Dow's Flat. That's its name. For thar isn't a man on the river as can't spot the place at first view. It was called after Dow, Which the same was an ass; Thet the thing kem to pass, Just tie up your hoss to that buckeye, and sit ye down here in the grass. You see this yer Dow Hed the worst kind of luck; He slipped up somehow On each thing thet he struck. Why, ef he'd a' straddled that fence-rail the derned thing 'ed get up and buck. He mined on the bar Till he couldn't pay rates; He was smashed by a car When he tunnelled with Bates; And right on the top of his trouble kem his wife and five kids from the States. It was rough,- mighty rough; But the boys they stood by, And they brought him the stuff And the old woman, was nigh. well, she did washing, and took on when no one But this yer luck of Dow's Was so powerful mean That the spring near his house Dried right up on the green; And he sunk forty feet down for water, but nary a drop to be seen. Then the bar petered out, And the boys wouldn't stay; But Dow, in his well, kept a peggin' in his usual ridikilous way. With a shovel and pick on his shoulder, and a derringer hid in his breast. He goes to the well, And he stands on the brink, And stops for a spell Jest to listen and think: For the sun in his eyes (jest like this, sir!), you see, kinder made the cuss blink. His two ragged gals In the gulch were at play, And a gownd that was Sal's Not much for a man to be leavin', but his all,- as I've heer'd the folks say. Let's see, well, that forty-foot grave wasn't his, sir, that day, anyhow. For a blow of his pick Sorter caved in the side, And he looked and turned sick, Then he trembled and cried; For you see the dern cuss had struck- "Water ?"- Beg your parding, young man, there you lied! It was gold, in the quartz, And I reckon five oughts Was the worth of that strike; And that house with the coopilow's his'n, - which the same isn't bad for a Pike. Thet's why it's Dow's Flat; And the thing of it is That he kinder got that Through sheer contrairiness: For 'twas water the derned cuss was seekin', and his luck made him certain to miss. Thet's so. Thar's your way To the left of yon tree; But-a-look h'yur, say, Won't you come up to tea? No? Well, then the next time you're passin'; and ask after Dow, - and thet's me. PLAIN LANGUAGE FROM TRUTH- | But he smiled as he sat by the table, But the floor it was strewed, Like the leaves on the strand, With the cards that Ah Sin had been hiding In the game "he did not under- Which is why I remark, I DON'T go much on religion, And free-will, and that sort of thing, But I b'lieve in God and the angels, Ever sence one night last spring. At last we struck hosses and wagon, Snowed under a soft white mound, Upsot, dead beat, but of little Gabe No hide nor hair was found. And here all hope soured on me, Of my fellow-critter's aid, I jest flopped down on my marrowbones, Crotch-deep in the snow, and prayed. I come into town with some turnips, By this, the torches was played out, And my little Gabe came along, No four-year-old in the county Could beat him for pretty and strong, Peart and chipper and sassy, Always ready to swear and fight, And I'd larnt him to chaw terbacker Jest to keep his milk-teeth white. The snow come down like a blanket As I passed by Taggart's store; I went in for a jug of molasses And left the team at the door. They scared at something and start ed, I heard one little squall, And hell-to-split over the prairie, Went team, Little Breeches and all. Hell-to-split over the prairie! I was almost froze with skeer; But we rousted up some torches, And sarched for 'em far and near. And me and Isrul Parr Went off for some wood to a sheepfold That he said was somewhar thar. The Movastar was a better boat, passed. And so she came tearin' along that night The oldest craft on the lineWith a nigger squat on her safetyvalve, And her furnace crammed, rosin and pine. The fire burst out as she clared the bar, And burnt a hole in the night, And quick as a flash she turned, and made For that willer-bank on the right. There was runnin' and cursin', but Jim yelled out, Over all the infernal roar, "I'll hold her nozzle agin the bank Till the last galoot's ashore." Through the hot, black breath of the burnin' boat Jim Bludso's voice was heard, And they all had trust in his cussedness, And knowed he would keep his word. And sure's you're born, they all got off Afore the smokestacks fell, And this was all the religion he And Bludso's ghost went up alone had, To treat his engine well; Never be passed on the river To mind the pilot's bell; And if ever the Prairie Belle took fire, A thousand times he swore, He'd hold her nozzle agin the bank Till the last soul got ashore. In the smoke of the Prairie Belle. He weren't no saint, but at jedgment I'd run my chance with Jim, 'Longside of some pious gentlemen That wouldn't shook hands with him. He seen his duty, a dead-sure thing,And went for it thar and then; All boats has their day on the Mis- And Christ ain't a going to be too hard On a man that died for men. |