Delta chief., 1883-08-29

semi-bald and unconsciously middle
aged miners and others who are calling
on them with possible matrimony in
prospective. They may pass along the
street about the middle of the afternoon,
and such '.ragging out" was never be-
fore seen in this camp. The curious have
investigated the tracks made by their
little CATERS in the red dust of the upper
road, and report them the smallest feet
ever seen in this section. Billy Devins,
of the Blue-jay claim, is thought to have
the best show with the eldest, and Gold
berry, of the livery stable, with the
youngest. No. He won't let his best
horse and buggy to anybody now, and
takes her out riding three times a week.
But they're snappy and uncertain, and
no one can count on them for a certainty.
So runs the week news, which he picks
up with Sunday drinks.
He enjoys the luxury of a hotel din
ner-a dinner he is not obliged to pre-
pare with his own hands, decidedly
plain dinner in metropolitan estimation.
but to him, commencing with soup and
ending with pie, a sumptuous repast. 1t
is moonlight, and he takes his way home
back by the old trail. Old not in years
but in association. II is but track of
twenty years or SO, yet for him how old
it is in thought How many, many
times he has Travelled over it!
That poker game is going on in one
corner of the Magnolia. The "hard
case" from over the hill is trying to beat
it. He has been so trying every Sunday
night in that same saloon and in that
same corner for the last twenty years.
He has grown old in trying. II has
kept him poor. yet he thinks he can
play poker. He is encouraged in the
impression by a considerate few. He
works for them. They "scoop him in
regularly. He will go home tomorrow.
and during the week wash out a couple
of ounces more for the benefit of Scot
~" and Texas"
Ii IL o'clock and time to go home.
That three mile walk is before him; he
has taken as many drinks AS is prudent.
possibly one or two more. The camp
saloon revelries are beginning to quiet
down. Most of the prominent drunks
have fallen in the cause. The chronic
drunk of the camp is talking at the bar.
But he will talk all night; he never stops
talking-or drinking. He has been
more or less drunk since 1852. He is
phenomenal and not standard for or
dinary incorporates. Almost every
camp has known such drunkard.
Some are alive yet. They are Of the in,-
mortal few not born to die. II would
be madness TO compete with such.
SO he sets out on his lonely walk. OF
how much has he thought while plod-
ding over ii. Here the same big buck
eye brushes against his face as il did in
the "spring OF 80" when he was twen-
ty years younger and had sweetheart
in the ''Statcs." whose memory WAS
fresh and warm. II. has all died out
since. The letters became less and less,
and the years more and more. and then
came to dead standstill and he received
the village paper, and there, appropri-
Atcly below the column OF deaths, he
read of her marriage. whcrcat he went
to camp and plunged wildly into all the
concert saloon could give. and made
things howl, and boldly challenged the
chronic poker game and won. The
trail turns suddenly. 1t has run over
the rocks by the river. the trail Mt times
for many feet almost illegiblc. vague.
smoothly worn streak over ledge and
loose bbulders, polished and strewn
with new white sand and pebbles by
some unusually high frcshct But here
the shelving bank suddenly ceases. 1t
becomes a precipicc. Up the hard
worn path in the red earth he climbs
forty. fifty. sixty feet. II is closely
hcdged with chcmisal. Now he emergcs
near the brow of the high. rocky bluff.
In all its moonlit glory surgcs. bubbles
and roars the river below. Its yellow
muddincss of the day is now changed
10 a dark shade OF brown. with tremu-
lons silver bars. Night and moon are
the artists. ts.-.Prsnticc Milford.