News and citizen. [volume] (Morrisville, Vt. ;) 1881-current, 1881-12-29
/" LITTLE FORTY-TWO. >

Wenu, uau weren't we surprised
You see, we Lad encountered such run
of hard luck up at Point Despair that
one morning we packed up bag and
baggage to the last man and ret off down
the trail in search of show for some
thing better. well remember it was a
hot July day, and there was exactly
forty-one of us.
Seven miles down the trail we came
to what was then called Uncle Joe's
Road, and right at the intersection was
where the surprise hit us. An immi-
grant family had strayed from the main
party for some reason which we never
ascertained, and right at the crossing
they had been attacked by Indians.
The wagon broke down there, and there
the pioneer made his defense and fired
his last shot. That he was game we
needed no other proof than that visible
to our eyes. Three great blood-spots
showed where three savages had fallen
before they charged, and when they
rushed in on him he had killed or dis
abled three more with his revolver.
The family had consisted of five per.
sons, and there they all lay-hacked,
cut, shot, and horrible spectacle under
that bright sun and birds singing
around us. It was a horrible heap
which we surrounded, and for minute
no one spoke. Then the astonishment
/ on6 Af fha lDroy,r rxhk
deep and angry EXPLANATIONS, and
amidst the rumpus Uncle Ben Turner
suddenly called out:
'sStand back stand back Here's a
live young 'un p
There was, for fact. Half hidden
under the torn and blood-stained gar
ments of its dead mother, was boy
about two years old. He had terrible
bump on his head, and as we talked it
over we concluded that his mother fell |
from the wagon with him in her arms
| when the wheel broke down, and that |
the bump rendered him insensible. In |
the excitement he had been overlooked |
or thought dead, and had cried himself |
of our men. The attack had been made
early in the morning, and it was near
noon when we came upon the scene.
Well, the best we could do with the
poor victims was to bury them, but didn't
that boy leave us in nice fixl There
we were, forty-one gruff, growlish,
rough-handed miners, and there he was,
milk-faced baby calling for ma and pa
and shivering with terror at sight of us.
What could we do with him -? We had
no kisses, no pet words, no dainties nor
little clothes. We looked from the
baby to each other and scratched our
heads, and no man knew what another
man thought until finally old Uncle
Ben called out:
"Boys, it's token of good luck
Ii this ere what-d' 'ye-call-it don't bring
us rich find then we've all forgot our
homes and wives and children I"
That's all We were waiting for. Up
went our hats, cheers made the rocks
echo, and the little toddler was one of
us-one of the forty-two. Graves were
dug and the victims laid away, and we
made hunt to identify them. If the
immigrant had had any papers with him
lhey had been burned or taken off, and
we found nothing on the boys clothing
which gave us a clue. When We were
ready to go he stood in the circle,
screaming out as we coaxed him in turn,
but when old Ben finally advanced, the
young cub held up his arms and nestled
against his shoulder as if he had found
his own true father. 1 believe the rest
of us were bit jealous, but we were
also helpless. Ben had kind, fatherly
face, quiet voice, and thu boy had
only to look into his eyes to trust him.
AS to the luck, the old man was right.
-Four miles farther down the trail, the
boy pointed to some flowers growing off
to the right, and right there we halted
and founded what was known for years
as Lost Boy Diggings. 1t was the rich
est spot for fifty miles around, and all
on account of "Little Forty-Two," as
we called the youngster.
As to the boy himself, he took to old
Ben in such a way that they could not
be separated. He could be enticed to
sit with one of us now and then, but it
was plain to see that his love was
elsewhere.
If Ben wanted kiss he got dozen,
and all the gold in California wouldn't
have bribed the boy off his knee. At
night his arm was the child's pillow,
and the slightest move of the youngster
brought the old mans eyes open. You
might have expected that 'Little Forty
Two" would die ON our hands, living as =
we did, but he never had moments !
sickness. Old Ben had way of pre-
pairing nourishing dishes out of our I
coarse provisions, and from the clothing
found with the wagon he was kept com. !
fortably clad. Old Ben was no dress ,,
maker, and the boy would have looked 8
queerly dressed in the States, but as s
long as he was comfortable we didn't
care for looks.
Little "Forty-Two had been with :
us thirteen months, and was, to our '
figuring, little over three years old, t
when some of the men who had made I
their stakes announced their intention l
Of going home. Then the question
arose: "Whose boy is our boy?" 1t Z
was stumper. Each man felt that he s
owned share in the little chap, and i
each man would have been glad to take q
him home. We argued and discussed !
I |
there saying never a word, but his face 4
was as white as chalk. "Little Forty J
Two" belonged to the old man in every e
sense, but believe there would have !
been some trouble if Fate hadn't come :
stalking up the rocky trail and halted
at our diggings.
This was the way Of it. Some were @