all buckskins, fringes, beads
an' feathers from y'ears to hocks, while t'other goes garbed in a stiff
hat with a little jim crow rim one of them kind you deenom'nates as a
darby an' a diag'nal overcoat; one chief looks like a dime novel on a
spree an' t'other as much like the far East as he saveys how. An' yet,
son, this voylent person in buckskins is a Second Lootenant a mere boy,
he is from West P'int; while that outcast in the reedic'lous hat is
foaled on the plains an' never does go that clost to the risin' sun as
to glimpse the Old Missouri. The last form of maverick bursts frequent
into Western bloom; it's their ambition, that a way, to deloode you into
deemin' 'em as fresh from the States as one of them tomatter airtights. "Thar's old gent Jeffords; he's that sort. Old Jeffords lives for long
with the Apaches; he's found among 'em when Gen'ral Crook the old 'Gray
Fox' an' civilization and Gatlin' guns comes into Arizona arm in arm. I
used to note old Jeffords hibernatin' about the Oriental over in Tucson,
I shore reckons he's procrastinatin' about thar yet, if the Great Sperit
ain't done called him in. As I says, old Jeffords is that long among the
Apaches back in Cochise's time that the mem'ry of man don't run none to
the contrary. An' yet no gent ever sees old Jeffords wearin' anything
more savage than a long tail black surtoot an' one of them stove pipe
hats. Is Jeffords dangerous? No, you all couldn't call him a distinct
peril; still, folks who goes devotin' themse'fs to stirrin' Jeffords up
jest to see if he's alive gets disastrous action. He has long gray ha'r
an' a tangled white beard half way down his front; an' with that old
plug hat an' black coat he's a sight to frighten children or sour milk!
Still, Jeffords is all right. As long as towerists an' other inquisitive
people don't go pesterin' Jeffords, he shore lets 'em alone. Otherwise,
you might as well be up the same saplin' with a cinnamon b'ar; which
you'd most likely hear something drop a lot. "For myse'f, I likes old Jeffords, an' considers him a pleasin'
conundrum. About tenth drink time he'd take a cha'r an' go camp by
himse'f in a far corner, an' thar he'd warble hymns. Many a time as I
files away my nosepaint in the Oriental have I been regaled with "'Jesus, Lover of my soul,
Let me to Thy bosom fly,
While the nearer waters roll,
While the tempest still is high,' as emanatin' from Jeffords where he's r'ared back conductin' some
personal services... Continue reading book >>
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