The Findlay Jeffersonian. [volume] (Findlay, Hancock County, Ohio) 1870-1881, 1875-03-19

buii-d IN the snow. A black wear ia the
annals Of the poor.
One morning in that year. the ther
mOmeter way down below Zero, John
Dalton, mounted on his faithful horse,
received the mail. For five years, come
and 90, promptly to the minute, in good
weather and bad, excepting only Sun
days, and the day that his first born was
buried ia tine ehurch-yard, he had made
his daily journey.
He took the old familiar road, passed
by his humble dwelling without appear.
ing TO notice it, and, as was his won't
stopped OH the summit of knoll COM
man,Iing the east front of the cottage,
and only a few yards from it, for what
he called his blessing" AT the window
stood his wife with an infant in her
arms, the wee thing waving its hands
and smiling. On either side were little
boy and girl, each mounted on chair,
the better to get the last look at the
father who was so dear to them.
This was the good-by that warmed the
mans blood, made his lips culver with a
smile, and sent him on his way rejoicing.
The sun shone brightly, making the
frost-cOvered prairie glisten; the sky was
deep blue.
Between the terInini, the road had
two distinctive features, about five miles
apart. One Was a tall tree, known as
the Lone Tree; the other was called
Bacon's Run, a ravine bordered by a
thin growth Of stunted timber. In the
line of the road, or in proximity to it,
there was no habitation or shelter for
man or beast, The prairie was high and
rolling.
The first part of the journey was made
in the usual way. At half-past o'clock
in the afternoon, Dalton started on the
return. He was not twenty yards away
when he was overtaken by the postmas-
ter who charged him to be diIigent in
the delivery of a highly important letter,
a caution which made potent the fact
that the cautioner was "new hand"
Had Dalton ever failed2
At this time a change had taken place
In the weather A thick haze overspread
the sun, paling it to the hue of of silver;
the wind had shifted to the northeast
These signs had not escaped Dalton's
notice The mountaineer, like the sail
or, soon learns that life itself often de
pends on the quick recognition of the
friendly warnings which nature gives to
the wayfarer. He scanned the narrow
ing horizon, and urged his horse to a
brisk trot. He reached Bacon's Run,
passed it, and mounted to the level of
the prairie From this point, on a clear
day, to top of the Lone Tree could be
outlined; but now the clouds had be
come so heavy and lowering, and the
haze had SO thiekened, that objects near
at hand were indistinct. Melancholy,
fitful gusts came passing to the traveller
from all quarters, as if telling him to
hasten. As he looked at the clouds his
countenanee wore an air of apprehen-
sion. He was not kept long in q state
of expectancy.
Amote, pure and white, came fiutter-
ing down, buffeted by the wind, now
here, now there, uncertain where to go.
1t finally sought refuge on Dalton's fur
red coat. Others soon followed with
hesitation, now stopping and ascending,
as though to return to the home whence
they came, but finally descending, and
seeking rest in obscure hiding-plaees.
These insignificant specks became larger,
more numerous, bolder, took possession
and covered all things with a garment
of white.
The situation was plain, a snOw-storm
on the prairie was at hand.
Brave men are keenly sensitive to the
approach of a danger which they reso-
lutely meet.
Dalton thought of the comfortable lit
tie cottage by the roadside and the dear
ones it contained. One night in the
mountains he had battled against the
snow, ana out of ten companions was
the only survivor of that terrible exper-
fence.
The storm now ragged with increasing
power. The snow-tiakes were blown
about in binding myriads. All traces
OF the road, at best never very clearly
defined, were covered. The biting win
try blast went moaning by; night came
prematurelv in a wall of darkness; all
was a wild waste for the sport of the ell
ements.
Dalton, unable 10 SEE an inch ahead,
or to form the remOtest idea which direc-
ton to take, let the reins fall on the
horses neck, leaving him unrestrained
10 take his way-a cutting commentary
Oh mans bOasted reason pitted against
an animals instinct. But to guide
Alright in such a night would make in
stinct sublime.
The noble steed moved confidently on,
plunging into that blackness and dark
ness-the lonely, desolate unknown.
Suddenly he stopped with an ahruptness
which nearly threw the rider, who, reach
ing, touched what seemed to be the
trunk of tree. Extending his hand
higher, he grasped what was certainly
the limb of tree, and then all doubt
disappeared.
He was at the Lone Tree, only five
miles from home and safety.
Here, indeed, was hope, but not unaI-
loyed. Tive elements entered to vitiate
it; one, the horse seemed failing; the
other, the tree was one hundred yards
from the highway, variation which
showed that the faithful animal had SO
far erred, and hinted-Why not furtll-
er variation in proportion as he lost
strength and contidenoei
The only solution was to move on. 1t
might be at the bidding of chance; still,
motion was absolutely essential to pre-
vent the blood from congealing to the
very heart. The rider found it necessay
to make the horse feel the rein, to en-.
deavor to impart confidence 10 him, and
and to urge him forward. The poor
beast was readily obedIent, and showed
that, his own resources being exhausted,
he relied on his master. The sympathy