x
William T. Cox's
“ T H E    H O D A G    A N D   O T H E R   T A L E S    O F   T H E   L O G G I N G   C A M P S ”
(  90th  A N N I V E R S A R Y    H Y P E R T E X T   E D I T I O N  )
x
x
Russian man, tail two feet tick and long as ral fence. And such movement, I skal not dream afore.
    Dis moon from skay, she bane scare too, she bane yump behind cloud and yump in again. Dis dog Ole, he bane run to Christine. Val I gif gude prayer to de god of good viking, and de vorld, she seem to burst. I cannot say in jankee vat I saw, but it shmel’ lak sulphur, fire and shmoke. My ear and eye, dey don’t seem mine.
    Val, I hear moan and den I see a burst of flame, a jell lak tousand cat call from hell. De ground, she yump in my face, my nose, she bane on fire, a long jell and I lay on ground and smell so bad. And den I kneel and moon coom out and I tank, ‘viii dese leg stan’ oop for Swan?’ Dis moan, she coom from some one. I bane scare for fear, and strong shmel’ of sulphur and brimstone coom, but I hear de moan some more.
    De moon pick out and I see somet’ing lay in fence corner, and I yust stan’ and look. Dis t’ing be move some. I look some more and dat t’ing sat oop and shak his head, and I see he vas big Irisher from top of hill. He say, ’I hey awful big dream. His breat’ not shmel’ gude and he ask vere he is.’ I tel’ him, ‘right har’, and he stan’ on his x
64
 x
x
leg and try to find his head. I say, ’you pass my hame wid cow and calf.’ He look lak dream and his mout’ shmel’ some more. He find his pocket and bring out penga and start to count. But de moon, she yump behin’ cloud and we spreng hame.
    Christene, she feel lak one dead and my dog Ole, he growl and snarl lak he vas madt. Dis big Irisher, he count his penga, vich vas a dollar half, I skal say, his voman skal say, dat vas shmal’ penga for one cow and calf. He tink of his dream and yank his head and say he bane one fool man.
    ‘Swan’, he say, ‘you see somet’ing?’ Val, my head vas gone, so I yust open my mout’. He say, ‘I dream of banshee cat coom oop from hell. Swan, do I look bad?’
x
    “Val I don’t care to kiss a face lak dat,” I say.
x
    “Swan,” he say, I hey one big fire inside. For de love of Brian Bru, give me somet’ing. Val, I hey gude heart. I guess dis Brian Bru bane big banshee fellow. Me and Christene bane scare for fear of dis cellar. You see dis bane free country, but dis cellar of mine, she belong to Bolstead. Val, I go down and steal somet’ing from Bolstead x
65
“”
—
blank space
blank space
Hypertext