Democratic Sentinel, Volume 14, Number 7, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 7 March 1890 — LITTLE ROBBIE’S NERVE [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

LITTLE ROBBIE’S NERVE

BY DWIGHT BALDWIN.

Twy N the fall of 187.3 _ / my business calli : f .ed me into the . j^ppin o regions of A the State of X v Michigan. I had ’5 Jrecently secured i \ a Patent of great i \ va^ue i’ l the felling of heavy tim- , gjU|[&! her, and Avas introdu ci n g it * —among the log-_-r ging camps and ~ *’ satv mills.

In this I was meeting with decided success, and was making money at a rate I had not, in my wildest dreams,' anticipated. I was a widower, and, as will readily believed, was devotedly attached to my only child, an active und unusually bright boy of eight years. A father—particularly a doting one, as I admit anyself to have been —is apt to exaggerate the abilities and attainments of Jhis children, and I well know that the ifiTst branch of my statement will be given greater credence than the last. I will not stop to argue the matter with the incredulous reader, but proceed to relate the story upon which I have already made a beginning, confident that it Avill conv'ince the most skeptical of the cpiick Avit and nerve of .my little Robbie. I had brought him with me to Michigan, and left him at school in East Saginasv Avliile 1 conducted my profitcble canvass among the pineries. Late in NoA'ember the friend with Avliom I had left him Avrote me that he had be■come exceedingly lonesome, and could mot apply himseif to his studies. It required no great evidence to convince me of the truth of the report, for a month’s separation from my boy had brought me to a similar state of mind. The letter decided me upon a course that for rome days I had been considering— a foolish course any man in full possession of his faculties Avould haA-e said. I directed that Robbie be sent forward to me in the vast pine woods. Three days later ho joined me, having been placed in charge of a kindhearted lumberman, avlio delivered him safe enough, though Avith but little appetite for the sweetmeats I had provided in honor of his advent. But the ripened harvest of dollars awaited my sickle, and not even the pleasure of playing Avitli my boy could detain me from business. J had Avorked all the camps in that section, aud decided to start the next morning for pn point on the river, some twenty miles away, Avhere I Avas confident of disposing of a number of machines. I Avas to the journey on horseback, Robbie riding behind me. We had mounted, said good-by to our iioav but none the less warm friends, Avlien an old skidder came running toward us. “Don’t start to-day!” cried he, when bwithin speaking distance. '“Why not?” I asked. ■'“’Cause we’re goin’ to have a storm, •an’ it’s a Jong an’ lonely stretch you’ve got before you.” “I see no indications of it.” “You Avould, if you’d been waitin’, . as I have, a fortnight for snoAv to start the sleds, so that you could earn tlie ; grub you Avas a-eabin’: We’ll have a storm, and a big one at that, afore ■dark.” “But I’ve lots, of time. It’s only a few' hours’ ride.” “I hope, so, .for. I sees you’s-bound to go. Well,.hustle along, an’, domt waste time a-talkin’ to me.” , The old man had judged me rightly; I did design to go, seeing nothing portentous of evil. Accordingly, I acted upon his suggestion, and rode away from the log buildings that constituted the camp.. For some miles there was a fair bridlepath through a wilderness of stumps and underbrush, and we made good progress. At length Ave reached a point where we were obliged to mike a tiyn, and strike into the heavy timber, through which the remainder of our journey lay, ▲ railroad line had been projected

here some years before, and abandoned, after the timber on the course had been felled, a telegraph line eonstruHed and some little grading done. I well knew that it was but a poor apology for a road, and had only adopted it because it shortened the distance by more than one half, from that of the regular wagon road. We were, as nearly as I could estimate, within fi\'e or six miles of our destination when, to my consternation, I saw that the prognostication of the old skidder was about to be verified. The sky had become overcast with clouds, the tall pines Avere rocking in the rising wind, and fiakes of snow were beginning to flutter to the ground. I tried to increase the speed of the horse, but found it impossible by reason of the numerous obstructions in the form of trunks of trees. “Don’t be afraid, Robbie,” said I, in as cheerful tones as I could command. “Not a bit of it. I think it just jolly. I’ll make the eyes of the boys at home open ” A snapping sound cut short the lad’s remark and caused his oAvn eyes to open pretty Avide, I fear. An upAvard glance shoAved me the green top of a huge pine, describing in our direction an aAvful circle in the air. I dug my heels into the flanks of the horse and shouted at the top of my \oice. This seemed to increase the terror of the animal. Avliich stopped stock still. Another instant and the tree was upon us. I felt a sharp tAvinge of pain and lost consciousness. My first thought was of Robbie, and the groan I uttered Avas caused not so much by pain as by the dreadful fear that I had lost him forever. Judge of my joy Avhen I saAV him not only alive but acth'ely engaged in clearing aAvay the branches aa hicli covered me. The horse had been killed outright, and my right leg broken above the knee. With the assistance of the coolheaded boy I changed my position so as to lean against the body of the dead horse, which somewhat relieved my pain. Our situation Avas desperate in the extreme, and Robbie realized it as soon as myself. “Brace up, father,” said he, “I’ll run on, and be back before long with lots of help!” But I at once interdicted this plan. The storm had become furious by this time, and I Avell kneAv that the boy could never face it and live. Toward evening. hoAvever, it abated and finally ceased altogether. But the. wind, howling through the only avenue afforded it, had piled the snow into enormous drifts, Avhicli precluded all thought of the child’s Avorking his way through them. No Avords can describe my anguish. My pain Avas forgotten in the awful consciousness that my foolish fondness for my boy had brought him to a terrible death in the wilderness. “Where do the telegraph lines run, father?” asked Robbie suddenly. “To some point on the lake,” I replied. “And are they used?” “O, yes; I understand “they are a great convenience to the inland camps.” “Can’t Ave use them, somehow?” “No, my boy; Ave have no instru-

ment, and would not knoAv lioav to use one if Ave had it.” Then I spoke of other matters, not Avishing him to entertain hopes Avhich I saw had no foundation. Suddenly I awoke from an uneasy sleep and missed him from my side. In terror I called his name, and with a sinking heart listened for the response that did not come. An awful fear took possession of me. Knowing that he could never secure my consent, the daring little felloAV had started off to meet his death while trying to bring relief to me. This terrible conclusion, coupled with the pain of my broken limb, caused me to lose consciousness. When I reAdved, it was to find Robbie rubbing my hands and face. “Where have you.been?” I asked, in a tremor of joy at seeing him in the starlight, j “Looking into that telegraph mat- ■ ter,” he replied; I’m hoping——” “Hope no more for that Robbie, but sit down beside me. Help may come in the-morning,” I added, not wishing to discourage him. Help did come in the morning. About o’clock Robbie set up a joyous shout, anji a moment later I saAv strong men approaching. “How came you here ?” I inquired,

as soon as my feelings permitted me to speak. “I telegraphed for them,” cried Robbie, as he turned a cart-wheel in the snow. “That’s about the size of it,” said one of the men. “The lines wouldn’t work this morning, and we were sent out to locate and repair the breaks.” “That’s just Avhat I figured on,” said the delighted boy, “when I climbed a pole last night and sawed the whole

six wires in two with my knife. I bad an instrument and knew how to use it!” Who will say that increasing years has added foolishness to my fondness, and that the handsome young man who sits beside me and makes disparaging remarks as I Avrite, Avas not a bright and nervy boy ?

“ANOTHER INSTANT AND THE TREE WAS UPON US.”

ROBBIE CUTTING THE WIRES.