Frostburg Mining Journal

WAITING FOR THE MIDNIGHT TRAIN.

It was a cold winter night that I came in a sleigh to a station in the interior of Illinois for the purpose of awaiting the midnight train.

The place was merely a point where they stopped to obtain a supply of wood and water, and being of no importance as a point to take up or set down passengers, there was neither ticket office nor depot provided.

About a dozen miserable houses composed the town, village or settlement, by whatever term they dignified it, and the only spot where I could find shelter was in a country store, one side of which was devoted to dry goods and the other to groceries; while at the farther end sundry bottles, demijohns, and a huge heavy stone pitcher proclaimed the bar-room.

The snow was falling silently and fast, and the storm seemed likely to continue all that night. It was ten o'clock, and around the stove, which was comfortably warm, were gathered a motley set, telling stories and smoking bad cigars; while ever and anon some thirsty lounger would walk to the bar and, swallowing his villainous compound, resume his seat by the fire.

I had secured a good seat and began to study the different characters grouped about me. They were a rough-looking set, but there was a natural shrewdness about them that compensated to a great degree for their unattractive appearance.

"How late do you keep open?" I inquired of the storekeeper, a long, wiry fellow, who was perched on the top of an empty barrel.

"Never close till the train comes in, stranger. Guess it wouldn't do. By thunder, they'd batter the old door down if they found it closed. I recollect," he continued, addressing his customers, "one night just before Christmas, it was snowing awful, just like it now is. The boys had all gone up to Widow Drake's to the turkey raffle, and I felt mighty sleepy, so I thought I'd close up and tuck in alongside the old woman and get a comfortable rest.

"By-and-by the train got in, but I was fast asleep. Ike Blood was running that night, and you know how thirsty he always is. Well, as I said, I was fast asleep, and the old woman was, too, I reckon, when all at once I was wakened by a crash that felt as if the train had run into the shanty. I jumped out of bed, and pulling my cowhides on, struck a light and hurried down in the store.

"I couldn't tell for the life of me what had happened, but from the way the cold air rushed up the stairs I knew the door or windows were open. It was as much as I could do to keep the candle from going out. Well, it wasn't many minutes, you may believe, before I was in the store, when the first thing that struck my eyes was the door kicked clear off its hinges and an empty tumbler on the counter with a dime beside it. I walked to the door and the cars were just moving away when I saw the ornery Jim Long coming over the track swinging his lantern.

"Hallo!" I cried, "who in thunder busted my door in?"

"Dunno," he answered, "but s'pose it was Ike Blood. I saw him going toward the store."

"Is Ike running to-night?" I asked.

"Of course he is, you fool; you oughter know that," snarled the ornery cuss.

"I said no more, but put the dime in the till, and getting some nails soon had the door in place. I've never gone to bed since before the train got in; particularly when I knew Ike Blood was running.

"Do you mind one time when he broke up the camp meetin' at Duck Creek?" asked the bullet-headed little fellow sucking vigorously at the stump of his cigar. "That was afore he tuk to runnin the ingine."

"I don't remember it," responded an old fellow, raising his head from behind a barrel with a stare so stupid that I imagine he had been patronizing the bar too often that evening.

"Praps not," suggested the other. "Like enuff you was drunk then, or you wouldn't have forgotten it. It was a d-e-l-i-g-h-t-f-u-l sight. How the wimmin screamed. I never heerd anything like it afore. It was a thing to be remembered. You see, Ike cum thar with his gal, but he didn't know she was goin' to git religion. She didn't know it, either, I reckon. But Ike spies one of the preachers with his head under Mag's bonnet. That was her name, Mag Brown, old Dave Brown's daughter, that has a farm 'bout a mile up the creek.

"Ike went for the preacher; he didn't respect preachers more 'an other men when he was mad.

"You're takin' liberties with my gal," he shouted

"The preacher said sumthin's 'bout turnin' him out o' camp, when Ike sent him to grass. In one minnit all the preachers was on the spot, and I declare to gracious if I didn't see him lick a dozen quicker than I'm tellin' you. Then the brethren rushed in, and they was too many fur him. He made a good fight, but he got the cussedest lickin' I ever saw.

"I wish to heavens old Dave Brown had been among the preachers when the licking was going on," responded a young fellow with a florid complexion and a twinkle of humor in his eyes. "I owe him a little debt that I may pay some fine day, and it is all about that Mag of his, too.

"How's that, Josh? How's that?" responded a number of voices in unison.

"Well," responded Josh Kelsey, "it's not often a fellow tells a story that bears hard on himself, but I will repeat it, just to let you know what an ornery old skunk Dave Brown is.

You must understand at the beginning that I admit that I told a lie, but it was an innocent one and didn't hurt any one. Moreover, I told it out of a little vanity. Perhaps if I had spoken the truth the consequences would have been different. But old Brown was mad, for Mag had set his blood on fire with the tale she carried, and he came prepared to wallop somebody.

"Perhaps you won't believe it, but I never told a willful falsehood until I went to live at Duck Creek. I got corrupted there. It's astonishing how those Duck Creekers will lie. They never tell the truth if a lie will answer just the same.

