text: Talk:The Road to Kandahar

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title: Talk:The Road to Kandahar


text:
Page:The Nibelungenlied - tr. Shumway - 1909.pdf/97

Rh him; this will ever be our gain. She who never greeted warrior shall greet him fair, that by this means we now may win the stately knight.”

Then went the kinsmen of the host to fetch the hero. To the champion from Netherland they spake: “You hath the king permitted to go to court; his sister is to greet you. This hath he decreed to do you honor.”

At this the lord grew blithe of mood, for in his heart he bare joy without alloy, that he thus should see fair Uta’s child. With lovely grace she greeted Siegfried then, but when she saw the haughty knight stand thus before her, her cheeks flamed bright. “Be welcome, Sir Siegfried, most good and noble knight,” the fair maid spake, and at this greeting his spirits mounted high. Courteously he made obeisance; she took him by the hand. How gallantly he walked by the lady’s side! Upon each other this lord and lady gazed with kindling eyes. Full secretly this happed. Was perchance a white hand there fervently pressed by heart-felt love? That know I not; yet I cannot believe that this was left undone, for soon had she betrayed to him her love. Nevermore in summertide nor in the days of May bare he within his heart such lofty joy as now he gained, when hand in hand he walked with her whom he fain would call his love.

Then thought full many a knight: “Had that but happed to me, to walk thus with her hand in hand, as now I see him do, or to lie beside her, I’d bear it willingly.”

Never has warrior better served to gain a queen. From whatever land the guests were come, all gazed alike upon this pair alone. She then was bidden kiss


text: Index:Eden Paul and Cedar Paul - Communism (1921).pdf


text:
Page:The Nibelungenlied - tr. Shumway - 1909.pdf/98

40 the stately man, to whom no such delight had ever happened in this world.

Then spake the king of Denmark: “Because of this high greeting many a warrior lieth wounded (this wot I well), through Siegfried’s hand. God grant that he may never come again to my kingly lands.”

On all sides they bade make way for Kriemhild, as thus to church one saw her go with many a valiant knight in courtly wise. Then soon the stately knight was parted from her side. Thus went she to the minster, followed by many a dame. So full of graces was this queenly maid that many a daring wish must needs be lost. Born she was to be the eyes’ delight of many a knight. Siegfried scarce could wait till mass was sung. Well might he think his fortune that she did favor him, whom thus he bare in heart. Cause enow he had to love the fair.

When she came forth from out the minster, they begged the gallant knight again to bear her company, as he had done afore. Then first the lovely maid began to thank him that he had fought so gloriously before so many knights. “Now God requite you, Sir Siegfried,” spake the comely maid, “that ye have brought to pass with your service, that the warriors do love you with such fealty as I hear them say.”

Then upon Dame Kriemhild he began to gaze in loving wise. “I will serve them ever,” spake then the knight, “and while life shall last, never will I lay my head to rest till I have done their will; and this I do, my Lady Kriemhild, to win your love.”

A twelfth-night long, on each and every day, one saw the winsome maid beside the knight, when she


text: Page:Eden Paul and Cedar Paul - Communism (1921).pdf/2


text:
The Horse Thief Rendezvous

BOUT sixteen miles west of Buckshot the Oregon Road dipped into a dry wash. Up this gully was a water-hole which overflowed in time of rains but never went empty, even in the long dry spells prevailing thereabouts most of the year, because it was fed by a small boiling spring. A trapper by the name of Bender had discovered the good water and had built a stone cabin and a lodge pole fence corral there, establishing a ranch. Then he was killed while trading his fur catch at Ft. Benton, his squaw wife went elsewhere, and the place became neglected, its history summarized in its name, Bender's Drink.

A wild, desolate loneliness stung those who at rare intervals came to a stop for the night there. One time two men were found frozen to death just over the ridge from the cabin. Then a lunatic made the cabin his den, prowling around in shaggy, howling, feral madness, like a bear or like a cougar, rarely resembling a man in his varying moods—now and again shot at by a frightened homeseeker. Then a renegade killed him and an air of evil ghastliness was left about the scene.

