Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1882-03-03
THE DEACONs STRIKE.

QUAIL gtaIH no inoIt iuI tue uhthnl Iahh4
THE DEACON'S STRIKE.
The deacon had struck something at last
And, though the secluded gulch had been
miles away from the nearest post-though
the deacon was never known to have other
companion than his ragged, gray little 6urrO
the news had spread The wind, rufiling
the green plumes Of the spruce above the
deacons head as he bent over the gittering
quartz laid bare by his pick, may have whis-
pered it abroad or the crested jay, furtiyely
watching him with keen, round eyes from the
spruce's topmost boughs, may have borne it
afar. At any rate, the deacons strike was a
secret no longer.
Singy, and by twos and threes, the pros
pectors came, and, following in their foot
steps came the boom. Then, as if by magic
there arose Mountain City-a city of dug.ou
and canvas tents, struggling up and down the
narrow gulch and terminating in nucleus Of
few rudely-built log houses at its head.
The deacon, whose original discovery had
called into existence this city of a day, was in
no wise elated at his success, nor, after the
fashion of the wayward prospector, given to
conviviality thereat. He altered not a title
of his ways, but, silent and self-contaned as
ever, pursued his daily task of opening the
lead with the same patient endeavor with
which he might have followed the plow over
the rugged hills of his native New England
state.
Regarding the deacon in some sense as its
sponsor, the camp had not been unkindly dis
posed towards the morose old man. 1t had
made many friendly and sociable efforts at
afiiliaton, but being invariably repulsed had
desisted as it became tacitly understood its
life and his held little in common.
For il was evident the deacon regarded with
disfavor the recreations of the lively camp.
The enticing strains issuing from the dance
house stirred not his sluggish pulse. He care
fully avoided the velvet stroke of the tigers"
paw and held himself aloof from the allure
ments of the Miners Retreat" where nightly
a coterie of choice spirits met for a genial
game Of freeze ont" and sociAble discus-
sion OF the affairs of the camp.
Naturally the deacon's self-elected isolation
drew upon him many comments Many were
the wild aud improbable conjectures as to his
history, but as of this no man knew one iota,
it continued to be wrapt in mystery as inscru-
table as the dcacon's hard-fayored face.
A little thrill of excitement ran through the
camp, therefore, whom 1t was rumored the
deacon had sold the Green Mountain Boy"
for n mere nominal sum. Nor was it sllayed
when one morning the deacon packed his lit
tie tent upon the gray burrO and took his de-
pRrture from their midst
Away from the haunts of man, in the So
litude OF the hills, the deacon seemed in
more congenial element. His tent was final
ly pitched near the summit of the range on a
rugged mountain side, SCARED and furrowed
by the hand of Time, like the deacons own
harsh countenance. And here daily from sun
to sun he prosecuted, in his slow determined
way, his search for the hidden silver vein be-
meath.
Seated near his campfire one evening, he
was quietly resting after the labors of the day,
| distributing as was his custom, bits Of bread
and bacon to the gray buTT0 Suddenly the
burrO pricked his long ears, and the deacon
glancing around saw a man approaching slow
| ly from below. AS he drew near he recog-
nized, with anything but pleasure, a young
man who had been the liveliest Of the lively
camp. His Dress different from that of the
| ordinary miner, was stained and torn, and his
face, haggard and sunken was turned upon
the deacon with eager expectancy.
II am famishing," he exclaimed, abruptly,
| dispensing with any salutation. "Wil you
| give me something to eatI'
For reply the deacon silently motoned to
| the viauds still beside the smoldering fire.
| The other waited for no more but set to at
once. And as the deacon noticed his tremu-
lous hand and the avidity with which he ate,
something like compassion crept over his hard
| features.
"From the camp ?" he asked, at length, as
the other had somewhat satisfied his hunger.
Eyes. left three days ago. l have eaten
nothing since till now. My departure was
rather sudden, as you can judge, he added,
with forced laugh.
The deacon glanced at him inquiringly.
The other avoided his gaze and fixed his eyes
in sullen stare upon the fire. After pause
he continued abruptly, in tone of assumed
levity;
II was invited to leave for the good of the
community by the Vigilance Committee"
'Ah !" exclaimed the deacon, with grim
look.
"Yes," the other continued, never once
taking his eyes from the fire and speaking as
though the words were drawn from him forci-
bly,. II might tell you that ii was a case of
mistaken identity and all that--but wont.
I've got bad name in the camp, and don't
say but what deserve it. My partner was
strung for stopping the coach, but they
couldn't prove it on me, so they only told me
to skip"
''They couldn't prove it, said the deacon,
shortly. "But did you"
mo, I did not" the other broke in iercely.
81 have been bad enough, but not 30 bad as
that told them So but they wouldn't be-
lieve it. l tell you the same, and don't ex-
pect you to, either. have eaten and rested,
and now I'll CO." he added, in weary tone
as he arose, trembling partly with excitement,
partly with exhaustion.
go ?" said the deacon "where to ?"
II don't know, and don't care" And the
utter hopelessness of his voice went to the
deacon's heart.
''Sit down, said be quietly, land let me
think"
The other fell back into his place by the
fire and fixed his gaze once more upon it. Fol
a time neither spoke, as the deacon absently
continued to feed bits of broken bread to the
6urrO
Deacon" the young man said at length
81 don't expect any leniency from yOu. And
yet it was kind of you to let me sit here anC
eat. wish you would believe me innocent Of
this last"
"Why should not?' the deacon replied
as much in self-communon as in answer tC
the other. Then, in his usual harsh manner
he added "PerLaps you now see young man
the folly of the life you led over there," anC
nodded his head towards the camp.
Don't moralize, deaoon-not to me, a
least 1t is too late for that now," the othel
sullenly replied.
''Too late 1t is never too late !" said thu
deacon, with energy.
''It's all very well for you to talk that way