Stories of Walter E. Paul

 Stories of Walter E. Paul

Retold by Kenneth E. Paul

The Cow’s Revenge

One time an M & I freight train was highballing along on a very hot July day when it rounded a curve and came upon a cow standing squarely on the track. The engineer had no time to stop the locomotive and it hit the cow broadside, splitting it open and throwing some of its remains up into the air high enough to smear the hot side of the engine and fly through the open cab windows, where they hit the engineer and brakeman in their faces.

The Dynamiter

In Big Falls in the winter of 1907 a graybeard would sometimes wander into the depot men’s waiting room when it was filled with strangers: lumberjacks, salesmen, surveyors, carpenters, and the like waiting for a train to come in. 

The old fellow would choose a seat where most folks could see him, reach into one of his mackinaw pockets, take out a stick of dynamite and after nonchalantly laying it aside, would casually take a knife from another pocket and test its edge with his thumb. Picking up the dynamite he would carefully cut off about an inch from an end. After returning the remainder of the dynamite and his knife to their respective places in his coat, he would pick up the cut off piece and saunter over to the round bellied stove in the center of the room. 

By then all eyes would be upon him. 

Using the poker lying at the foot of the stove, he would unlatch the hot door and swing it wide open, gaze thoughtfully at the little inferno inside for a moment, then toss in the nubbin of dynamite and shut the door almost as an afterthought.

Always his audience reacted properly with gasps, shouts, cussing, and sometimes scrambled flight toward the outside door.

Suddenly a POOF! would send smoke and soot emanating from the numerous bolt holes, gaps, and cracks in the stove’s armor. That would be all. Even some who had witnessed his act on a previous occasion might react in surprise and fear before they caught themselves and had sport with the new victims.

Then the old gray bearded fellow would solemnly depart, possibly for his favorite saloon uptown to enjoy a foaming beer and a hearty chuckle. 

The Shooters

Father always kept his loaded shotgun on pegs over the outside door in the kitchen. One day while he was away, when I was old enough to be permitted to use the gun, I took it down, and with powder and shot I went out to find a suitable target. 

Spying a stump in the proper range, I took aim at it, pulled the trigger, felt the gun recoil and was pleased to see chips and hunks of bark flying off. Thrilled by the explosion, the kick of the gun against my shoulder, and the pungent smell of the burnt powder, I hurriedly set to reloading the gun. Not yet an expert in measuring my powder, I poured too much down the barrel. However, unconcerned about the powder in my excitement from anticipating the shooting, I rammed home a wad and then some shot and another wad.                  

I addressed the stump again and raised the gun to take aim. Then reason took control over my excitement and I began to consider the consequences of pulling the trigger with such a potent charge of powder in the barrel. I paused briefly, lowered the muzzle and escaped back into the cabin to replace the gun on its pegs.

When Father returned I dared say nothing about the shotgun.

Several nights later before bedtime an owl lit in a large tree near the cabin, and began hooting its call to a distant owl. After a while Father rose from his rocking chair  and declared he thought he’d go out and get that owl. He took down the shotgun and trod resolutely out into the night.

I was too frightened to call out and warn him that the gun was over loaded and shouldn’t be shot. I had little time to decide upon any action, for there  was a  tremendous roar and I saw through a window a long sheet of flame  reach into the darkness where the owl tree stood.

Soon Father came back into the cabin, reset the gun on its pegs, and without a word sat down in his chair. After a quiet moment he turned to me and sternly said, “Walter, what did you put into that gun?”