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On A Donkey's Hurricane Deck

<h3>CHAPTER XXIV. Pod hires a valet</h3> TOC BY PYE POD. <div class="poembox"> "Why, Toby's nought but a mongrel; there's nought to look at in her." But I says to him, "Why, what are you yoursen but a mongrel? There wasn't much pickin' o' your feyther an' mother, to look at you." Not but what I like a bit o' breed myself, but I can't abide to see one cur grinnin' at another.<cite>—Mill on the Floss.</cite> </div> The good old black mammy, who made my acquaintance on the street, called upon me at the hotel to present me with a little dog. I thanked her, and told her that one dog was all I could take care of; whereupon she argued that I should visit the Indian Reservation at Tama City, and if I presented a dog to the Chief that I would be royally received. A good idea; I wondered it had not occurred to me. I accepted the dog. An hour later I came near being arrested for promoting a dog fight in defiance of the law. Don was generous, however, and left a little of the cur for the Indian Chief, but next morning the sight of a bandaged and plastered dog being dragged behind my outfit was gruesome indeed. This is how I managed the dogs. I chained Don to one end of an eight-foot pole, and the mongrel to the other, so that the dogs could not get closer than four feet. Then I chained Don to the saddle-horn. I hoped to reach the town of DeWitt before dark. Everything went smoothly and I was congratulating myself on getting out of the city without a mishap, when, suddenly, both dogs leaped to the opposite side of my donkey in the effort to reach a cat basking in the sun. The pole yoke caught Mac's hind legs and upset us, almost causing a runaway. This and other incidents delayed me many hours. On arriving at the village tavern, "The Farmers' Home," I was agreeably surprised to find the landlord not so much out of spirits as I. A "night cap," then to bed. Next day I rode sixteen miles, through the beautiful farming country to Wheatland. Nature was arrayed in Sabbath attire, and no sermon could have inpressed me more than the pure, sweet voicings of God's creation. Graceful turtle-doves, always in pairs, flitted in mid-air; bevies of quail whistled in the meadows and ditches; flying-squirrels, half winged, half jumped from tree to tree; and coy Norwegian girls scampered indoors as my "mountain canaries" now and then joined in a carol. Just before entering town a gay cotton-tail rabbit shied at my pistol ball, allowing the ball to graze a calf grazing in the field beyond, to wing a pigeon on a barn further on, and eventually to announce my advent to the towns-folk in a most singular manner. When I arrived, the church bell was faintly tolling, and a crowd of people were staring wild-eyed at the belfry tower. I inquired of a countryman what was up. "Blamed if I know," said the sexton; "I was jest settin' down to feed, when sudden I heard a sharp clang of the church bell. Sounded like it was hit with a hammer. Whole hour before church, and the doors are locked. Now I'd like to know what sot that bell to chantin'." "Go up and find out," I said. "Not on yer life," he replied. "You may think us folks superstitious—well, we are. Lots of queer things happen in this town." When I reached the privacy of my room, I did a good deal of thinking; but whichever way I reasoned I arrived at one conclusion. My pistol ball must have struck the bell after calling on the calf and the pigeon. It was merely a chant's shot. The landlord of the Siegmund Hotel did not venture close enough to shake hands. "Doos them dogs bite—yes?" he asked from the veranda. "No," I answered, "they won't bite you and me, but they are very fond of each other." Don looked up at me appealingly, as if he thought he had been persecuted. When the donkeys and the mongrel were in the barn, I turned Don loose. He was tickled, and ran round the barn three times, jumped over the hen-coop, upset the landlord, and then chased the house cat so that it climbed to the top of the hotel chimney. Most extraordinary dog; no common pastime satisfied him. The hilly country I was now entering made it necessary for me to walk half the time, as a precaution against wearing out my animals. But the air was sweet with lilac, tulip, violet and apple blossoms; blue and red and yellow birds serenaded me as I passed, all making me feel somewhat repaid for my winter hardships. The main street of Mechanicsville was beautifully shaded, and along the road-side was a tempting pasture for ruminating animals. As I rode along and admired the scenes, I recalled a sentence from the Scriptures: "Whatsoever cheweth the cud that shall ye eat." To the right, in the cool shade, reclined a gentle-eyed cow, chewing her cud; to the left, at the base of a magnificent tree, sat a pretty bloomer girl beside her bicycle, also chewing. I was puzzled. On reaching Mount Vernon, I discovered, after diligent inquiries, that Washington had never been there, dead or alive. Cornell College, for boys and girls, distinguishes the place as a seat of learning, and the students showed an abnormal appetite for knowledge by purchasing my books and photos. A few miles west I crossed a ridge of wooded hills, descended into a lovely vale, crossed Cedar River, and drew rein at Bertram, a mountain town consisting of a railroad station, side track, tavern, store, and two to three houses. From Bertram we mounted another and still higher ridge, from the summit of which I could see the great verdant valley, and, winding about it, a spiral cloud of smoke from the busy city of Cedar Rapids, where I arrived at six o'clock. That