Presently a Down Easter arrived, a shuffling, shambling, ne'er-do-well who came West expecting to find opportunities to seize wealth without knowing a main chance when he saw one. He was tickled to find a house ready built, so he squatted at Bender's Drink. He was really doing well, till a band of wandering Blackfeet mistook his slouchy gait for cowardice. He whipped a dozen, killing nine, but died of his wounds. The others, having captured his wife and daughter, carried them away, but a prospector saw them and rode into Buckshot giving the alarm. A posse was organized and overtook the warriors ninety miles away, by another waterhole, where they were making merry, unaware of the vengeance crowding them. None survived. The mother was killed by a tomahawk and the daughter just drifted on, her family name forgotten. She was Tillie; that's all.

Then Buckshot robbers needed a rendezvous. Hank Yacupe, sometimes known as “Dutch,” took over Bender's Drink, and thus accepted the responsibility of the horses and mules which the Nighthawks brought to him. The trails into Buckshot, and the wagon roads southward, westward and eastward carried a great variety of traffic. Homeseekers went through in wagons. Adventurers came by on foot or on horseback. Stage coaches made their way roaring by, the Concord stages proving the workmanship by their endurance on the roughest roads traversed at top speed.

Lone horsemen went by, watchful, heavily armed, unknown. Small bands of men camped on their way along, some riding light, some driving bands of extra mounts and loaded horses and mules. Strangers were the rule—men who came and went giving no name, spoken of as riding a black horse with a star on the forehead, or a bay, or a gray; described by a hole in the hat or a scar on the cheek, and perhaps afterward heard of as some great scoundrel or a hero of wards or a lost soul of civilization.

A handful of desperate scoundrels recognized one another. They shook hands, agreeing to stand together through forest fire and high water. They ranged and roamed, catching lonely men unawares, or inveigling themselves into the companionship of small parties whose horseflesh was especially good, or whose pack animals promised valuable loot.

Strangers disappeared toward the horizon. Their affairs were no one's concern. Who cared if the man on Star Face arrived in Walla Walla or Salt Lake City? The horse, itself, turned up in Hank Yacupe's corral. How come? It did not matter. Nice horse, though. The same with a big bay horse, and some fine man mules from Missouri, able to carry a good pack over a rough road. Yacupe was doing a lively business in carrying-stock.

“You need a fast horse? Try Yacupe; he's a trader,” the word was passed in Buckshot.

Terry Deerbon arrived in Buckshot with footsore animals. He was a good fellow, drinking too much, spending money openly. He represented Eastern investors. The word was that good mines could be had cheap out from Buckshot, which money could develop and bring in ten thousand per cent. profit. Deerbon represented a lot of capital. He was hard on horses and, having foundered or sore-footed his mounts, he demanded more animals, in good condition.

“You'll find the best there is out at Hank Yacupe's,” he was told by some one, and hiring a horse at the Buckshot livery he took his direction on the West Road toward faraway Oregon.

He did not return, but one day the liveryman found the horse behind his own corral, with the saddle on its back and the bridle tied to the horn.

“Must have left Deerbon out for a walk,” Briesh said to his hostler, and the hostler laughed at the joke.

The Eastern capitalist had been left out so far he never came in.

IX months later two men arrived in Buckshot—good men. They were Ream and Burvid, and they were looking for a mining engineer by the name of Terry Deerbon, about thirty-four years of age, nice, genial fellow, about so high and blue eyed, likely to take a drink and quite a talker, frank and open.

They went to Landers and Deck, general store proprietors and agents of the express company. Both remembered Deerbon very well. They had received letters inquiring about him, had written in reply all they could learn and still had one thousand five hundred dollars in gold which had been sent to his credit. Ream, Burvid, Deck and Landers talked the matter over in the store office.

“You'd know—you'd be able to identify any of Deerbon's property? His revolvers, belt, hat—anything like that?” Deck inquired.

“Oh, yes!” one of the two men exclaimed. “That's why we came. We'd know his teeth, for that matter. And he broke his left leg when he was our man in a logging speculation in the White Mountains. We're back of him. If just a natural accident happened to him, same as may befall any man, all right. But if any meanness, any dirty deal has been given him, we're here to find out who is responsible. He performed his duties faithfully in our behalf. We paid him wages. But we owe him our assistance if he's in trouble, and if he's in his grave, we'll put a marker on it.”

