IN THE EAR WEST.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2404, 19 December 1881, Page 4

IN THE EAR WEST.

BBCOLLBOTIOHS OB 1188 OH THE FBOHTXBB, [‘‘Detroit Free Press.”] The first time I met old Sam Manson I regarded him as a human curiosity. He measures six feet two in his moccasins, is slim as an overland telegraph pole ; his hair hangs in rat-tail order down over a buckskin hunting shirt begrimed with the accumulated dirt of years ; and he is so oross-eyed that when one of his optics calmly gazes upon the beaut es of a mountain sunset in the west, the other roams antrammoled over the snow-clad peaks in the east range. He is what is known n the mountains as a squaw man, having years ago won tho affections of an Arrapahoe woman, and taken her into bis heart and home.

When I first met him in ’69 I was with a hunting party of Eastern tourists in camp on Indian Creek, on the borders of the North Park of Colorado. Wo had just eaten supper, and wore disposing ourselves comfortably on our blankets for a smoke ard chat, when Bam came riding up upon the most dilapidated specimen of mule flesh that ever awoke tho echoes with an asthmatic bray. It was a venerable animal and wore upon its timemarked face that look of quiet dignity which age ever infuses into animals of that species. Blind of an eye, but a tapering spike where once hung a bushy tail, one ear erect and pointing proudly at the heavens and the other drooping down beneath a depression of spirits or something of that sort, the hair worn from its body in numerous places, and every rib and boos standing out in startling prominence, the strange animal presented an appearance that would at once attract the attention of any artist looking for a model for a picture of antiquated animal life. With a long-drawn out ‘ Wboa-oa Jerusalem!’ he reined up and dismounted a few feet from where we lay, and as we arose to welcome him, said—- ‘ Don’t git too olus to Jerusalem’s heels, gents, or there's liable to be a wake in the camp.’ ‘ Is he a kicker ?’ I asked.

‘ A kicker ? Pardner, thar’s bin some kickin’ meweis in these mountings that war holy terrors, but none on ’em could ever flirt a hoof with Jerusalem. W’en this critter lets go a leg sumthin’s goin’ ter be demolished every time. Ho come of a kickin’ family, an* you kin just bctjyor life agin a b’ar skin that he’s again’ to hold up the family reputation as long as he lives, an’ I reckon he’s good fur sev’ral y’ars yit.’ ‘ How old is the animal, uncle ? He looks like he might be classed as a patriarch among four-footed beasts.’

‘ Wal, pardcer, thar’a some difference of opinion regardin’ the length o’ time he’o graced this airth. Thar’s some settlers up my way thet claim he ain’t more’n five or six hundred years old, but I’m willin’ to bet my hope o’ glory agin a jack-knife thet Jerusalem war’ once one o’ the chosen ones thet tuk a trip with Noah in the ark. If I war’ just 88 sure of connectin’ on heaven ua I am thet this animilo floated around in thet shower I could hear the harps a-twangin’ now. W’at braces me up in this opinion air the fact that every time it begins to rain the old cuss gits oncasy an’ lights out fur the top of’ some hill. I had him over on the Big Horn the time the sogers came up in a boat, an’ the minit the old coot seed that boat a floating in the water he looked up at the clouds ter see if thar’ war’ a storm coming’ up. It happened ter look likorain that day, an’ ding my eyes ef he didn’t let out a snort of alarm, an’ in spite of all I could do he tuk to the water, with mo on his back, an’ swam out to that boat. Tho sogers had to boat bim off wi* the butts o’ their guns afore I could steer him ashore agin. Who-a-a, Jerusalem! Please atan’ back thar’ a loetle, mister, or thar’s liable ter bo a shower o’ flesh over in Utah in about three minutes!” The last remark was addressed to one of the party who had moved around to the rear of the animal, and was contemplating his wonderful make up. Resuming tho conversation, I said—- * 3o you think he was on the Ark, then ?’ ‘ I do, but I reckon at the time he war’ oaiy a kid and knowed mighty little about the proper use o’ bis heels. If he’d a possessed the accomplishments then that he aces now, this airth would be a howlin’ waste, fur he’d a converted that air ark into kindlin’ wood an a drownded every critter on board afore they’d bin afloat ton minutes. I tried ter break him o’ the habit once, but after the trial I jest give up and settled down to the opinion that ho was the champion kicker o’ the world. ‘ Aforo goin’ to bod one night I backed him up to a barricade o’ logs that I’d deed for 'im. It war’ four feet high, twelve feet fong and about seven feet thick, the logs bein’ hound together with rawhide thongs. When I hacked the old snoozer up he looked around sideways an’ appeared to know jest w’at the barricade war’ there fur. Ho turned loose on it an’ I went to bed, an’ fur three hours I lay thar’ an’ listened to the fool a whackin’ eway, makin’ a fair average o’ twenty kicks to the minute. Finally I went to sleep, an’ w’an I woke up in tne mornin’ all war’ as still the death. I got up expectin’ to find «ither a dead mule or a penitent one, but when I opened the cabin door tho logs war’ gone an’ thar’ stood this identical critter in sawdust np to his knees a boldin’ up one bind foot an’ a farmin' it with his off ear. If you don’t believe it just come over to my ranch on Snake Eiver an’ 1:11 show yon the saw* dost,’ The old man remained with ns for two hours, and the foregoing is but a sample of perhaps a dozen stones with which he regaled oar ears ere mounting his ancient animal and •getting oat for his borne on tho Snake.