Rocky Mountain Sam — page 180: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ROCKY MOUNTAIN SAM. 171 his search, who with a number of officers, was one of a group listening to Rocky Mountain Sam’s description of his mid-air exploits. Mr. Rafferty had borne his children homeward to relieve the anxiety of their mother, and Teddy, at first quite dis- consolate at the loss of Miss Norah’s society, was now spin- ning his yarns at the butler’sstore, and getting drunk from frequent potations as rapidly as could be expected under the circumstances. The ‘‘general,” as he was called, a bluff old frontiers- man, who had spent three-fourths of an eventful life in the wilderness, and was of considerable consequence among his rude neighbors—upon being apprised of the nature of the professor's request, responded most heartily. ‘‘Blood-hounds!” he exclaimed. ‘‘I’ve got two dozen of "em, either one of which can rip the backbone out of a buffaler in two minutes by the watch, an’ you can have all you can carry under your gas-bag. An’ if you want more > gas, why there’s a canon five miles beyant my house that smells loud enough to warrant its holding all the gas in creation. Jist fill up there in the morning, and then drop down on my place for breakfast, and I'll show you the animiles.”’ | At an early hour on the following morning the balloon descended into one of the corrals connected with the general’s ranch, where they found him, together with a number of his men, waiting to receive them. _* Welcome, my hearties!” cried the proprietor of the estate, most heartily, when the balloon was fairly anchored and the occupants of the car had stepped out upon the ground. ‘‘We have already prepared a rousing breakfast for ye, and after that we’ll proceed to business an’ take a look at the pups.” The guests and others were soon seated before a substantial and appetizing repast, and did ample justice to the excel- lence of the meal, while the host enlivened our friends by an apparently inexhaustible fund of anecdotes relating to the wild pioneer life he had so many years been leading. «<So you see from a hunter I became a trapper, and from a trapper I became a ranchman, an’ gradually grew rich for one in this ’ere Heaven-deserted, God-forsaken region,” said he, in winding up a cursory sketch of his general history, ‘T’ve allers gone in on the principle of not keering a cuss for Comicbooks (ee)