“All right, gentlemen,” Deck said. “Of course, we know you. The general manager of the express company saw to that. You know us. Frankly, we have been hearing quite a little from a ranch known as Bender's Drink. Out west of town, about sixteen miles, you'll come to a dry wash. You go up that wash a mile, and around the second turn is a stone cabin, corral, two or three brush shacks and a log front, sod roof, a dugout in the side hill. A hard Dutchman, burly, flat faced and a broken talker, runs kind of a horse and mule market there, sells liquor—don't drink any of it—and keeps travelers. Don't sleep there; that is, both at the same time. Suppose you ride out. Your horses are travelworn and you can trade them in for the rest of your journey. Tell any one but us you're looking for Terry Deerbon?”

“Not a word. Saw you first.”

“Good! We'll mind our own business. Look things over. Perhaps you can buy a revolver you've seen before. Or a hat. What size was his head?”

“Same as mine, exactly. I'll leave my hat here. No! I'll lose it where I can find it again. Much obliged, Deck! We'll find out. Then what?”

“Come back and tell us—if you're sure. One way or the other. Understand, you can't make any mistakes. It'll be serious.”

“We understand perfectly,” Ream said. “We'll spend the night here. Go around to see the sights. We'll mention we need horses—good ones, reasonable say. That the way?”

“Fine. Red shirted fellows are plumb sure to suggest Yacupe's. Two are safer than one. But don't arouse suspicion—to make it look to be worth while—uh—to mob you.”

“Certainly. We're very short of money—want good horses, cheap.”

“Fine!”

“Hang Eye” Fritter of The Flower Bush said he understood Hank Yacupe had some good horses. This was confirmed from in front of the bar by “Ambling Pete” Covell, a red shirt and a bully, who told the inquirers how to find Yacupe's. In the morning, Covell joined them for the ride out to the ranch, just happening to be on his way in that direction and having in mind to buy some mules himself.

ANK YACUPE welcomed them. He had horses to sell, sure, but maybe not what such fine gentlemen would want; anyhow, they could look in the corral, after dinner, which wasn't so much, but was all ready.

A long table was set for fifteen around. Here sat men and women, two squaws, an Indian and a dandy, who ate with dainty gestures and of selected tidbits of birds, venison and cornbread.

“I say, Crease; huccome you killed that Yellow Vest Dorvis in Carson City!” some one inquired.

“A false, unjustified accusation of cheating, to tell the truth,” the dandy replied judicially. “He insulted my honor.”

“Knife?”

“Oh, no! Derringer,” the dandy replied. “I almost never do use the flashing blade. A knife's messy, you know!”

“Yeh, drips all over, for a fact,” one of the boys remarked, “but it comes off with a brush, for it dries fast in this country.”

The visitors wondered if this wasn't talk to impress them. They made no comments. Certainly, the group was made up of hard customers, swaggering but watchful. Ream sat across the table from Burvid, so that between them both could see in all directions. After eating, they went out to look over the corral of horses. Some of the animals were the finest they had seen. They traded, paying a remarkably small price to boot.

“I'd like a good revolver, if I could find one,” Ream suggested to Burvid in Yacupe's hearing.

“I haf some goot ones, pistols and newfangled shell guns,” the rancher said.

Yacupe brought out forty or fifty pounds of short guns, revolvers, pistols, belts, holsters and sheath knives among them. Burvid reached and dragged a beautifully sewed belt with scabbard and revolver, a relatively, new single action heavy model, cartridge cylinder weapon.

“This one,” Ream said. “How much?”

“Veil, forty dollar.”

Without a word Burvid paid the price. They two mounted their new horses and rode away at once. They came back to Buckshot, hitched their mounts in front of the Deck and Landers store and found the proprietors alone and unpacking a wagonload of cases.

“Well?” Deck inquired.

“Here is the revolver we gave Deerbon for luck!” Burvid choked.

“All right,” Deck nodded grimly. “We'll do something about it.”