"Spring had set in warm and pleasant, when a sardine (I call all those city fellows so, who wear their hair parted in the middle and scented with oil) came to Duck Creek and commenced sashaying at a terrible rate among the girls. His name was Adolphus Bayne. He talked big and gave it out that he was rich and intended purchasing land.

"Now, old Dave Brown was mighty particular about Mag, and didn't allow her to keep only a certain sort of company, and Mr. Adolphus Bayne wasn't the kind of man that would have pleased Mag's father. She had sense enough to know it, too; so she never told the old rat that Adolphus was playing sweet on her, but used to meet him on the sly and take long walks with him, and all that kind of thing. I made up my mind from the first that the fellow wasn't much, and, like the Duck Creekers, was good at lying. But I kept my tongue quiet and thought I would watch events.

"Well summer came, and Mr. Adolphus Bayne still hung about the place, doing his best to get all the girls in love with him, and to his credit I must say he succeeded pretty well.

"You know I'm fond of fishing. So one day I took my rod and went up the creek and sat down under a willow to try for trout. The sun got up pretty high before I got a nibble--in fact that's all I got.

"Now, it appears that Mr. Adolphus Bayne, unknown to me, came very near the spot where I was sitting, dressed in a velvet coat, with red necktie, and all that sort of rigging, and set himself down to fish, and, I suppose wait for Mag Brown to come and see him. The old proverb says, 'a fool for luck,' etc. I don't suppose he knew much about fishing, but it seems that it didn't make any difference, for he caught the biggest trout I ever saw come out of that stream.

"Pretty soon Mag Brown came along, and they somehow or other got into a quarrel. I heard it said that Mag accused him of going to sneak away from the place after gaining her affections and promising to marry her and take her to live in a big city and have her horses and carriage. Well, I said they got into a row, and Mag, who had a considerable quantity of pluck in her, turns on her heel, leaving Mr. Bayne fishing, and goes straight to the old man and tells him the way Adolphus served her.

"Where is he?" cried old Dave, seizing his horsewhip and swearing like mad.

"He's fishing down by the creek, and has caught the biggest trout you ever beheld," replied the daughter.

"The old man wanted to hear no more, but started out brimful of wrath.

"In the meantime I had become disgusted with catching no fish, so I took my rod and walked up the creek to select a new spot, when lo! I came across Mr. Adolphus Bayne, just preparing to leave his sport.

"Have you had any luck?" he inquired.

"I replied that I had not, when he exhibited his trout

"A buster, isn't he?" he asked

"Of course I couldn't say no.

"I don't eat fish," he continued; "here, you may take it and put it in your basket," and he bid me good day and departed.

"Now, I forgot to tell you that all the time I lived at Duck Creek I never set eyes on old Dave Brown, though I had heard a good deal about him. Well, I put the trout in my basket and commenced to fish again, and with the same bad luck. Pretty soon I heard a heavy footstep coming, and I knew it wasn't Mr. Adolphus Bayne, for he didn't walk in that style.

Suddenly a big man with his trowsers stuck in his boots and a whip in his hands, turned the bank, and coming directly up to me, spies my trout

"Did you catch that?" says he

"Yes," I answered, telling an unblushing lie.

"Then you're the man I'm looking for," he replied; and before I could reply, he commenced to lay the whip over my hide.

"I sprang to my feet and tried to collar him, but it was no use, the old Turk was too powerful for me. He had me in his grip, and the blows fell so fast that I was powerless. All the time his face was so red that I thought he was going to have the apoplexy. I wish he had, but he didn't.

"He never stopped until the whip-lash was clean gone, and there wasn't more of the haft left than would make a toddy stick.

"Then he suspended the amusement, and turning to me says, That will teach you to make love to my daughter and then insult her.

"Your daughter?' I cried; 'I never spoke to her in my life; but I'll have the law on you for this.'

"'You never spoke to her?' he yelled, catching me again by the collar, 'no lying; didn't you promise to marry her, and haven't you been cavorting among the girls, lying all the while about your being rich and going to buy land?'

"'No,' I returned, 'I never did. There's a fellow here who's been keeping company with your daughter, who talks that way, but his name ain't Josh Kelsey. He calls himself Adolphus Bayne.'

"'Ain't your name Bayne?'

"'No, it isn't. I told you so. If you'd been here a half hour ago (and I wish to heavens you had), you'd have met him.'

"'Young man,' replied the old sinner, 'I'm sorry for this; I've made a mistake; I'm very, very sorry.'

"'You'll be more sorry yet before I've done with you,' I replied, as I commenced to travel for home.

"All the neighbors advised me to prosecute Dave Brown for assault and battery with intent to kill. I hadn't trouble to get out of my coat and shirt, for they came off in pieces. My back looked as if a railroad map had been drawn upon it in cranberry sauce.

"Of course I sued old Brown, but when they went to serve the summons he had gone to Cincinnati, and he staid there all summer. In the fall we moved here, so I couldn't follow the matter up. I'm bigger now and stronger, too, and I may yet pay the cussed old rip that licking.

As Josh Kelsey concluded his story the shrill scream of the locomotive warned me that the train was at hand. The loungers amused themselves, and the storekeeper went to the bar and deposited a tumbler and black bottle on the counter for the use (I presume) of Ike Blood, and I bid good night to the Illinois station.