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Updated: June 1, 2025
Another moment and Buck Tom was gone. Before the company in the tavern had quite recovered the use of their tongues, the hoofs of his horse were heard rattling along the road which led in the direction of Traitor's Trap. "Was that really Buck Tom?" asked Hunky Ben, in some surprise. "Ay or his ghost," answered the landlord.
I assured her that everything was "hunky doory" at home, praised the telephone service, my expedition to town, and painted my return ride with "the honest farmer" in glowing terms. I was suddenly halted in my eulogy by becoming aware of an amazed expression on my wife's countenance, a most suspicious glance in Beth's wide-open eyes, and a very knowing wink from Rob.
"'Glad to know him, says I, 'but in his present condition he reminds me of the joke Shakespeare got off on Julius Cæsar. We might say about your friend: "'Imperious What's-his-name, dead and turned to stone No use to write or call him on the 'phone. "'Hunky, says High Jack Snakefeeder, looking at me funny, 'do you believe in reincarnation?
"No doubt that's true, Captain," said Jake, as he ladled the soup into his capacious mouth; "nevertheless we met Hunky Ben on the pine-river prairie scourin' over the turf like all possessed on Black Polly. We stopped him of course an' asked the news." "`News! cried he, `why, the Redskins have dug up the hatchet an' riz like one man.
At the first sight of the troops they fled, and in a few minutes pursued and pursuers alike were out of sight hidden behind the prairie waves. "I can't tell you how thankful I am that I didn't shoot the mare," said Dick, as they unfastened the feet of Black Polly and let her rise. "I'd never have been able to look Hunky Ben in the face again arter it."
"Do you belong to the tribe that killed this white man?" said Hunky Ben, whose knowledge of most of the Indian dialects rendered him the fitting spokesman of the party. "I do," answered the Indian in a stern yet quavering voice that seemed very pitiful, for it was evident that the old man thought his last hour had come, and that he had made up his mind to die as became a dauntless Indian brave.
Quebeck is full of stone walls, and arches, and citadels and things. It is said no foe could ever git into Quebeck, and I guess they couldn't. And I don't see what they'd WANT to get in there for. Quebeck has seen lively times in a warlike way. The French and Britishers had a set-to there in 1759. JIM WOLFE commanded the latters, and JO. MONTCALM the formers. Both were hunky boys, and fit nobly.
Peter Drummond, far in the van, was waving a newspaper like a victorious banner. "All's right now, Cass, old man!" he panted as he stopped before Cass and shoved back his eager followers. "What's all right?" asked Cass, dubiously. "You! You kin rake down the pile now. You're hunky! You're on velvet. Listen!" He opened the newspaper and read, with annoying deliberation, as follows:
Sufficient that it was the cry of a living being in distress. He sprang at once through the open doorway of the saloon, through which was issuing a volume of thick smoke, mingled with flame. "God help him! the place'll blow up in a few minutes," cried Hunky Ben, losing, for once, his imperturbable coolness, and rushing wildly after his friend.
At the same time, throwing back his hood and flinging away the horse-cloth, he stood up and smiled. "Hunky Ben, or his ghost!" exclaimed Shank, forgetting his indignation in his amazement. "You're right, young man, though you've only see'd me once that I know of. But most men that see me once are apt to remember me."
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