Deck put on his hat and left the store, sauntering around, here and there to drink with certain quiet, self-contained men.

HAT night, two miles south of town, fourteen men met by a big rock, conspicuously white in the starlight.

“All here, all set!” some one remarked, and they rode westward.

At dawn they arrived at Bender's Drink. They swarmed into the main and outlying cabins.

“Yacupe!” Deck inquired, “where did you get this revolver and belt?”

“''Mein Gott! Mein Gott!”'' Yacupe wailed. “A committee!”

Of the nine men who were captured, five were allowed to go, as only half bad, or strangers. The women were herded in a corner of the room as the grim posse barked their questions. One of the four broke down. The killing had been with a blow on the head. The body was dragged up the ravine and hidden under a bank.

“All right, boys!” some one said. “It's a hanging!”

“My idee 'zactly!” another assented.

“Aye!” the others voted.

Without ceremony, two who fought were subdued with violence; Yacupe, whose legs refused to function, was dragged and the fourth man walked with head up, swaggering, his gray eyes taking a last look around that vast, bare, bleak land.

The corral gate had two uprights with a long arch pole over their forked tops, Yacupe having made the improvement with methodical skill. Four ropes were lashed over the beam, and nooses swung eight feet from the ground. Two wagons were backed up under the nooses; the four men lifted to the rear ends and the two who had been whimpering checked their sobs, taking a brace.

“Veil, boys, all right,” Yacupe said. “I get vat's to be my end.”

“This comes of bad company!” another young fellow said, choking. “Don't tell my mother what come to me! I drank and gambled.”

“Oh, I don't want to die! I don't want to die!” the third sobbed.

“Go to hell,” the fourth shouted, snarling his opinion of the committee. “Here goes nothing!”

The horses, at whose heads stood six men, were rearing to go. The men leaped aside. Long lashes fell upon the flanks of the four beasts, which sprang away. The defiant man who had struck the blow that killed Deerbon leaped in the air.

The committee stood around, smoking, chewing, taking a drink now and then.

Presently they mounted their horses to ride away. The women took the wagons and drove westward, and thereafter for a long time the chance passerby would see at the corral gate of Bender's Drink the stark, withering reminders that sometimes it wasn't healthy to kill a stranger from away back East.

title: The Horse Thief Rendezvous


text: Talk:The Horse Thief Rendezvous

title: Talk:The Horse Thief Rendezvous


text:
Page:The Nibelungenlied - tr. Shumway - 1909.pdf/99

Rh should go to court to meet her kin. This service was done from sheer delight. A great rout of joy and pleasure was daily seen in front of Gunther’s hall, without and eke within, from many a daring man. Ortwin and Hagen began to do great marvels. Whatever any wished to play, these lusty knights were fully ready; thus they became well known to all the guests and so the whole of Gunther’s land was decked with honor. Those who had lain wounded were now seen coming forth; they, too, would fain have pastime with the troop and guard themselves with bucklers and hurl the shaft. Enow there were to help them, for there was great store of men.

At the feasting the host bade purvey them with the best of cheer. He kept him free from every form of blame that might befall a king; men saw him move in friendly wise among his guests. He spake: “Ye worthy knights, ere ye go hence, pray take my gifts. I am minded to deserve it of you ever. Do not disdain my goods, the which I’ll share with you, as I have great desire.”

Then up spake they of Denmark: ”Ere we ride homeward to our land, we crave a lasting peace; we knights have need thereof, for many a one of our kinsmen lieth dead at the hands of your men-at-arms.”

Liudegast, the Saxon chief, was now cured of his wounds and had recovered from the fray, though many dead they left within this land. Then King Gunther went to find Sir Siegfried; to the knight he spake: “Now tell me what to do. Our foes would fain ride early and beg for lasting peace of me and of my men. Advise me now, Knight Siegfried, what thinketh thee


text:
Page:Eden Paul and Cedar Paul - Communism (1921).pdf/3

to-day signifies an organised attempt to overthrow the existing social order and to replace it by a better. Underlying this attempt are five main convictions:

First, that the capitalist system, though it has been a necessary stage in world civilisation, cannot possibly be the foundation of true civilisation.

