United States or Haiti ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !


I had as big a fee there only two days ago as ever I received when I was practising in London." The company looked up in astonishment, but like Brer Rabbit, I lay low to see if they cared for an explanation. I thought I saw a twinkle in my critic's eye as it caught mine. "Go ahead," was all that he said, however. Deep-Water "Crik," we call it. About half a dozen fishermen's families live there.

He thess went down to the crik, an' washed the soot off his face, though they say he didn't no more 'n smear it round, an' then he went down to Miss Phoebe's school, an' stayed there till it was out. An' she took him out to the well, an' washed his face good for him. But nex' day he up an' went back to Mr.

"`Damn ye! what are ye hollowin' about? cried the voice. "I again shouted `Holloa! "`Who the hell's thar? inquired the voice. "`Casey! I called back, recognising the voice as that of a neighbour who lives up the crik; `for God's sake this way. "`I'm a-comin', he replied; `'Taint so easy to get through hyar that you, Redwood? What the hell's the matter? Damn this brush!

The "ten mile down da crik" proved to be long ones; but throughout the whole distance I saw not a creature, until I had arrived within a mile or so of the "settlement!" I had been already apprised that Swampville was a new place. Its fame had not yet reached the eastern world; and even in Nashville was it unknown, except, perhaps, to the Land-Office.

The skrimmage tuk place on the crik, whar we foun' them camped. It didn't last long; an' arter 'twere eended, lookin' about among thar bodies, we foun' thar beauty o' a chief wi' this gun upon his parson, tight clutched in the death-grup. Soon's seeing it I know'd 'twar yourn; an' in coorse surspected ye'd had some mischance. Still, the gun kedn't gie us any informashun o' how you'd parted wi' it.

Thar's places whar the trace is a'most blind, and you mout get out o' it. Thar'll be no moon on it. It runs through a thick timbered bottom, an' thar's an ugly bit o' swamp. As for the lateness, I'm not very reg'lar in my hours; an' thar's a sort o' road up the crik by which I can get home. 'Twan't to bid you good-night, that I stopped here."

For that purpiss we've come express all the way from Peecawn Crik. An' as I know'd you had a kindly feelin' for yur ole shootin'- iron, I've brought that along to lay it in the grave aside o' ye." While speaking, Cully slips out of his saddle and gives his old comrade a true prairie embrace, at the same time handing him his gun.

Den one night we comin' back to camp, old boss feel good. Skeep along lak small sheep. By gar, he's feel too good! He's fall in crik. Dat's noting. No! Good fire, plenty blanket make dat all right. But dat night I hear de ole boss groan, and cry, and turn overe and overe. Light de fire; give him one big drink wheesky. No good. He's go bad all dat night. Nex' day he's het noting.

After a pause, "That seems right," said the Elder; "thar' ain't nothin' agen that." "But you've ploughed and raised crops on the Indian land across the crik," objected Morris; "we all hev. Air we to give it up?" There was no answer. "Anyway," Morris continued, "Custer's at Wichita now.

Then only a "darkey" with an ox-cart loaded with wood; but, despairing of information from such a source, I declined detaining him. The only intelligence I was able to draw from the negro was that; "da `city' o' Swampville, massr, he lay 'bout ten mile furrer down da crik."