LITERATURE. A PECULIAR BUGGY.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 6421, 14 December 1888, Page 1

LITERATURE. A PECULIAR BUGGY.

One day half a dozen years ago I was j coming down on a train from Winnipeg, j in the Queen's Dominions, to Dakota. It was a freight train of forty or fifty empty boxocars with a red caboose on the back end for the few passengers. The engineer was a wild, reokless fellow, who had, I think, been dr^king, and sometimes he spurted the train up to between nine and' ten miles per hour. The time-table called for only six, but this dare-devil made it average fully seven. He didn't altogether forget those, things which were behind and press forward, however, because once between siding No. 46 and Big Portage he happened to drop his pipe out of his mouth while he had his head ont of the cab window and actually stopped and backed that long train for fully three-quarters of a mile looking for it. The conductor and brakemen hung off the steps of the caboose and helped in the search. I put my head out of the caboose window and looked too, picturing a great white meerschaum pipe lying on the ground like a block of sea foam, with just a rich autumn amber tint on the bowl. When the conductor picked it np, I noticed that it was clay, and 'had a stem two inches long. The engineer, when he took it, admitted it wasn't worth much, bat he said it was one that Billy Higgin3, of Q'Appelle, had given him, and he didn't want to lose it. He started to tell how Billy happened to make the present, but the conductor said that he had promised his wife to be home early that night, and reckoned we had better shack along. So the engineer went forward, and we shacked. I went back and climbed up into the "pilot house" of the caboose, where I had secured a seat by bribing one of the brakesmen with a noxious oigar. This gave a fine view of the country. You could see fifteen miles to any of the thirty-two points of the compass — perhaps further. The country was as flat as a Congressional debate — it was in the Valley of the Bed rirer of the North. A long, lank man with thin hair and hollow cheeks came and climbed up in the cupola with me, and helped me abuse the scenery. He had a wandering eye and abstracted air, and eaid he had been up to Winnipeg to sell some real estate, and was now, aa he expressed it, on his way back to God's country. Moat of the various articles of clothing he wore were too large for him, though some were too small. He indulged in great bites of dark, .forbidding-looking tobacco, and had a solemn, half-dejected expression." "Colonel," he said, with an inflection which told that he addressed every man he met by that title, ".Colonel, what shall we do to paBB away the time? I never play keerda with strangers on a train/ he added with, it seemed to me, unnecessary haste." I didn't know ■ of anything to do, except abuse the country. " I know what," he went on ; let's each one of us tell a story." " All right," I replied. ■-• "It's a go then," he eaid j "what's your Btory 'bout ?" "My story is about a man, I replied, unblnshingly, "who owned a cow that had only one horn, and that wasn't much of a horn you know. It's mostly about the cow/ I added desperately, wondering what I could possibly tell about a cow that hacl only one horn, and that not really all a horn should be. "Sounds first-rate," he replied. "Bet two dollars 'n' a half ifc-'ll be a thundering good story. Mine is only jesß 'abont a feller that took his girl to a shindig — jess a scrub ev'ry day story. Blaze away with your cow yarn." " Couldn't think of it, sir, couldn'b think of it for a moment. You go ahead first — I wane to v hear all about the feller who took his girl to the shindig." " Well," he replied slowly, and I thought he looked even more solemn than before, "all right, I'll do it — though I'm somewhat anxious to know about that cow-. Which horn was it that was gone ?— no matter, though— -I'll know when you tell it. The feller I was speaking of come down to a little town where I uster live, in Minnesota, and started a newspaper. It -was an awful weak paper, and he was a cussed fool. He was little and had red eyes, and went around with his head up like a balky cow with a board over her face, and he didn't know nothing anyhow. He didn't know how to run a live newspaper. I built a now henhouse— one that jess made the hens open their mouthß and cackle when they seen it— but he never aaid a word about it in his paper. He didn't seem to have the ability to discuss public questions like this at all. " Well, one night there was a shindig out of town about a mile, at Old Man Plummet's place. It was a big vn — they had three fiddlers an' the organ they borrowed from the Methodist church. Of course this 'ere Charlie Biggies — that was his name — this 'ere editor — of course Charlie must go. He couldn't see a henhouse, but he could a Bhindig. He blowed about it in his paper beforehand, too, and called it a hop, which predjerdiced some agin it, too, if he had only knovred it. Well, he went out some six or seven miles on Gopher Perairie and gob Old Hoss Perkins's darter to take to this hop, as he called it. She want no caller, sickly specimen — she could 'preoiate the good pints of a henhouse as far as she could see it. They got to the Old Man's 'bout dark, jess as the head fiddler was tuning up. " Well, the night wore on, which remark I once read, and everything was all O.K. The dancin' waß kep' up lively an* ev'rybody had a good time. Charlie, the feller I'm a-talMn' 'bout, brought the girl to the blowout in one o' these 'ere one-hosa \yuggies that has powerful small wheels in front an' powerful big uns behind. Well, 'long 'bout midnight, mebby a little paßt, ■when it was dark as a string o' black cats, 'bout twelve, or mebby Borne past, I don't know exactly, some o' the boya went out to this 'ere buggy, kinder, an' sorter -walked around it, an' hefted it; an' talked a little, an' said it looked like rain, an' sized up the b n £fjy> an' by-an'-by sorter somehow changed the wheels on the blamed thing — put the behind ones forward an' the f or'ard ones behind, you see. The boys done it, Siu know, for eorfc of a joke I reckon, ebby they wanted to see if a man what couldn't see a henhouse would catch onto a buggy with its front r'ared up 'a the air like a treadmill. It made a powerful funny lookin' buggy of it— 'peared to be built some like abufferlo — high in front an' low behind. I never seen such a highshouldered buggy before nor since. It looked 'sif it had its for'ard feet up'n the manger reaobin.' over into the oafe bin. "Well, the night wore some more till one o'clock, when Charlie, this 'ere youth what thought he could run a paper, said he guessed they better go home. So he hitched up, and old Hobs' darter put on her dry goods — her wraps an' fixin's — an' went an' got in the buggy with Charlie. Stall dark's the inside of a cow — no moon for a month, an' the stars all cloudad under. 'There's something wrong with this 'ere buggy/ says Old Hoss' 'girl. •No, nothin' the matter/ says Charlie, ' we're jess goin' up hill, that's all/ an* then they both leaned for'ard to keep from fallin' over back'ards. "The girl still thought there was somethin' ont o* whack with the conveyance, an' Baid she allowed ehe'dhave to tie a flatiron to her feet to keep from goin' out behind. ' Don't get accited/ says Charlie, s we*Be jess goin* up old Dad Hawkins' jkilL' So.they kep' jiaggin' alongvnaggiri'