Secondly, that the capitalist system is to-day in a state of extremely unstable equilibrium, that capitalism has become incapable of conducting its own affairs, that chaos is imminent—if it has not already begun.

Thirdly, that social stability, the possibility of order and progress, can only be regained by the establishment of communism through the dictatorship of the proletariat.

Fourthly, that the change must be revolutionary, that it will involve the seizure of power by unconstitutional means, that it will necessitate the forcible suppression of the counter-revolution.

Fifthly, that the overthrow of capitalism must be world-wide, that local revolutions will not suffice, that communism can be achieved in no other way than through realising the programme of the world revolution.

There are many additional implications, and most of them will be outlined in the sequel. But these five will do for a beginning, since they are the most vital characteristics of contemporary communism, and they are points upon which all who now call themselves communists are agreed. They serve at the outset to indicate an important feature of the communist revolution as contrasted with every previous revolution involving extensive changes in social structure, to wit, its fully conscious character. The passage from primitive communism to a slave-holding system was not brought about by a "slavist" movement. The change from slave-holding civilisation to feudalism was not consummated by a "feudalist" party. Only to an infinitesimal extent can the guild system of the medieval cities be regarded as the result of "guildism." To a quite minor degree it might be true to say that the bourgeois revolution resulted from a deliberate "capitalist movement." But in communism, for the first time in the world’s history, we see a profound social transformation in progress as the outcome of the creative revolutionary forces of the human mind. And the imagination which is thus realising itself in action, is not common to humanity at large. The creative force is the imagination of a class, the imagination of the revolutionary proletariat.


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Page:The Nibelungenlied - tr. Shumway - 1909.pdf/100

42 good to do? What the lordings offer me will I tell thee; what of gold five hundred steeds can bear, that would they gladly give me, and I set them free again.”

Then spake the mighty Siegfried: “That were done but ill. Let them ride hence unhindered, but make each of the lordings give surety with his hand, that their noble knights henceforth forbear all hostile riding hither to your land.”

“This counsel will I follow.” Herewith they parted, and to the king’s foes was told that no one craved the gold they proffered. For their loved friends at home the battle-weary warriors longed. Many a shield full of treasure was then brought forth which the king dealt out unweighed to his many friends, to each five hundred marks of gold, and to a few, still more. Gernot, the brave, had counseled Gunther this. Then they all took leave, sith they would hence. One saw the guests draw nigh to Kriemhild and also to where Dame Uta sate. Never yet were knights dismissed in better wise. Lodgings grew empty as they rode away, but still there stayed at home the king and all his kin and many a noble liegeman. Daily they were seen as they went to Lady Kriemhild. The good knight Siegfried now would likewise take his leave; he weened not to win that on which his mind was set. The king heard said that he would hence, but Giselher, the youth, quite won him from the journey.

“Whither would ye ride now, noble Siegfried? Pray tarry with the knights, I beg you, with Gunther the king and with his men. Here, too, are many comely dames whom we shall gladly let you see.”

Then spake the mighty Siegfried: “Let stand the


text:
The Romance of a Tan-bark Camp

HE STORY of “Bud” McCoy's is an old one in the Pennsylvania hemlock camp. It started, nobody knows when, not even Daddy Allen, upon Little Pine Creek in Marshal Carson's camp. But Daddy knew Bud when Bud was an old man, and that makes Daddy more important in Lycoming County than any other senior story-teller in a lumber camp. Perhaps Daddy's version of Bud's great Christmas is a little warped, but it is the most trustworthy one extant.

“It was all over that girl,” Daddy says. “She was Minervy Saunders from down Lockhaven way, and the prettiest that ever came up the pike to make dough gods for the Hicks & Buddy bark pitchers. She could do most anything—split wood, toss pan-cakes, darn socks, and many's the favor she did for the boys, only there wa'n't one could go bucking round her, let me tell you. She just was pretty and knowed the value of good looks. And the boys was all crazy because she wouldn't set her grabs to any one of them. She was steady, smilin', and so blamed good that inside of six weeks after she reached Dixon Graves's camp nine of a twenty-one-man crew were tending two o'clock Sunday meetin's up to the block house, eleven miles away. But nary a one of the nine was closter to Minervy, so fur's any body could see, for all that.

