Democratic Sentinel, Volume 7, Number 52, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 January 1884 — An Eccentric Gun. [ARTICLE]

An Eccentric Gun.

I was riding through the woods in Central Arkansas in a seemingly vain endeavor to find a road that wonld lead oae from the wilderness, when I suddenly came upon a small log house. I stopped and called to a man who stood □ear the door, “wiping out” a long rifle. He handed the gnn to a small boy who staggered under its weight and approached. “Mornin’, sah, mornin’,” he said, turning to drive away a dog that would have surrendered his hope of ever getting anything to eat merely for the pleasure of planting his ugly teeth in my leg. “I am looking for a road,” I said, after exchanging “how air yers” with the old fellow, “and would be greatly indebted for any assistance you might lend me.” He grinned mercilessly, I thought, and replied; “Whar’re yer frum?” I told him, how truthfully it makes no difference, and repeated my inquiry concerning the road. “Stranger, did yer fetch a road with yers?” I confessed that I did not. “Wall, then, I don’t know o’ nun in this here neighborhood.” “You don’t mean to say that you have no roads ?” “That’s what I mean.” “How do you get along?” “Through the woods.” “How do you haul your wood!” “Don’t haul none. Chop down trees an’ tote the wood in. When the trees gets scace, we move.” “Can you tell me how far it is to the aext house?” “Stranger, you kaint find the next house.” “Why?” “Because it ain't thar. Sav, thar, Dick,” turning to his son. “Yas, pap.” “Don’t drap that gun. It mout go off an’ shoot the stranger. ” “It might also shoot you,” I suggested. “No, it never shoots home fokes, but it does hanker powerful airter strangers. Felt mighty sorry fur one o’ these here Gover’ment whisky hunters tuther day. He cum er bangin’ roun’ here, jes like yer air doin’, an’ I was mighty afeerd that ole Sal —that’s the gun’s name—would get ter cuttin’ up, an’ blame es she didn’t flop over airter a while an’ shoot the feller through the leg spite .o’ everything I could do. Shot him, sah, even airter my wife had reasoned with her, an’ my wife’s a reasoner 1 , lemme tell yer. Say, fiiar, Dick.” “Yas, pap.” “Do ote Sal look sorter ashy?” “Yas, pap,” “Stranger, I don’t wanter hurry you off, fur if thur’s a man ia thecurmunity what likes comp’ny it’s me; hut, es I was in yer place, dinged es I didn’t ride.” “I don’t know which way to ride. ” “Better ride straddle, I reckin.” “I meah I don’t know where to go.” “Go er way! Sav, thar, Dick!” “Yaswpap.” **• “la Sal gittiu’ hard ter hold ?” “Yas, pap.” * > f * “Stranger, I swm that yer’d better hussle, fur when Sal gets crossways, an’ ashy, an’ hard ter hold, thar’s gwine ter be trouble.” “My friend, you mistake me for a deputy marshal, when, in fact” (cowardly ruse, but my only hope) “I am a wildcat distiller and am running from the officials. I live over here on the creek, and when I left home the neighborhood was full of deputy marshals. ” “Git right down an’ come in,” he said. “Say, thar, Dick.” “Yas, pap.” “Is Sal ashy?” “No, pap.” “Is she hard ter hold ?” “No, pap.” “Wall, lean her agin the tree an’ take this hoss and gin him snthin’ ter eat. Go erway, Lize,” addressing the dog, “this ain’t no whisky hunter,” The animal seemed to understand at once, and without bestowing another sneaking glance on me, he walked away and laid down with a satisfied air. “Jes come in. Colonel, said the old fellow; “too lake ter get ©uten this curnuunity ter night. I’ll show yer the way in the mawnin. MolL.” turning to his wife. “Yas, pap.” “Jug handy ?” “Yas, pap.”’ “Wall, pass her ter the* stranger. ” Opie P. Bead-