The Vermont transcript. [volume] (St. Albans, Vt.) 1864-1870, 1865-12-22

"And what of your youngest son +?
we inquired.
The old mans eyes fell, his breath
ing was short and quick, and the VIC
lent heaving of his chest indicated TIN
deep agony of his soul; at length, il
the deepest accents of his rich has
voice he replied: Gle eeps ON tn,
banks Of the Sweetwater," and hastil,
leaving us, he paced in moody abstrac
ton up and down the deck. Their,
was q sorrow in connection with tn,
death of his son, too deep for inquisi
tive curiosity to NEEDLE with, and W,
made no further effort to renew tho
subject.
Two hours or more had elapsed, anC
our vessel was nearing a little wooder
island about a mile below what is now
the landing place OF the village of Rio
Vista. The old trapper was reclining
upon the deck wrap in s4ent mus
ings; the silver RAYS of the moon
bringing out in fine relief the care
worn, rugged features of this grand
old man of the mountains.
Seating myself by his side, l said
you mentioned stream called the
Sweetwater; have You ever seen upon
its banks the grave of widow named
Udolf, a Swede =
"Seen it p said the old man, ''ay,
often, and full well / know, too, the
grave Of her husband on the far of
Colorado and then reckoning me to
follow him to the forecastle, he pointed
out the decaying trunk of q sycamore
tree lying near to the waters edge,
hanging from which by an iron chain
was the rusty fuke of an old anchor,
and short distance further on, but
almost hidden by the dense under
wood, he pointed out the ruins of a
wooden shanty, the roof crushed in by
fallen sycamore, and the whole scene
looking weird and desolate Now,
said my companion, ''sit down by me,
and when I have lit my pipe | will tell
you something Of the orphan boy OF
Henry Udolf, the Swede, for a
strange story hangs to that old an
chor fuke."
It's nearly twelve months ago,
said he, that toward the close of a
sultry day l was seeking near this
spot an anchorage for the night. For
several days had been successful in
trapping beaver, and sought suit
able place for preparing my skins.
As neased the island oh walcn we
are now sailing | observed a RAN in
tcntly watching me from the shore,
and he was evidently seeking to at
tract my attention; SO just feeling that
NV siX-shooter was in readiness, ]
pulled hard into shore and landed
the stranger advanced to meet me,
and confidence was soon established
between us. He proved to be a citi-
zen Of San Francisco. who had been
spending some days in this solitary is
land to sport among the abundant
wild fowl.
You seek camping place for the
night ? said he. If you will join me,
we can occupy ruined shanty close
by; but first we must bury the body OF
its late occupant, for he lies cold and
lifeless. Dead in the desert !? l found
myself Involuntary grasping my re-
volver Could my companion be q
murderer? But my nerves were too
Injured to danger to feel fear, and SO
followed on. We entered the dreary
desolate cabin, and there, upon heap
of withered tule rushes, lay stretched
the body of man in all. the squalid
wretchedness of poverty.
Now, said the stranger, "a short
distance away is a prospecting hoe
We will place the body there and GOV.
er it in, and then | will tell you a
strange adventure that concerns an
orphan boy, the son of one Henry
Udolf, Swede. Henry Udolf, the
Swede p said l. 4 know the grave o
Henry Udolf, the Swede, ON the Rio
Colorado The same, replied IN,
companion, It's of his son / woulC
tell you.
We fastened to bury the body, w
burned the tule bedding within tn,
cabin that we might purify it by fire
and then lighting our pipes. l called
eagerly for this strange story, anC
thus he narrated it;
Two days ago l was wandering nea
nightfall along the opposite bank o
the river, when saw near the shor
of this island man waist deep in tn
water With pole he seemed to b
dragging the rivers bed, and chang
ing his position from time to time h
continued his labors, until on the fol