“But after a while it came to be seen that she drawed the line on liquor, and that thawed out eight besides five married men the first whack. And then them as was ig'orant and unmannerly comes in for the brush heap, on account of ripping out cuss words when there wa'n't no matter of cause. At last the up-shot of the whole business was that Bud McCoy and Handsome Frank Carole was all there was left who could draw bead to a smile on her lips when they had a pert word and a sheep's gaze to give her. That was a good thing for Boss Graves, for Carole was a ripper to work. He could drive a log down a hill with a twist and a shove of his hook where other men would sweat an hour, and now he just set in to lay Bud under the brush and pile the dirt on him.

“Bud wa'n't such a big sight working on a side hill. He could pull a saw all day steady, or fit logs to their best length and handiest for the boys to work at, or he could spud bark in peelin' time pretty fair; but side of Handsome Frank he wa'n't nothing to more'n look at him to see if he was still moving, from the Boss's standpoint; and it stood to reason that the girl would just be Handsome Frank's in no time, once she see how smart he was all round, for Frank was quite as good at winning the grace of a girl as he was at yanking the daylights out of logs pig-yokin'.

But some way er other Bud got to the down-grade quickest, and haul as he might Handsome Frank couldn't get sight of Bud in the girl's looks for a long while after the first start for the yard. There was a saying that in them days Bud didn't do any chain-breaking on the down grade, but just plumped right in, and got there before Handsome Frank had ketched his horses for the hold-back.

“Then there was some weeks of pulling and hauling. Handsome Frank was just getting raises in pay every time the boss laid eyes to him, while Bud just stood round waiting to do things for the girl. Even wiped dishes for her, they say, and more'n once went to camp sick, or pretending, so's to get a look at her. But this ain't to say he didn't try to earn his wages. Lord, no! Why, he lathered himself all the while, and done twice as much work as ever before, but it didn't look so. It seemed jest as though he wa'n't doing anything more'n to earn his board. The boss thought so, too, and one day there was a row. So Bud got fired out, and he went down to Roberts' job, where English town is.

“One ud think this ere was Handsome Frank's chanct, but 'twa'n't—at least, not right away. For Bud came running up every Sunday to see his sweetheart, arriving early and staying late. How he done it no man knows, for 'twas forty mile for the round trip.

“Week days he done good work too. Roberts liked him, made a boss out of him and set him and a gang to carrying tan bark off the hillsides down to the roads for loadin', and that wa'n't no such soft snap as 'tis nowadays. Scarcely! Why, a man had to put a hundred pounds of the stuff on his back and come sliding and pitching off the hill, and then do it over again. Many's the man broke his leg that way. Two right in Bud's own crew done it before the end of November, which was considerable with men so scarce as they was. But Bud had friends up to Graves's camp, and he filled out his crew in no time, while old Graves was sweating on frosty mornings lest he Shouldn't get his contract done by the fust of January, which would cost him a big pile, Stimson the tanner being pretty clost and sharp in his dealings.

“Along 'bout the middle of December it was plain to see that Roberts was ahead of time, and that Graves was coming in behind hand by 200 tons or more, 'less something happened, and happen it did, jest two days afore Christmas.

“Roberts had a clean-up that day. Every piece of bark the size of yer hand was tossed into the last rack with a yell, by Bud, and he pocketed his cash with a bonus, and a job offered for spring spuddin' and pine fellin', to begin in February. Then he headed for Graves's camp up stream. He got there Christmas Eve day, about noon, and sot down to dinner with the gang and et with the rest, same's as always, for Graves wa'n't that mad at him as to turn a fellow away from his sweetheart.

“But somethin' was in the laurels. Everybody see it to onct. Minervy jest didn't look at Bud and she filled Handsome Frank's cup twict for him full of tea while Bud's went cold in the grounds. Bud never let on then, but when the crews went up the hill he staid behind jest long enough for nine words and a cuff, as the saying is, and then he follered.

“'Graves,' said he, 'will ye give me a job?'

