The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1875-02-04
Died Among Strangers.

He sat on the steps of the City Hall,
head in his hands, and one could not
help but notice him. He wore a coat of
wolfskins, and bearskin cap, buckskin
brooches, and his grizzly hair hung down
on his shoulders in tangled mass. He
had drifted East from the wild frontier,
and he had fallen sick. No one knew for
a long time what allied him, as he would
not reply to inquiries, but finally, when
policeman shook his arm and repeated
the inquiry, the man slowly lifted his
head and replied:
"Pm playedw
His face was pale and haggard, and it
was plain that he was going to have an
attack of fever. He was sent to the hos
pital for treatment, he making no inqui-
ries and answering no questions. This
was month ago. He had his personal
effects in sort of sack. These were a
breech-loading rifle, Ratchet, knife
and several other articles, and when he
had been laid on bed in one of the
wards he insisted that the bag be placed
under his head. They offered him medi-
cine, but he turned away his face and
no argument could induce him to swal-
low any.
"But you are a sick man." said the
doctor, as he held the medicine up.
"Cuss Sickness" replied the old man.
And you may die"
"Cuss death"
He grew worse as the days went by,
and was sometimes out of his head and
talking strange talk of Indian fights and
buffalo hunts, but not once did he speak
of family, friends nor of himself. He
would not let them undress him, comb
h5c hai oh hin, no
yOnd leaving his food on his stand. A
raging fever was burning up his system,
and when the doctors found that the old
man would not take their medicine they
knew that death was only a matter of
DAYS.
He must have had an iron constitution
and heart like warrior, for he held
death at arms length until the other day
When it was seen that he could last but
a few hours longer the nurse asked him
if clergyman should be called,
"Cuss clergymenm replied the old
man, those being the first words he had
spoken for three days.
However, two hours after his mind
wandered, and he sat up in bed and
called out:
81 tell We, the Lord isn't going to be
hard on Teller who has fit Injuns"
He was quiet again until an hour be-
fore his death, when the nurse made one
more effort and asked:
Twill you give me your name?"
"Cuss my name" replied the old man.
" Haven't you any friends?"
"Cuss friends"
"Do you wish US to send your things
to anyone?"
"Cuss anyoner'
"Do you realize" continued the
nurse, THAT you are very near the
grave?"
"Cuss the gravew was the monoto-
nous reply.
No further questions were asked, and
during the next hour the strange old man
dropped quietly asleep in death, uttering
no word and making no sign. When
they came to remove the clothing aud
prepare the body for the grave, what do
you suppose they found, carefully
wrapped in oil-skin and lying on his
breast? A daguerreotype picture of a
little girl! 1t was taken years and years
ago, and when the child WAS five or six
years old. The face Of the little one was
fair to look upon, and the case which
held it had been SCARED by bullets.
There were a dozen scars on the old
lhoh Dcu1 W pIONS tudt uc udu llNeu d
wild life, but there was not line among
his effects to reveal his name or the
name of the child whose picture he had
worn on his breast for years and years.
Who was she? His own darling, per-
haps. He would not have treasured the
picture so carefully unless there was
love in his heart.
No one would have believed that the
wolfskin coat covered heart which
could feel love or tenderness, but it did.
he might have been returning home
after years of weary wandering, or he
might have left the frontier to be sure of
Christian burial and hoping that no
unsympathetic eve would fall upon the
picture.
Some said keep it, hoping to make
it identify the old man, but others laid
it back on the battle-scarred breast
which had preserved it so long, and it
was there yesterday when they buried
Free Press.