Reporter and farmer. [volume] (Webster, Day County, Dakota [S.D.]) 188?-1946, 1884-12-18

lea by its Western way, and marked his
march along the Pacific slope not by
forts, but churches, with which theii
shrines and alters yet stand in decayine
grandeur amid gardens of olive and palm.
From these outposts, guarded by the
sacred cross, missionary fathers in the
robes and sandals Of the Franciscans
penetrated inland, carrying good will to
the savages Of tho New World. 1t il
said that one of those devoted brothers,
seeing on the white summit of q noun
tain the red snow-fower Of the Sierras,
sprinkiug the snowy field like drops OF
blood, fell on his knees in wondering
alteration, and called the mountain
"Sangre de Cristo," the Mount of the
Blood of Christ. This brother died in
the wilderness, and it is told that the
c~rucifix which dropped from his lifeless
hand was Transformed into o marvel
among the clouds. For, far lifted above
mortal, or wing of bird, towers a great
cross OF snow against q mountain side
known as the "Mount OF the Holy Cross"
The most careless tourist feels a
sLrill Of awe, when, from mid-afr, ap-
pears the isolated Mount OF the Holy
Gross" Long ago the splendors OF
Mount Sine: faded into the gray OF the
past; long so the priceless drops OF the
Savior's blood were shed on Mount
Calvary; yet on the wondrous stretches
of our mountain ranges, red drops crini.
son the pale wastes, and, in splendor OF
diamonds and pearls, CLEANS the eternal
SHOWS n form of ths blessed Cross,
lifted up, that all, on height or low.
land, can see the symbol OF Divine and
universal love.
In a cabin that had long been roof.
ess and ~fireless, q mockery OF oomfort
apon the windy summit OF the range,
there lived, once on q time, my guide
told me, q maiden, dazzling and pure as
the stars. 4.
It was July when we stood there, but
the SHOWS that had drifted over the
hearth we're unmelted, and the WIND
roared through the crevices with an
angry grief. What the place must have
bsen when winter buried 1t couldscarce
ly be imagined.
The father Of the beautiful girl whose
home this had been, had perched his
habitation on this crag, not altogether
by chance, for in summer he acted as
guide TO tourists in the Yosemite, ana
in winter, on his snow shoes, carried
mail and messages to scattered cabins
and settlements. Silent ne
was known-was o mystery, even
mona those hidden and mysterious
men who find arefuget in the mountain
gulches. He was q m~isan.hrope, VINO
had taken the youngest OF his Tour cnii,
dren and fled, leaving their mother ana
her complainings and struck out, IN
yindictiye sulleness, for the wilderness
and peace. The child, he swore,
should grow up IN quiet, II nothing
more. II from the glance OF the little
girls dark eyes he turned In thought,
sometimes to other dark eyes like them,
which in his early manhood had been
lode-stars of destiny; ii the fond name,
father, drought TO his remembrance
other children who had hsped the
same dear word, none knew me
mentioned his old life to no one. ne
spoke OF his wife and children but once
during the years Of his stay on the
m0nntain.
Silent Jack was not an unlettered or
vicious man. He taught and cared 70,
the child of his love with morose 2
pathetic devotion. he taught o ut
lie n of God-strange teacher
of the word. The Bible was her spell
ing book, her geography and story