“Graves said 'yes,' for he'd heard of Bud's clean-up for Roberts, and Bud went to work good and hearty. But 'twa'n't no use. Graves see one man's back wa'n't much addition to a crew picking at 400 tons of bark, and that made him hot and swearing mad. All hands came in for it. Finally out ripped Graves 'bout three o'clock, and says: 'I'll give $100 to the man as plans the way to puttin' that 'ere bark onto sufficient sled racks before the fust of January!'

“He meant it, too; well, rather! Old Graves give $25 onct for moving one log out of a jam, and the boys all did a lot of figuring, but night came and nobody had been able to Yankee out of it; not even Handsome Frank, who had his share of brains with the rest.

“After supper Handsome Frank quit figuring. He stood up in the lobby.and stretched so's all could see, and then went into the kitchen. But Bud never noticed it. He jest kept whittling at some sticks he had in his fingers and was that interested that he talked out, forgetting his company. Says he:

“'So I'm kinder slow, be I; and I ain't much on the pullin' and haulin' end of the harness. Um—m, I'd druther—um—well, by ginger, here 'tis!'

“With that he ups and jumps and says:

“'Say, Mr. Graves,' says he, 'I'll take that 'ere hundred dollars for keepin' the teams all bark found!'

“'Ye will, eh?' said Graves with a jump. 'By ginger, yer welcome to it, if ye do it.'

“Then Bud and him went into the office and they was heard talkin' there till long after the boys had gone to bunk. There wa'n't going to be no Christmas in that camp, only just double wages if the boys 'ud work. Then 'bout ten o'clock Graves and Bud was heard hitchin' up two teams, and nobody knowed where they went to till late next day, when they came back with the sleds loaded down with hemlock boards an' some boxes atop.

“Graves sent word up to the hill to have the boys to knock off work, sayin' 'twas Christmas, and they'd celebrate. That was news, and they all came yelling down the road with such whoops as was never heard before. What it was had made the change from work to celebratin', and what them loads of lumber was for, nobody didn't know, and nobody didn't care. Some of them cut a big hemlock tree and it was set up in the dining-room, while Minervy and Graves's wife unpacked the boxes and hangs what was in 'em on the branches, and some of the boys went hunting and got a deer and five wild turkeys before they'd gone a mile. Such a smell of roasting meat and cooking cranberries and gen'rous spices you never did experience, I guess.

“Dinner was late that night, but there was no kicking nor grumbling. And when 'twas "bout to be called, they heard, way down the road, bells and voices. Ef 'twa'n't loads of girls and some fellows all the way from Waterville, with a fiddler and a flute, you may shoot me. We was all hungry and they was all hungry. We eat and et and ate, and then put in a load of chestnuts on top of it all, and topped off with good apple cider and good whiskey. Some sang and some jest hollered, they was that happy, while old Graves rubbed his hands and smacked his lips. It was plain to see he was plumb satisfied regardless of expense.

“Bud came and went 'mong the girls, with a grin and a laugh, in spite of his havin' been away with the team all the night before, and Minervy jest sort of went 'round, for she wa'n't so pert as usual, that night, and when Handsome Frank got to drinking and grew unsteady and boastful, she jest went and sot down in the corner alone.

“Of course Bud see it all, but he said nothing. He waited for Frank to git a little too far, which he did 'bout the third set of dancing. Frank 'lowed he could lick Bud with one hand, but Bud, being sober, had the advantage. He knocked Frank down and throwed him slick and clean out of doors. Everything went on after that jest the same's before.

“Onct in a while there was a little fight, and a little cussing; but 'twas a joyouser occasion than ever I heard of, especially when it came time for another supper. Then Bud was that weak that he jest went over side of Minervy and ast her to go to eat with him and she sealed the bargain with a round fat kiss and a little cry into it. 'Peared like she'd got an ijee of what Bud was up to—she'd seen he wa'n't so slow as she'd thought he was. Everybody hollers hurray! That 'ere couple led every set till daylight, after that, and even Handsome Frank with a swelled eye, sobered by the cold out doors, comes in and drinks to their health like a man.

