UMBAZOOKUS STREAM.
These clumsy vehicles, with their strangely arranged cargo, presented a novel and picturesque sight, which I thought a good subject for the Tourograph, and “photo’d” before starting. Then, amid the cheering of our guides, the horses were whipped up, and we were soon underway, sliding across the logs, bouncing over the rocks, and pitching along through the mud like a fishing-smack foundering in a storm.
PORTAGE
The Colonel and I strode ahead with our guns, securing partridges by the way, closely followed by Hiram’s team. Soon we heard a shout, and looking back saw his horses rearing and plunging, and the sled stopped short before a tree.
“What’s up?” we cried.
“This left-hand nag here is a Tartar,” replied Hiram, as he tugged and jerked at the reins. “I tried to tack and leave that ’ere tree on the starboard quarter, but I’ll be blamed if he haint sot me into it all kerchunk on the port bow. Say, gineral!” he yelled, turning ferociously toward Smith; “what’s the matter with this here animile of yours?”
“Which one? That one?” asked Smith. “I meant to warn ye consarnin’ him. He must be handled mighty gingerly. Takes an ingineer to run him properly.”
“Why, for sin’s sake?” inquired Hiram.
“He’s cross-eyed, an’ he allers leans hard toward the west.”