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Show i Soiicsck $3 Massacre - By Richard H. Wilkinson CHARLIE Poe lived by his wits. Not because he had to but because be-cause he liked to. I could name a half dozen jobs he had been offered, all legitimate, all of which he turned down. He couldn't bear the though! of routine and being tied down. ' I met him unexpectedly one day last summer in ; j Boston. 3 -Minute "Not d0'm" -. .. any thing," he HCTIOn said when I ques-"""" ques-"""" ' tioned him. "What's wrong?" I asked "Looking for something," he con fessed. "If you've nothing lined up." I suggested, "how about taking a ride up country with me? I'm making a two-day trip to Burlington." "Like to," he said. We started the next morning. Charlie wasn't the cheerful companion com-panion I anticipated. Obviously there was something on his mind. Halfway across New Hampshire we came to a place alongside the road where a dozen or more cars were parked. A sign proclaimed the reason. "Visit the site of the famous Soucook Indian massacre," the sign read. "Nothing like it anywhere. Free lecture. Offers much by way of historical value. A scene you ,won't forget. Admission 25 cents." "Stop!" said Charlie. I stopped We got out and walked over to a shelter beneath which a man was selling tickets. The man with the tickets saw us and urged us to buy, eloquently elaborating on his printed sign. Charlie dug into his pocket and 0 produced a half dollar. Presently about 20 people had purchased tickets tick-ets and the man got down off his stool and led us through the gate. We followed him along the path. He talked as we progressed. By the time we reached our objective we were all steamed up with apprehension. apprehen-sion. We had entered a small clearing. Beyond it was a ledge, overhanging a shallow gorge through which a trickle of water flowed. We stood on the ledge while our guide told us how, 250 years ago, a detachment of militiamen had pursued a band of 20 Indians through the forest. Hard put, the Indians came to this ledge. Below them was the gorge, at that time good many times deeper than now. Thus the redskins red-skins had their choice of leaping into the gorge or being shot. IT was a gruesome tale. We weio all silent and impressed as we made our way back to the cars. "That," said Charlie, "is the best gag I've ever seen." "Maybe," I said, "but how can that guy prove any such thing happened there?" "How can the tourists prove It didn't?" Charlie asked. "And what do they care. That chap ; knew what they wanted and he gave it to them. They were satisfied." sat-isfied." He became thoughtful. Charlie didn't mention the Sou-cook Sou-cook massacre again during our ,. . trip, but I suspected it was on his mind. When he left me In Boston two days later he shook hands warmly. "Where are you off to now?" I asked him. "Oh, the western plan of mine Is still rankling." He grinned. "See you around." Late in September I had occasion, to go north again. Traveling the Halfway across New Hampshire Hamp-shire we came to a plo a sign proclaimed the slta of the famous fa-mous Soucook Indian massacre. same route that Charlie and I had taken, I remembered the Soucook Massacre. The shelter was still there and there were cars parked outside. But a different man was selling ' tickets. The man was Charlie. . "How about this?" I asked. : He grinned. "You gave me the Idea," he said. "Remember you wanted to know how the guy could prove the massacre happened here? Well, I asked him, at the same time Iflashlng a tin badge I sometimes carry around. He decided to move on." "Is that sort of thing ethical in your profession?" I asked. "Sure. We're all suckers. Some ot us are smarter. The guy was getting fed up anyhow. So am I. Some day somebody is jjoing to ask me to (): e that in;i.;s;icre story H I'm H-i.i i-.'h I'll hs Sinn' ht' in: e hi' |