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ONE LIFE'S HISTORY. A Highly Interesting Autobiography of Mr. Phillip Downs. STRANGER THAN FICTION. 4i Eventful mid Romantic Career as Told the Author by the Gentleman Himself. Written for The Tim hunk by Self Sharpner. They did not intend to roast me too quickly—there would not be enough fun in that. I soon Legan to feel the flames scorching my legs; the perspiration poured from my body; the torture was almost un bearable, yet I did not lose my presence of mind. I was deter mined to utter no cries to please them, although I began to think my legs were burned to the bone. All at once they seemed to loosen ^om the stake. I instantly real izes] that the rawhide thongs were burnt asunder, and with a wild yell I wrenched my arm loose and springing forward I plunged head foremost down the perpendicular bank into the river below. Fortunately for me, the river here wai narrow and deep, or else I might have broken my neck or dashed my brains out on the rocky bottom; as it was, my head only lightly touched the bed. In those few moments my mind seemed to take in a thousand contingencies. First, that my enemies would naturally look down the .river for my reappearance; second, that I must soon come to the surface to breathe. Among my few accom plishments I was an excellent swimmer and could out-dive and remain under water longer than any of my companions, and this fact now served me well. I swam under the water to the edge of the .bluff and raised my head for a breathing spell. I could hear the savages on the bank, but for the overhanging cliff I could not see them, nor for the same rea son could they see me, unless they crossed the river below, which I doubted not they would soon do and then they would naturally look down the stream, and I in stantly made up my mind as to the course I would take to elude them. About sixty yards up the river on the opposite bank was a cluster of water lilies and cat-tail flags. I swam under water into the midst of them, and raising my head I found I was completely hidden from view of either bank, and here I imagined that for the present, at least, I was safe and had leisure to determine what to do next. My limbs pained me very much, but the water was very soothing to them. I did not think I was deeply burned, yet the skin was cracked and charrcd from my knees to my ankles and I had nothing to bind them up with ex cept my woolen shirt and that was not suitable. The sun was set by this time and I resolved to await dark ne»» before leaving my hiding-place, unless sooner discovered. On this sidn was a heavy growth of timber and underbrush, that oneo into I would feel safe in the darkness. Once 1 heard them on the bank apparently searching for me, but in a short time all was still and no sound came to my cars except the night insects and the occasional hoot of an owl. Darkness was now over the scene and I cautiously left my conceal ment and gained the brush. The tendons of my legs were so stiff and painful I could scarccly walk I and I was weak from long fasting, having had nofhing to eat since the evening before, yet my spirits were high and exalted over my narrow escape from a horrible death. I there made a resolve never to be captured again by the red &kins. I knew not what course to pursue, but determined to get as far away as possible from my late I enemies. My legs were bleeding and I feared that fact might enable the imps to trail me, so I tore up my undershirt and bound them up as best I could. I kept along the river in order to be hidden by tim ber and brush as much as possible and painfully lessened the dittance to freedom. My hunger became ravenous. I ate tender buds of various plants and by luck came upon a small patch of wild onions, of which I ate my fill; they strengthened me somewhat, yet did not satisfy my hunger. I gathered some onions for future use and plodded on. I could travel but slow; thorns and briars tore my arms and feet. Daylight found me perhaps ten miles from the Indian village. As I dared not show myself in day light I crawled into a good hiding-, place and for a time forgot my troubles in a deep refreshing sleep. It was late in the afternoon when I awoke and then it was the pains of my burns that aroused me. I crept down to the water, took a refreshing draught and bathed my burnt legs, which eased the pain for a time. I could hear no sound of any living thing, and I specu lated on the probability of the savages having given me up, be lieving, no doubt that my plunge into the water had stunned me so that I had drowned and my body had been carried down over the falls, which were a little distance below the village. Be that as it may, I would not venture out until dark. I begun to fear I should perish from hunger. I searched diligently for anything that I could eat; at length I was rewarded by catching a small rab bit in a hollow log. 1 ravenously ate half of it raw; in fact, if I could nave made a fire I could not have waited for it to cook. Feeling