The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1864-04-07
From the Occidental published at Virginia, Nevada
Territory.
Lost in the sierras
BY DAN DE QUILLR.

most heights-where the bare gray peaks
stand about in groups, holding up between
them the little platter-hke valleys We must |
90 and stand on the edge of one Of these val |
leys. Now we feel the silence Of the place /
resting on us-are awed by the tall frown- |
ing peaks. See, a gloom III the west has ris- |
en- up and redeemed, hiding the afternoon sun.
What! in this place a lone man and his
horse? How tired are both how slowly |
drag their steps Now they halt. The man
turns and looks about him-the tired beast |
hangs its head and stands motionless, glad |
of moments rest Before him, ydarkly |
frowning, is a grey-walled canon. 1t is deep
how deep we cannot see, for in its bottom
squats the gloomy Dusk unsmiling, save
grimly, she sits lowering over her brood
of terrors as a hen spreads out her wings |
over her young. The lost stand bewildered, |
benumbed; they only know that they are
high up in the Sierras. Their knees betray |
their fears and their WEAKNESS. How very
silent it is here. The tall grey rocks stand
about like voiceless ghosts. Along the mar
row flats on the steep, unsafe slopes are
grouped the white bones of lifeless groves Of
juniper-they are bleached as stag horns
on a plain-as the bones of soldiers OH a
battle field Did they die of the great ST.
lence? Evening is drawing near, but the
blackness of her robes is not all her own
The lost man sees the gathering darkness
and is uneasy. Winter Is near, he knows
the treachery of the season. alas, why did
he venture! Gold, for which all risk life,
tempted him. His tagged steed bends his
ears to and fro uneasily, turns and snuffs
toward the west. There is weight-mois-
ture in the coming gloom. Undecided, the
lost man looks about him; like a sea the
deep silence roars in his ears. Now frag-
ments Of clouds, slow moving. approach and
drag along the ground close beside him.
Dusk rises up threateningly from her lair in
the abyss and stands before him ; she stretch
es her arms about the base of the mountains;
her terrors creep along the low ravines, skulll-
from bush to bush. Where shall the lost
man turn Hank house dog bays from
the doorstep Of his masters cabin was that
the tinkle of cow-belI? No; these sounds
belong miles below echoing memory for
moment cheated him. Hist what is it that
like the long-drawn sigh eff ghost breaks
the silence? How quickly the lost nan
turns. Pshaw twas but the voice of the
wind, awed to whisper, rebuked by the dread
silence He felt it on his cheek it was but
the mere fragment of breeze, vet, in that
timid whisper, it said much to him. He un-
derstood and shuddered. His steed dropped
his head still lower and shook his shaggy
sides till the pack on his back chartered
again; the poor beast understood what was
whispered by the breeze. There was no snow
on his back, not yet, but he believed what
the wind told him. The clatter of the pack
was not loud, but the lost man looked Quick
ly about him; he feared the huge paaks
might be startled into anger. Great patch
es OF mist Hoat against the tall grey peaks
and breaking roll down their sides. At last
the lost move. Driving the weary horse be-
Tore MN, the lost man gazes earnestly tow
ara what looks ike the black shadow of
cloud,a dark spot far below-miles away Il
Is grove OF living trees he sees, frs in =
mountain gorge. Rugged are the wavs Of
the wilderness, and the feet of the weary find
many stumbling places Weary is the lost
man weary IS the beast he urges Bruises
TeDuke his haste, and stubborn shrubs rear
Ihelr antlered heads and on his flesh and oar
iilents ayenge his contempt for them. The
wlnd Whispers more boldly, signs pass ALONG
the ground. lis yet far to the grove to
where the hrs stand dark and silent How
uinldiy the lost man glances upon the bean-
G &c ana various rocks as he hastens past theul2
ne is foolish to be afraid There are no faces
looking athlm over their Jagged top--uo faces
Peeplng from their dusky Chinks? How
dark 1t grows; who can now see the tons Of
the hoary peaks around whose eve look in
to the darkness at their feet Soon the
gnomes OF the mountains will be abroad the
ghosts OF the dead races walk The lost man
puts his hand quickly to his cheek he oazes
IN fear on the gloom of the sky; urges his
steed forward with a hoarse and hurried
voice, for ne has felt the fall of the first snow
make: lbs strained eyes have still in view
the dark hrs, but it is still far to their shell
ter. Silence no longer reigus; the winds a.
hrst so tmid, have come in all their strnnertL
and now howl VIGOROUSLY THROUGH the H.
minions. Hank Are not the obosto of Nv
~, ;s'I races at battle with the gnomes? No;
~. t,S put tne laugh OF the grey wolf seated 81 /
heavily down, and YEARLY drs~ -,ow silts
and man. YEARLY RftiD| > on the morse
of the grove > '''D OH, at last the shelter
aughing. - gained The wolf still is
ter 81 steated by his den; but the shell
= The frs is good, the snow cannot come
Iear, but it hastens to raise wall about their
trees. Grateful is his fire of sticks to the
chilled feet of the wanderers the storm is
forgotten while he slumbers. Let gnomes
and ghostly warriors battle; let the grey
wolf laugh on The lost man sleeps, and the
hungry steed, with his nose in the embers
dreams of the green grass of the lower val
leys. The red light of the morning sun burns
on the snow, and the sleeping awake. Oh,sun,
mock not with your brightness for the snow
wall is high gazing on it the heart of the
lost man stands still. The snow-laden boughs
of his tree are weighed down, they rest Oh
the encircllng drifts. What a sweet, fairy
palace our lost man has But he will not
look on its walls; he sits, now. and mutters
Whose are the names he speaks? Why does
ne not be merry and sing and dance in bis |
pretty snow mansion? His hands are CLASH |
ed about his knees-he rocks to and fro
those are not tears ON his cheeks-no. he is |
fond OF his pretty house, perhaps. he is about |
to sing. Why does he go to his dnn,b CON-
panlon and embrace his neck , Ts i for 80
Why does the horse lean his head 90 80 ~
ly against his masters cheek Ha sba.IIJ
trisk-frisk But they will not stav- 60 CIV
they are going. John" is the name tbat !,
on the bps of a mother in a little brown car
IN, by fountain, in dell among the foot
hills, far below 'Papa," is the word of
blue-eyed child by her side is lisping-'tis
ne they are thinking of whose breast Is now
pushing through the snow wall about tbe
tir-tree high in the Sierras. In the i;ttIo
brown cabin white cloth is spread on tbs
table; dainty dishes smoke on the beartb ~
why does he not comesns. Lock ont TttIa -
by, look out at the doePZlook often child
-
how ike great tents look tka.cIumps of
manzanita How the youn sG6as are bowed