astounding man that he took to attiring his lower limbs--which
seldom showed above the counter--in the breeches, leggings, belt and
pistol so well known to all lovers of the limitless prairie. The
infinite pathos of Jabez Puffwater's blind devotion to one whom he had
never seen will not fail to strike home to the stoniest heart. The
tragedy of this man whose dauntless spirit so far outgrew his physical
appearance--being compelled to sell cheeses, hams, molasses, etc, in
order to live, is far more pitiful to me than the stern virginity of
Queen Elizabeth, or even the nose of Cyrano de Bergerac.

It was when Jabez Puffwater had just reached his forty-third birthday
that he first became seriously implicated in that political bombshell,
the Goodge-Keewee Treaty made out with masterful cunning by Albert
Goodge and Nicholas Keewee, with the sole motive of undermining the
transcontinental railroad system to a devastating degree. The various
reasons both for and against this daring policy are so excellently and
clearly put forward in Vernon Treeby's "When Southern Blood is Dripping"
that I will not attempt to go into it here. Enough that it caused an
unparalleled sensation in Oggsville, Ken. and was indirectly the means
of introducing into the heart of Jabez Puffwater the secret fear which
was destined to grow ever larger and larger until eventually its black
wings beat his battered soul into eternity. "The fear of a Black
Rising!" Jabez was undoubtedly a man of more than average courage but
after reading the Goodge-Keewee Treaty he went back to his store a
harassed man. What did it all mean? Nobody knew. Ah, God! If only Jabez
Puffwater had possessed the inspiring rhetoric of a Bernard Proon, or
the imposing presence of a Freddie Hooter, what a lot he could have
done. As it was he just went home--aching--yet withal as yet
subconsciously--for the ability to be of use in some way, the
opportunity of distinguishing himself and saving his beloved home town
from the awful effects of the fear that was fated from now onward to be
with him always--the dreaded Black Rising.

For many years after that fateful conference Jabez was to be seen every
evening seated outside his store with a horse pistol in his hand ever
pointed in the direction of the wooded hills to the Southward. Little
boys on their way home from school would throw mud at him, but he never
heeded them; little girls would make rude noises quite near him with
their rubber