“There was mittens and shirts and boots and everything on that 'ere tree for the boys, and they'd made shift to every one of them give the girl somethin', of course. It was a great day, that 'ere was, and more especially for those that carried bark on their backs.

“For Bud's idea was to slide that stuff down the hills 'stead of carryin' it down, and them hemlock boards was for troughs to make a chute out of. Bud was a benefit to man all right. I have heard tell of how that was the first time bark was ever chuted down a Pennsylvany mountain. Then 400 tons was put down in two days and Graves was out of a hole he never got into afterwards. And say, now; you'll bet Minervy never went back on Bud McCoy again? Um—m, ye hadn't better. A woman's pretty blamed uncertain. She married a store keeper down to Waterville, what she'd had a tiff with before ever she came up Little Pine Creek.”

title: The Romance of a Tan-bark Camp


text: Talk:The Romance of a Tan-bark Camp

title: Talk:The Romance of a Tan-bark Camp


text: Page:The Recluse by W Paul Cook.djvu/75

title: Page:The Recluse by W Paul Cook.djvu/75


text:
Page:The Nibelungenlied - tr. Shumway - 1909.pdf/101

Rh steeds. I listed to ride hence, but now will I desist. The shields, too, bear away. To my land I craved to go, in truth, but Giselher with his great love hath turned me from it.”

So the valiant knight stayed on to please his friends, nor could he have fared more gentilly in any land. This happed because he daily saw Kriemhild, the fair; for the sake of her unmeasured beauty the lording stayed. With many a pastime they whiled the hours away, but still her love constrained him and often gave him dole. Because of this same love in later days the valiant knight lay pitiful in death.


text: The Recluse (Cook)/Ballad of St. Anthony


text:
Page:Eden Paul and Cedar Paul - Communism (1921).pdf/4

In the remote perspectives of history, the epochs of civilisation based upon ownership rule will probably be regarded as the outcome of temporary mental aberration. Not, of course, by profound students of the philosophy of history; but by the average man, to whom communism will seem to have been always the pre-eminently "natural" social order. Production has invariably been social; only in respect of distribution has civilised man departed from the simplicity of early days. Originally men lived in small self-sufficing hordes or clans. Whether the clan consisted of hunters, fishers, or agriculturists, mattered not; its members were practising communists. As communists, many savage and semi-savage tribes have continued to exist down to recent days, and their hospitality has always been a marvel to civilised travellers. They share their poverty and their riches even with strangers. The inhabitants of Easter Island invited Captain Cook's companions to share their scanty meal. Darwin reports that the Fuegians, when given a piece of cloth, practised the somewhat unthrifty method of tearing it into small pieces and sharing it out, so that no man might be richer than his neighbour. Livingstone records the universal hospitality of the African tribes in his day. The like communism, among themselves and towards strangers, is met with in out-of-the-way parts of many capitalist countries. I he present writers have enjoyed its fruits even since the war, on tramp in the north-west of Scotland, in the Welsh mountains, and among the cottars and small farmers of Devon and Cornwall. Man is not "naturally" the arch-individualist of the bourgeois economists. He has his egoistic impulses, doubtless; but he is likewise "naturally" a communist, and the communist trend has continually been manifesting itself in all regions and throughout the history of civilisation.

One notable, instance of the communist trend has been the reiterated writing of communist utopias. Some of the greatest books in the history of literature have been works of this kind. Men of all nations have contributed their quota, placing their imaginary commonwealth, now in some inaccessible or fictitious part of the earth's surface, now upon a sister planet. The first and with one exception the most famous book of this character was Plato's Republic. The exception, of course, is More's Utopia, which gives its name to the whole series. The work of an Englishman, it was penned in Latin, but is available in nearly all European languages. Neither of these celebrated books, though both are well worth reading, really touches the more thorny problems which confront the modern builder of an imaginary society. Four noted recent specimens of the utopian romance were written in the English tongue: Edward Bellamy's Looking Backward (1887) Wilhiam Morris' News from Nowhere (1891); W. D. Howell's A Traveller from Altruria (1894); and H. G. Wells' A Modern Utopia (1905). Interesting though all these books are,