The Wheeling daily register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1864-1878, 1870-12-05
From the Overland Monthly.l
THE uIAD OF SANDY BAR.
TCoNCLUsJoN.1


that the orator of Sandy Bar--the one
man who could touch their vsgsbond
sympathies (perhaps, because he wal
above appealing to them)-stood before
them. A consciousness of this power
lent a certain dignity to his figure, anC
/ am not sure but that his very physi
cal condition impressed them as kline
of regal unbending and. large conde
scension. Howbeit, when this unex
pected Hector arose from the ditch
York's myrmidous tremble.
There's naugbt, gentlemen" said
Scott, leaning forward on the railing
there's naught as that man hez said
as isn't true | was run outer Cairo;
did belong to the Regulators; did
desert from the army; | did leave a
wife in Kansas. But thar's one thing
he didn't charge me with, and may be,
he's forgotten. For three years, gen,
tlemen, | was that mans pardner! y
Wheather he intended to say any more,
| cannot tell a burst of applause artist.
ically rounded and enforced the climax
and virtually elected the speaker. That
fall he went to Sacramento; York went
abroad, and for the first time in many
years, distance and new atmosphere
isolated the old antagonists.
With little Of change in the green
wood, grey rock and yellow river, but
with much shifting of human land
marks, and new faces in its habitations,
three years passed over Sandy Bar.
The two men, once so identified with its
character, seemed to have been forgot,
ten. you will never return to Sandy
Bar" said Miss Folinsbee, the "Lily
OF Poverty Flat" on meeting York in
Paris, "for Sandy Bar is no more.
They call it Riverside now, and the
town is built higher up on the river
bank By and by, 10 says that Scott has
won his suit about the 'Amity Claim,
and that he lives in the old cabin and
is drunk half his time. o, l beg your
pardon" added the lively young lady,
as a flush crossed York sallow cheek,
"bdt, bless me ! really thought that
old grudge was made up Tam sure it
ought TO be.
1t was three months after this CONVEX.
sation, and a pleasant summer evening
that the Poverty Flat coach drew up
before the veranda of the Union Hotel
at Sandy Bar Among the passengers
was one, apparently a stranger, in the
local distinction of well-fitting clothes
and closely-shaven face, who demanded
a private room and retired early to rest
But before sunrise next morning be
arose, and drawing some clothes from
his carpet-bag, proceeded to array him.
self in a pair OF white duck trowsers,
a white duck-overshirt, and straw hat.
When his toilet was completed he tied
a red bandanna handkerchief in loop
and threw it loosely over his shoulders.
The transformation was complete; as he
crept softly down the stairs and stopped
in the road, no one would have detected
in him the elegant stranger of the pre-
vious night, and but few have recog.
nized the face and figure of Henry
York OF Sandy Bar.
In the uncertain light Of that early
hour, and in the change that had come
over the settlement, he had to pause for
a moment to recall where he stood.
The Sandy Bar of his recollection lay
below him, nearer the river; the build.
ings around him were of later date and
newer fashion. AS he strobe toward
the river he noted here a school house
and there a church. A little further on
the Sunny South came in view
transformed into a restaurant-its gild'
ing faded and its paint rubbed off He
now knew where he was; and running
briskly down declivity, he crossed q
ditch and stood upon the lower bound
airy of the Amity Claim.
The gray mist was raising slowly
from the river, clinging to the tree-tops
and drifting up the mountain side until
it was caught among those rock affairs,
and held a sacrifice to the ascending
sun. At his feet the earth, cruelty
gashed and SCARED by bis forgotten
engines, had, since The old days, put on
a show of greatness here and there, and
now smiled forgivingly up at him, as il
things were not so bad after all. A
few birds were bathing in the ditch with
a pleasant suggestion of its being new
and special provision OF nature, and a
hare ran into an inverted sluice box, as
he approached, as if it were put there
for that purpose.
He had not yet dared to look in a
certain direction. But the sun was
now high enough to paint the little
eminence on which the cabin stood. In
spite of his self control, his heart beat
faster as he raised his eyes toward it.
Its window and door were closed, nc
smoke came from its adobe, but it was
else unchanged. When within a few
yards OF it he picked up broken shovel
and shouldering it with smile, strobe
toward the door and knocked. There
was no sound from within. The smile
died upon his lips as he nervously push
ed the door open.
A figure started up angrily and came
toward him; a figure whose bloodsho'
ewes suddenly fixed into vacant stare
whose arms were at first outstretchec
and then thrown up in warning gestlc
ulation; figure that suddenly gasped
choked, and then fell forward IN a fit
But before he touched the ground
York had him out into the air and
sunshine. In the struggle both iel
and rolled over on the ground. Bu'
the next moment York was sitting up
holding the convulsed frame OF hi
former partner on his knee, and wiplne
the foam from his inarticulate lips
Gradually the tremor became less FIRE
gent, and then ceased; and the strong
man lay unconscious in his arms.
For some moments York held HIN
quietly thus, looking in his face. Altar
the stroke of a woodlands AKA mer'
phantom sound-was all that broke tn
stiffness. High up the mountain, .
IL. l. ou-l, h,,nr ~ braofh aosl,, N bor