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Updated: June 12, 2025
But Ralph emptied the paper, and laid the board over the chimney. What a row there was inside! The benches that were braced against the door were thrown down, and Hank Banta rushed out, rubbing his eyes, coughing frantically, and sure that he had been blown up. All the rest followed, Bud bringing up the rear sulkily, but coughing and sneezing for dear life.
This hint was not lost on Ralph, who speedily changed his quarters by climbing up to a secluded, shelf-like ledge above the spring. He was none too soon, for Pete Jones and Hank Banta were soon looking all around the spring for him, while he held a twenty-pound stone over their heads ready to drop upon them in case they should think of looking on the ledge above.
Lieutenant Samuel Banta of the Franklin Street company, discovering the pipe that had just been held by Fireman Quinn at a Park Place fire thrashing aimlessly about, looked about him, and saw Quinn floating on his face in the cellar, which was running full of water. He had been overcome, had tumbled in, and was then drowning, with the fire raging above and alongside.
"Oh, yes; I know," broke in the Bonnie Lassie, who can be quite ruthless where Art is concerned, "and you know; but time flies and hell is paved with good intentions, and if you want to be that kind of a pavement artist well, I think Peter Quick Banta is a better." "Do you suppose she'd let me paint her?" he asked abruptly.
I lead them to the sidewalk fronting Thornsen's Élite Restaurant. There stood Peter Quick Banta, admiring his latest masterpiece of imaginative symbolism. It represented a love-bird of eagle size holding in its powerful beak a scroll with a wreath of forget-me-nots on one end and of orange-blossoms on the other, encircling respectively the initials.
"Oh! no, sir; but Hank Banta, you know " and Shocky took another breathing spell, standing as dose to Ralph as he could, for poor Shocky got all his sunshine from the master's presence. "Has Henry fallen in and got a ducking, Shocky?" "Oh! no, sir; he wants to git you in, you see." "Well, I won't go in, though, Shocky."
A.F. Banta started a weekly newspaper, "The Pioneer Press," soon after occupation of the townsite, this journal in January, 1883, bought by Mormons and edited by M.P. Romney. Wild Celebration of St. John's Day There was a wild time in St. Johns on the day of the Mexican population's patron saint, San Juan, June 24, 1882, when Nat Greer and a band of Texas cowboys entered the Mexican town.
As for Henry Banta, he was too much bothered to get the answer to a "sum" he was doing, to remember anything about his trap. In fact, he had quite forgotten that half an hour ago in the all-absorbing employment of drawing ugly pictures on his slate and coaxing Betsey Short to giggle by showing them slyly across the school-room.
Banta was the first postmaster, in Becker's store. The first Mormons on the ground, in February, 1879, were Jens Skousen, Peter J. Christofferson and Jas. L. Robertson, from St. Joseph. Soon thereafter came Wm. J. Flake, with more cows available for trade, giving forty of them to one York, for a planted grain field. Flake did not remain.
He then, I regret to say, spat upon the purple whiskers of the butterfly and took refuge in flight. The long stride of Peter Quick Banta soon overtook him. Silently struggling he was haled back to the profaned temple of Art. "Now, young feller," said Peter Quick Banta. "Maybe you think you could do it better." The world-old retort of the creative artist to his critic!
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