The Republican journal., 1885-11-12

thought 1Or long time, with his eyes
fixed on the ceiling; then he aroused
himself suddenly, and motioned Bill to
his side. When his companion had seat
ed himself on the bed, Boston laid one
thin hand on his, and said while the
tears of gratitude and feebeness gather
ed in his eyes:
81 know | would have died here alone,
if it hadn't been for you"
"Git outw cried Bill, very Indignantly.
"Ain't we even? guess I'd be out thar
with my boots on if it hadn't been for
you"
Il don't know that care particularly
about getting well, but if | do, we are
partners in all good luck"
Bill flushed, and said
81 guess you'd better dry up, now"
Boston lay perfectly still after this, and
Bill thought he was sleeping but after
time he saw his lips move, and bent down
to hear what he was trying to say.
"Bill," he whispered, 'if the worst
comes, I'd like my father to know. His
name is Edward Pavson, of No. 1923
Beacon Street My name is George.
haven't made the most of my life, and
the poor old man is put out with me,
now And then there were Others
But Boston's voice sank, and he fell
again into lethargc slumber.
Bill lit his pipe and amused himself by
frequent STRINGS and pokings at the
fire, which the wind tried to suck up and
out. The sick mans teeting reminis-
cence of his broken past had suggested
to Bills wavering mind his own bitter
retrospections Presently he became
conscious that the silence had in some
way deepened-that some hitherto un-
noticed noise had ceased, $50 the ear will
| become conscious of the presence of a
| clock 10y the cessation of its ticking
| Bill went to the bed. 1t was Bostons
| breathing that had stopped A sudden
terror took possession Of the watcher. He
| felt that he could not remain alone with
| that dead man, and listen to the hdeous
wind. He threw his coat about him,
pulled his hat over his ears, and fed
from the place.
The drifts were terrible, and the sleet
that beat upon his face was like the
touch of death. The light of the railroad
station shone through the storm, and to-
ward this he struggled. The sleepy
operator in the telegraph room started
up in astonishment at the huge, snow
covered figure that staggered into the
room.
''My pardner is dead, wanter send a
telegraf to Boston. What'll it take"
GLOW many words 2"
81 don't know" said Bill. "I'm not up
to this layout of yourn. What's the
limit ?"
Just write out"
"Wrte out ?" said Bill, grimly. "Oh, |
no, I'm no professor i'll a college. just !
yo@ write exactly what tell you"
IAN right"
"Just say" began Bill, '"Edward Pay
son, No. 1923 Beacon street, Boston.
Got that down ?"
Beacon street, Boston, yes, " said the |
operator
Bill continued
81 take my pen in hand
"No," said the other "Cut all that
"Ye see,'' said Bill, ALPHABETICALLY, "I
Wanter break the news to the old gent
However, YOU know best. Just say that |
his son George died here tonight of
newmony. Kin ye send that word by
telegraph ?"
The operator read:
~,o, 1928 Bo,ooa STREET, B.ston, HAS Your son
George died here tonight of pneumonia. Will /
bury bim here and await your orders.
BILL RAGsDAIE.
That's right. I'll have him buried
here till the old man comes. Now,
young teller, I'm dead broke, but | tell
you what HI do. Here's my gun. III
leave it in hook with you til! make a
bargain. Is it a bargain p
The operator was glad to oblige Mr..
Ragsdale, and told him that the ar
rangement was entirely satisfactory. Bill
stood by the stove Il moment.
''Poor Boston," he muttered, 'poor
Boston. A man can't tell when his turns
comm"
Then he passed out into the storm and
the wind changed the door after him.
BY o'clock in the morning the storm
had ceased and party Of miners, pass
ing along the railroad track, found not
100 yards from the station, the dead
body of Bill Ragsdale. 1t was frozen
stiff, but two rough holes in his forehead
showed that he had not died from ex-
posure. \ few hours later Dr. Morgan
rode a stalwart broncho as far up the
gulch as he could go, then dsmounted,
and, after great difficulty reached the
door of Boston's cabin. II entered and
found Boston the only occupant. There
were only a few embers on the hearth
He uttered an exclamation and turned to
the bed. Boston made slight motion
with his head ana asked feebly:
"Where's Bill :"
''I don't know" said the doctor. GLOW
do you feel to-day!"
"Better, but | was very bad last
night"
The Doctor blew up the embers, put
on more wood, tucked the blankets
about Boston, and began looking for
something to cook. "How's the chest
and back 2" he asked.
VERY little pain" said Boston. 81
wonder where Bill is"
The doctor was busy in the manufac-
ture of broth and did not hear him. He
administered some medicine and gave
the patient two applications. "The
turning point is passed." he said to his
patient, 'you're bound to get well now."
Then he returned to town, but came
back in the afternoon with Col Molly |
and a supply of provisions. "Dont tell
him about Bill" he cautioned. The next
day he called again. Col. Molly was
sleeping in corner and Boston was sit
ting up in bed.
In two days more Molly came back to
town and Boston, pale and very weak,
was walking about the cabin. He had
heard of Bills death, and turned down
another sombre leaf in his book of mem
ories. The terrible storm had swept |
down the telegraph-w and among
the delayed messages received by the
operator about a week after Bills death,
was the following:
BOsToN, Feb. ., 1s7S.-BW ReqSloie, De,u1-
arood: George Payson's father is dead. All
bills will be paid. Will come in the spring.
HENRY SCRANTON.
All the operator could do was to re-
turn word to Mr.. Scranton that Bill |
Ragsdale was dead
In the meantime George Payson re-
covered from his convalescence and be-
gan more earnest and systematic life.
He left the town, secured a position in a
stamp-mlll short distance away, and |
the spring found him there, graver, with
few premature gray threads in his
beard. Some secret hope seemed to