very much refreshed, I again pushed forward as fast as my w«ak and lame condition would permit. Near the break of day I came to a bend in the river where the prairie came up to its banks and a deep gullv had to be crossed and I was so nearly used up that it seemed as though I could go no farther. I got down to the bottom of the gully in the high grass; a little rill of pure spring water ran through it down to the river. I drank my fill and lay down in the tall grass, caring but little if I ever left it again. Hope, blessed hope, had well-nigh deserted me. I fell into a deep slumber, from which I was awakened by human voices and a heavy tramping sound on the bank above 1110. My first thought was that the Indians had trailed me up on their ponies. My fright was so great that T scarcely breathed, but soon the sounds ceased and 1 ventured to look out. What 1 saw was small botly of mounted men going west; soon they turned and came' towards me. Now I knew tht reason; they were white white men who had come to the gully and finding it impassible, had gone around and wert) now returning apparently following up the river bank. • CHAPTER V. My sensations cannot be de scribed. I nearly swooned from jov; I waved my arms to attract their attention, for they had not yet seen me. I shouted and called to them; they heard, saw me and halted. Tn my excitement I had forgotten how my strange apptar ance would look to them. I saw they were soldiers; they unslung their carbines and approached cau tiously, as if fearing that I was an ambuscade and that I was a decoy. I dropped my arms down by my side and went toward them, f-peak their own language, telling thaui I was a white man escaped from the Indians. They were dumbfounded : for they had taken me for an i Indian. Indeed I looked very like , one, with my painted face, b:ue breast ami arms covered with bruises, cuts and scratches from j briars and thorns. They dismounted and plied me with questions; then seeing I was so weak and nearly famished they made me sit down and eat a lunch with which they were supplied, and then sesing the bad condition 0 f my wounded legs, one took off his cotton shirt, tore it into strips and bound up my poor burnt legs, which by this time, were in a bad fix. You may be sure I needed no second invitation to eat and it was a sweet meal to me, that hard tack and cooked beef; I have eaten of the same many times since, but none ever tasted half so sweet. ( Then I gave them a narrative of all 1 had gone through, to their great surprise at my perilous escape. They were a corporal's guard of soldiers from Ft. Kearney on a hunting expedition. It seemed as if Providence had sent them to my relief. I was mounted on behind one of them, with an overcoat over my shoulders. We took a bee line for the fort, where we arrived at sundown. There I was put under care of the post surgeon, and after six weeks' time I was so far recov ered that I got a conveyance back to th« Missouri river, there to be gin the struggle for existence once more. more. After losing my money, clothes, mining outfit and almost my life, I was effectually cured of anv love I may have felt for the poor, down trodden Indian, and gave up the idea of crossing the plains, at least j for the present, preferring to await news of how others succeded. Now comes a period of several years in which nothing of import ance, other than the common affairs of everyday life, occurred to trouble me. As I had lost every thing I possessed I had to labor at anything that presented itself. A3 for my late partners and my min ing outfit, I have never heard from them to this day, although have made diligent inquiriss. The news from the gold mines, was to say the least, very conflicting. 8ome were doing well, while others could not get enough ahead to pay their way back again, and I decided Jto let California alone and get me a little farm in the the now territory 0 f Kansas, which was then attract ! j ing considerable attention. ! With this in view, 1 wont from ! Independence, Missouri, where I I had been staying down to Ft. Leav | onworth. Out of means I had ; saved, I purchased a noble span of horses, harness and a wagon, and with enough provisions to last six months, I drove out westward soino forty miles and selected a beautiful place on a small timbored creek, which emptiss into the Little Osage river, and not far from what was afterwards known as Mound city; 1 think it was Lykins county, but of this I am not sure, as tho coun ty lines at that time were not ac curately known. I built ft snug little cabin, plowed a few acres and in time had corn, pota toes and other vegetables in abun dance, which I was destined never to enjoy. (To be cotinnued.) i L for Infants and Children. "Cantoria!r,welladaptedtocWMrcnthat I Cantorla euren Colic, Constipation, I recommend i t as superior to any prescription stomach, Diarrhoea. Kruetation. known to me." II. A. A:;cueo , II. D., Ill So. Ozfo: d Gt., Brooklyn, N. Y. 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