along, slow like; an' Charlie let the hoes stop an' xeat ev'ry little ways, 'cause he said it most be powerful hard work to draw up such a steep hill. So they kep' pokin' 'long, pokin* 'long, an' Charlie 'lowed to qic out an 1 walk if the hill got much tteeper. So they leaned forwards, an* parto' the time hung onto the dashboard with their hands iff they did strike a little hai, an* kep* snailin' 'long, snailin' 'long. A gTod deal of the time they stopped to let the hosa catch, his breath, it bein' suchji powtiful long hill* an' then they'd sit there qut?t as a pot o' paint, an' think. By-an'by the girl began to get. spunky. ' I've travelled this 'ere xoad before,' she iti&, «an J I never seen no such monstrous hilL* 'Oh, that's all right; that's all right/ say* Charlie/ ' we're now goin* Tt-> old Pap Neil's hill.' 'But where ih the holler between old Dad Hawkins* hUI an\oldPapNea's hillt" says Jule— her name vm Jule. 'I 'low as how the road oomn£seionera must a' filled it up an' made ont long bill,' saya Charlie. So they leaned for'arde an' kep' a moseyin' 'long alow, an' letfrin' the hosg rest so he wouldn't be all tired oat when they got to the top o' the hill, &n' still it. was dark as the inside of a infidel. Mebby for half a nour they didn't say nothin', an' theu aays Charlie: 'Jule/ says he, 'this does 'pear to be a somewhat lengthy hill — seems 'sif some atmospheric inflooence must V lengthened it out.* Thaf s what he said, atmospheric inflooence. They poked a couple o' miles f order, all the time easy on the hoas. Then says Jule : 'We must be on the -wrong road/ says she. 'You can't fool me, Mr Biggies.' ' Mebby we be/ says Charlie, ' I reckon we might bear off to .the right.' 8o they jagged off to the right, an' went a mile, still up hill. Then they jagged to the left, still hilly. Then they jagged in all directions, and perty soon, after goin' straight up a long, steep hill for two - miles, they turned squaP 'round an' started back, but they still had to hang on to the. dash-board to keep from f allin' out behind. ' Well, smitten Caesar!' yelled Charlie, 'if this ain't the blamedeat country I ever got into !' an' then he hit the old hoss a welt with the end of the lines.' 'I- reckon we'll ' git o' this somehow, if we kill a hoss!' An' then they went tearin' 'round on that perairie with the hoss on the dead run, and Charlie a-yellin'. 'Sufferin' Washington!' howls ' Charlie, 'ifs all hill, no matter where we go, but I'll git out of it or bust.!' Then he swung the lines some more, an' Jule hung onto the dash-board an* had the histories. They kep' a goin' for pertty near a nour, Charlie gettin' madder 'n* madder, and Jule more historical. 'Bout then it begun to git a little light, an' Charlie happened to look at the wheels. There to each side of him, las he hung onto the dash-board, them hind wheels was a-lpomin' up, each like the fly- wheel on ft Bawmill engine. Then he stopped the hoes an' wilted. Jule. seen the wheels, too, bnt she didn't wilt. * We'll kinder keep this thing quiet/ says Charlie, 'we won't mention it to nobody — mum's the word.' ' Yea, we will/ says Jule, a-rißin* up' an' climbin* out ; ' yes, we'll keep it quiet, you low-down, deceitful man. We'll hush it up, we will — p'raps! Haul me all over the perairie in such a lookn' thing, will you, an' tell me we're j goin' up hill ! Good-bye, sir, our paths | kinder sep'rate an' lay apart at this p*int !' and Bhe struck off acrost the | country, ten miles, 1 for home, an' left j Charlie a-thinttln', not loud but deep, lie didn't know how to fix the wheels, of course; so he came into town with them as they was in 'bout two hours, still thinkin' quiet, but powerful deep down. I thought mebby he might see my henbouse when he drove along down my street, but he didn't." '