The Red Cloud chief., 1878-02-14

breakfast, end nobody W1hied o turn
,ut n that hour. / detaehed one Of nv
u,sn and sent him to the brgadier. and
ssked him 20 assign Us To q district
there vas not 50 much bother go
ing on. He sent back an indignant
message. He said: Stay where You
are this time, or / will courtmartial and
hang The whole Al you.'
Said-ths orderly sergeant: If Tom
Harris wants the enemy. let him come
here md get him. haven't gvt any
use for my share. Who's Tom Harris,
anyway, thats putting on % many
Why. / knew him when he
anything but . telegraph opera
tor. Gentlemen. you a do as you
choose. As for me. I've get enough Of
this sashaying around. So Oh goes my
war paint. You hear meF The whole
That's the talk for us
So then and there. on the spot, m brig-
sde disbanded itself.
Evening In The California MssntainA
Mrs. Mary Hallock Foote. the artist,
writes as follows in Scribner for Feb
ruary:
Toward the close of the dry season,
when brown and dusty August burns
into browner, dusticr September, .
keen remembrance Of all cool, watery
joys takes possession Of ones thoughts.
The lappi9 II 1pples in Pebbly coves.
N, lady h-Adkoars in row-locks,
the smell of apple blossoms on damp
spring evenings. old mill-races messy
and dripping. the bleating OF frighten-
ed lambs at . sheep-washing and the
hoarse, stified complaint of their moth
ers mingled with the rushing Of the
stream,-all these a common sounds
and sights haunt the memory. Every
day the dust-cloud grows thicker in the
valley, the mountains fade almost out
of sight against q sky which is all glare
without color; a dry wind searches
over the bare, brown hills for any
lingering drop Of moisture the sun may
have left there; but morning and eve
ming still keep a spell which makes one
forget the burden of the day. At sun
set the dust-cl0ud in the valley becomes
Q bar of color stretching across the
base of the mountains. deep rose and
orange, shading by sOftest g~radatiOns
into cool blue. I remember one sun
set especially. The clouds Of dust roll
ing up from the valley below were
transformed by the light into level bars
of color like q horizontal rainbow
sweeping across the entire valley
above it the mountains rose a wonder
full variety of constantly changing hues
made them look like something unreal.
Then there came q sudden darkening
of the lower part of the mountains So
that the sun-lit peaks seemed to float
in the air above the bars of %sun-colOred
dust, with a strip of cool shadow be.
tween. All is quiet; as in the morning
no birds chirp and twitter themselves
to sleep; the stiffness is only broken by
the dull thrObbing of the engine like q
stiied breath in the distant shaft-house.
Every evening repeats this silent sym.
phony of color, and every day it seems
like something one has dreamed of.
The rose and orange and blue have
faded into the same dull, gray pail,
which, to the valley stretched beneath,
is anything more; only those who
see it from the hills know that some
times this pail is Il robe of glory
We rode home one evening across
the low, bare hills beyond the Mexican
camp. 1t was during the ''earth-shoch
weather. Gas the miners call those last
dry, lurid weeks before the early rain
fall). and one of the dull, red sunsets
peculiar to that season, had been fam
ing on the bay and mountains; its lin
gering glow cOlOred the edge of this
Silly moonlight. The soil here has s
vermilion tinge, which is stronger after
shutdown; it vas intensified that even
ing by the flush in the sky. There wa
no positive light or shadow. only 8
pink glow spreading over all the wide
landscape, except whsre the canon hell
its glOOms, and above it a young moor
slowly frightened in a sky Of twilight
blue. 1t was in sentiment like William
Morris poetry. l always think of il
as the ''land east of the sun, and wes
of the mOon," While the moon il
young and her light faint and pail. ONT
can scarcely mark the time when tn,
lingering twilight:passes into the soft
dim radiance that spreads like a spell
over the valley, across part of which
lies the shadow of . mountain. W,
cannot see the moon itself. only III
light. The mountains opposite remain
always shrouded in silence and mys
terry. But when nights come for tb'
full moon the place is q paradise in
the foreground the winding trails will
black masses OF shadow from thu
clumps of live oak crossing them, thu
dark mountain lines rising grandly OF
every side, the mysterious depths o
the canons. the lights of the Mexican
camp scattered over the hills, the closer
clustered lights of the Cornish camp
en- the lower range, the wide, dim val
ley below, and the far-of barrier o
mountains.