St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1882-03-31
The DeacOn's Strike.


had been miles away from the near
est post-thOugh the deacon was new
er known to have other companion
than his ragged, gray little 6urrO-the
the news had spread. The wind, ruff
fling the green plumes of the spruce
above the deacon's head as he bent
over the glittering quartz laid bare by
his pick, may have whispered it abroad
or the crested jay, furtively watching
him with keen, round eyes from the
spruce's topmOst bOughs, may have
borne it afar. At any rate, the dea-
cons strike was secret no longer.
Singly, and by twos and threes, the
pros IectOrs came, and following in
their footsteps came the boom. Then,
as if by magic, there arose Mountain
City-a city of dug-Outs and canvas
tents, struggling up and down the mar
row gulch and terminating i'll a nu
cleus of few rudely-built Lighthouses
at its head.
The deacon, whose original discOv
cry had called into existence this city
of day, was i'll no wise elated at his
success, nor, after the fashion of the
wayward prOspector, given to convlvl-
ality thereat. He altered not little of
his ways, but, silent and self-cOntain
ed as ever, pursued his daily task of
opening the lead with the same pa
tient endeavor with which he might
have followed the plow over the rug
ged hills of his native New England
state.
Regarding the deacon in some sense
as its sponsor, the camp had not been
unkindly disposed towards the mo-
rose old man. 1t had made many
friendly and sociable efforts at affilia
ton, but being invariably repulsed,
had desisted, as it became tacitly un-
derstOOd its life and his held little in
common.
For it was evident the deacon re-
garded with disfavor the recreations of
the lively camp. The enticing strains
issuing from the dance-hOuse stirred
not his sluggish pulse. He carefully
avoided the velvet stroke of the
"tiger's" paw and held himself alOot
from the allurements of the "Miner's
Retreat" where nightly "a cOterie of
choice spirits met for genial game of
"freeze- out" and sociable discussion
of the affairs of the camp.
Naturally the deacon's self-elected
isolation drew upon him many com
ments. Many were the wild and i'm
probable conjectures as to his history,
but as of this no man knew one iOta,
it continued to be wrapt i'll mystery as
inscrutable as the deacon's hard favor
ed face
A little thrill of excitement ran
through the camp, therefore, when it
was rumored the deacon had sold the
''Green Mountain Boy for mere
nominal sum. Nor was it allayed when
one morning the deacon packed his lit
tie tent upon the gray burrO and took
his departure from their midst.
Away from the haunts of man, i'll the
solitude of the hills, the deacon seem
D ed in Il more cOngenial element. His
tent was finally pitched near the sum
nit of the range on a rugged mountain
: side, SCARED and furrOwed by the
hand of Time, like the deacOn's own
harsh countenance. And here daily
from sun to sun he prosecuted, in hi.
slow determined way, his search fol
; the hidden silver vein beneath.
Seated near his campfire one even
q ing, he was quietly resting after the
labors of the day, distributing, as wa,
his custom, bits of bread and bacon tt
the gray 6urrO. Suddenly the bmrC
pricked his long ears, and the deacon
glancing around saw man approach
+ ing slowly from below. As he drew
| near he recognized, with anything bu
d pleasure, young man who had beeI
the liveliest of the lively camp. His
y dress, different from that of the Ordi
nary miner, was stained and torn, ant
d his face, haggard and sunken, wa
If turned upon the deacon with eager eX
d pectancy.
II Il am famishing," he exclaimed
4. abruptly, dispensing with any saluta
ton. "Will you give me something t.
/ eat ?"
, For reply the deacon silently mo
:. toned to the viands still beside th'
T. smoldering fire. The other waited fO
q, D. no more, but set to at once. And Il
n the deacon noticed his tremulOus han'
and the avidity with which he ate
er something like compassion crept owe
s his hard features.
1s "From the camp?" he asked, a
s. length, as the other had somewhat sat
h istied his hunger.
t. ''Yes. | left three days ago. hav
s. eaten nothing since till now. My de
n. parture was rather sudden, as you ca
Judge" he added, with forced laugl
d The deacon glanced at him inquil
ed ingly. The other avoided his gaze an
ng fixed his eyes in a sullen stare upO
" the fire. After pause he continue
he abruptly, in tone of assumed levity
ed 81 was invited to leave for the goo
,e of the community by the VigilanC
lc Committee"
III "Ah !" exclaimed the deacon, with
is, grim look.
VS. "Yes," the other continued, nevt
ia, once taking his eyes from the fire an
X, speaking as though the words wei
is drawn from him fOrcibly. 81 migl
vs. tell you that it was case of mistake
pa identity and all that-but | won't. Nv
, 5 got bad name in the camp, and
don't say but what l deserve it. NJ
tor partner was strung for stopping IL
till coach, but they couldn't prove it c
an, me, so they only told me to skip"
Is "They couldn't prove it," said Il
an deacon, shortly. ''But did you"
de-. "No, did not" the other broke
in fiercely. II have been bad enOug
ae sco but not so bad as that. | told them 5
but they wouldn't believe it. | te
YOU the same, and | don't expect VI
to, either. | have eaten and reste
and now I'll CO." he added, in a weal
tone as he arose trembling partly wi
excitement, partly with exhaustion.
"Go ~ said the deacon "where to
Il don't know, and | don't care
And the utter hOpelessness of his vol
ON. went to the deacon's heart.
"'Sit down." said he quietly, ''al
III IN let me think"
by. The other fell back into his place
al the fire and fixed his gaze once mo
pos - :: - -, ,,Se;.Ia,. -
or upon IL. OF Time neltneT spoke,
h. the deacon absently continued to fe
bits of broken bread to the burro.