The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1884-05-19

How the Co'ur d'AIene Boys Started Him
Upon Ills Last, Long Stampede over the
Range"
Co,ur d'Alene Eagle.
Stumpy Wicks was dead. The mountain fever
had killed him. A few days before he had started
off into the hills telling the boys that he would
find something rich or never go out again.
He did not find anything. and he never went out
again. The fever laid its grip upon him, and in
three days he was dead. He had gone over the
range, the boys said
1t became necessary to bury Stumpy Wcks.
And how was he buried BY his relatives? He
had no relatives. BY the town! There was no
town. BY his pard! lie had no pard.
Forty years ago Stumpy Nlcks
had left his home-no one knew
where-sInd his people-no one knew Whom-tO
wander alone in the West. He died alone His
wife his mother, his sister, if he had one will
never know where he died, or what hands Laid
him in his grave.
1t was the boys They got together and made
a coffin out of box or two, and covered it with
black cloth. They put Stumpy into it, with a
clean -four sack over his poor, dead face. They
Clipped in aud hired an eN -parson, who for years
had abandoned his profession, to give Stumpy
a sendof.' They dug grave to good and
honest depth in the tough red earth. They went
out and found fiat rock for headstone, and on
it. with an engineers graver, they scratched the
brief epitaph, ''Stumpy Wicks' Then. they fol
lowed the coffin wagon to the grave, walking
through the mud and rain.
There were forty men in that funeral process
sion, and not one woman. Very few We're drunk,
and nearly all had taken off their siX-shooters.
| There were forty men who stood around thatopen
grave, and not one woman TO drop tear. as the
ex- parson read brief portion OF the Episcopal
burial service and offered a short prayer for the
safe journey of Stumpys soul across the range.
There was no history of Stumpys life. No one
knew that history. 1t was doubtless a sad
enough one, full OF slips and stumbles; fun of
hope, perhaps, before he lost his grip" They
found womans picture, very Old, and quite
wern out indeed, in Stumpy's pocket and this
was buried with him. This was probably his
history.
There was not a tear shed at Stumpys funeral,
Not sob was heard But neither was there
any oath or any laughter.
When the time came to fill up the grave, ready
hearts assisted ready hands, and the expert
enced miners quickly did the work. They
rounded up the mound and fitted up the head
stone When the eX-parson stepped back from
the grave he stumbled over the maidstone of
Billy Robbins, the gambler whom Antoine
Sanchez knitted. There were a good many of
the boys resting there The bullet, the knife, and
the mountain fever had finished them, except
those whom the committee assisted. 1t was the
committee who put Antoine Sanchez at the foot
of Billy Robbins grave.
There was no green thing in this graveyard,
no living plants, no little flowers. 1t lay red
and bare upon a red and bare hillside. There
were no white stones to mark the homes of the
sleepers; those used were of the rough, red
granite.
The boys were quiet They were thinking,
perhaps. They looked up at the sky, which,
strangely enough, had in it no tint of blue, and
the sky, in pity that tear was shed, wept
some upon them.
AS the procession broke up and moved back to
the saloons one was heard to say that it was the
Oldest mournfulest plantin' he ever had hand
in. I'm fact the camp did not get back to its
normal condition until the next day. There was
something too sad even for these rough souls in
the lonely, broken Life the lonely, unwept death
wonder V * some Of them did not reach chou out fhe1
arms frem their blankets that night and hold
them up and cali out SOFTLY ooh Stumpy
Stumpyl What is it you see over the ranged
After n broken, wretched life, what is there fol
| man, over the ranger