The Redwood gazette. [volume] (Redwood Falls, Minn.) 1873-1940, 1880-04-29

But by revolving stroke on stroke,
Thy worth and beauty grow to be
A wonder for the world to see,
And men shall say, who see thee shine,
a Master wrought 1t from the mine.
Rose Terry Cooke, IN Christian Union.
THE HERMIT.
A Tale OF Mining Life In the sierra Madre.
Away up on the main range-the
Sierra Madre the Rocky Mountains,
twelve thousand feet above the sea,
rests little mining camp of some
twenty or twenty-five rough log cabins.
Right on the edge of timber line! Tall,
spruce pines below; bare, Jagged rocks
above. North, south, east and west
huge peaks tower in their massive
grandeur and rear their stony heads to
the rising and setting sun, and seem
like grim old sentinels keeping watch
over the little basin in which are the
cabins, collectively known as Mineral
City. The mountain sides are scanned
and ribbed with the rich silver veins of
San Juan. and scores of cuts, shafts and
tunnels echo daily to the clang of drill
and sledge as the hardy miners delve
after the metallic treasures of these
great storehouses.
Near the blacksmith shop, where the
not unmelodious ring of drills and picks
being sharpened is heard all the day
and far into the night, little cabin
stands unobtrusively upon its rocky
foundation. There is an air of neatness
about its hipped roof of nicely split
'shakes'' and its carefnlly-hewn door
that speaks well for the patience, taste
and skill of its builder. In fact, the
cabin is pointed out as a fine specimen
of frontier architecture.
The solitary owner and occupant of
this little building was known through
out the camp as "the Hermit" Not,
be it understood, because of his imita-
ting those poor old beings of ancient
story who dwelt in caves and fled ut
the approach of any one, but simply be-
cause he was a taciturn, quiet old fell
low. who worked his mine alone, and,
when joining the rest of the men about
the fire in the saloon, always sought a
corner and rarely, if ever, took part in
the conversation.
He was vastly different from the rest
of his fellow laborers. He never drank;
he never swore; but in his quiet. unob-
trusive way would sit and gaze intently
at the fire, unmindful of the stories, the
hearty laughter, the social drinking and
the absorbing games Of cards going on
around him. Tall he was, with de-
cided stoop in his shoulders; a long
beard. plentifully streaked with gray,
and a pair of wearied, restless, nervous,
yearning eyes, that somehow appealed
to the rough but good-hearted miners.
Mail came twice a week in Mineral
City, and the saloon was the post-office.
Regularly upon the carriers arrival the
Hermit would join the crowd and listen
with an eager, expectant air as the SUI
prescriptions of the various letters were
read out by the saloon-keeper. and
then, when the last missive had been
reached and either claimed or set aside
he would lower his head and slowly
slip away to his seat at the corner of
the fireplace with never a word.
Every mail that went out carried a let
ter from the Hermit, always directed to
the same party, and every month he
registered one to the same address,
which the boys shrewdly guessed con-
tanned such money as the poor fellow
was able to scrape together from the
scanty yield of his mine-the Alice.
The boys had often debated upon
writing letter to the Hermit, for his
continual expectation and his regularly
bitter disappointment touched them,
but they argued that it would not be
what he wanted, and so the idea was
abandoned. Several of them asked the
postmaster to lay aside their letters
without reading aloud their addresses
that the contrast might not be so pain
full to the Hermit, and none of them
gave vent to any joyful ordinations
when the mail brought them favors, as
was their wont. The old whisky keg,
at the corner of the fireplace, was al
ways reserved for the Hermit, and
come when he might he never found it
occupied, nor when sitting there was
he ever crowded. And so these rough
frontiersmen showed in various WAYS
their sympathy for their lonely and
silent companion, of whom they knew
nothing save what his pinched, care
worn face and yearning eyes told.
One day the mail came in and the
Hermit was not there. This was SO
unusual that it led to considerable
speculation among the boys. Then
Rooney, whose lead lay near the Alice,
remembered that the Hermit had not
been to work that day or the day before.
and when night came on and the key in
the corner remained unoccupied the
boys concluded that investigation was
necessary.
"Pards, reckon the Hermit may be
o leetle off and might kinder need
help" said Georgia, "an' it sorter
strikes me we might call in an see."
As this met the approval of all the
mon. Georgia and Roney started up to
the tlernit's little cabin. A dim light
crePt around the edges of the old flour
sack that acted as curtain for the
little square pane of glass constituting
a window, and, after consultation. the
two messengers concluded to take q
peep before making their presence
known.
Georgia put his face to the glass and
peered intently within. The Hermit
sat on the earthen floor enveloped IN a
torn and miserable blanket. His hat
was off and his long, gray hair was
tangled and unkempt. His eyes, which
Georgia could plainly see, as he sat
nearly facing the window, combined
with their usual pleading expression
sort OF feverish glitter, and the whole
attitude of the man was one of despair.
In his hands he held what appeared to
be photograph and an old letter, and
he never moved his eyes from them.
The rest OF the room that came with
In Gc"rgiaes field of vision betokened
cleanliness. but at the same time ex-