evening, after a lapse of nine years, I met my old friend, Steve D——, who once had tramped Switzerland with me. After I had explained the cause of my unique pilgrimage and each had given an account of himself, he planned for me a pleasant two days' sojourn, and suggested it was time I had a useful traveling companion. As I moved westward, the towns would be farther apart and I would have to camp often on the highway. The services of an able and trusty man would save me much time. Steve said he would try to find him. Cedar Rapids contains some of the largest oatmeal factories in the country. I met through my friend several pleasant people, dined with his family, and was tendered a spread at the Grand Hotel, to which a few of his friends were invited. Meanwhile I found the man I was looking for. He was about twenty, had been night porter in a hotel, and was well recommended. Twice I refused him because of his apparent inexperience in "roughing it," but I was won over by his persistence at the third call. He said his name was "Coonskin," and Wisconsin the State of his nativity. His attainments were something extraordinary. He could sling a Saratoga trunk into a first story window; had painted the highest church steeples, and broken the wildest horses; could skin all kinds of game, and, with equal facility, could "skin the cat;" in fact, he had made an enviable record in athletics, and had won several championships for sprints. He could swim like a frog, and, as for shooting, his comrades couldn't touch him with any kind of a gun. He was never ill, and had stood all kinds of exposures from hanging all night on a church steeple after his ladder had fallen, to riding on the trucks of a baggage car, as the result of the disbanding of a theatre troupe. This Coonskin was a wonderful combination of resources; he was the very man I wanted. He wished to go with me for fun and experience, and was perfectly satisfied if I would defray his expenses. I took Coonskin at once to make the acquaintance of Mac, Cheese, Don, and the mongrel, and to be assigned to his duties. At nine o'clock the morning of our departure, he called at the hotel with a small bundle done up in a red handkerchief, and wearing a new pair of shoes. "What have you in that bundle?" I asked. "Everything." "Extra suit of clothes?" "Yep—and patches for emergency." "Extra shoes already broken to your feet?" "Yep—and chloride-of-lime and extra socks." "Brush and comb and tooth brush?" "Yep—and corn plasters and curry-comb." "Extra suit of underwear and handkerchiefs?" "Yep. Pajandrums, too." I smiled in astonishment, so small was the bundle. "Well done," said I, "after this you shall do all my packing." I was gratified to note Coonskin's quick perception, his alertness to obey, and his capacity for memorizing. He did not have to be told a thing more than three times before understanding it, and his lively interest in my welfare manifested itself at the start. When I went to the stable at eleven o'clock, I found he had added to my itinerant kennel a bull terrier, which took to Don as fondly as Don had taken to the mongrel. I remonstrated. "The more dogs you offer the Indian Chief, the bigger time he will give you," said my valet. "Better keep the terrier; I'll preserve harmony." Glad to shift some of my responsibilities to the broad shoulders of this young genius, I returned to the hotel and dressed for luncheon. You may imagine how my heart was set aflutter when luncheon over, my valet rapped on the door and, venturing a foot in the room, said, with the courtliness of a Sancho Panza, "Your highness' donkeys and dogs are at the door." My guests were as much amused as I, and accompanied me to the street, where a crowd had assembled. I shall never forget the expression on my old friend's face when he saw the dogs yoked together. A second pole had been brought into use, and, Don and the mongrel having become reconciled, the bull terrier was made a sort of pivot round which revolved the other two, a mean dog between two extremes. Coonskin said at first he had made the little mongrel act as the pivotal dog, but he had no sooner left the animals than Don and Towser swung round and clinched in pugilistic style, and, had it not been for the efficacy of the stable hose, with all hands at the pump, the mongrel would have soon been converted into sausage. It was nineteen miles to the village of Norway; we did not arrive there till eleven at night. Once or twice on the way Coonskin was prevailed upon to relieve me in the saddle for a couple of miles; but although his new shoes were paining him, as I could see from his gait, he was too "game" to admit it, and whenever I asked him to ride, protested that walking wasn't a circumstance with him. He would rather walk than eat. We found Norway asleep. After assisting Coonskin to stable the donks and secure the dogs, I perused a newspaper while my young neophyte went out to smoke. When he limped in, I noticed his coat pocket bulged with something he would conceal. I did not question him. But before retiring, I opened his door to give him orders for the morrow, and found him dressing his feet with Indian ointment, which he admitted he had procured from the village druggist. He had with difficulty aroused the man from slumber, in consequence of which he was made to pay double price for his cure. Coonskin was somewhat embarrassed, but I praised his pluck in glowing terms, and put him at ease. Next day he was ready to take advice, by wearing his old shoes and riding most of the journey. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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