Essex County herald. [volume] (Guildhall, Vt.) 1873-1964, 1885-07-24
About two miles from our ranch were

I =
''Byers's folly" Poor grandfather had
had the well dug, hoping to obtain
the water to irrigate his land. He could
not see ahead to the time when com.
pany of capitalists would intersect the
region with irrigating bitches, and each
mans land could be benefited by paying
small annual water. tax.
Grandfather's money gave out before
the well was finished, and the wide, deep,
black hole, carelessly crossed by rotten
boards, and big pile of earth, was all
that was left of his labor and his fortune.
Not only was his money sunk in the
hole, but also large sums borrowed from
Mr.. Little, who knew, had forgiven it,
and five hundred dollars borrowed from
Mr.. Davieson, Of D, and to this man
our ranch was mortgaged.
Grandfather grew gloomy and sad as
spring came on. He frightened up a
little when l showed him my account
book, Miss Bessie Showed me how to
keep il, and l proved to him how much
money! had made with the hens and
the butter; but he sighed moment after.
EFF hadn't "a done that, how COM
ferable we'd "a been. You're sich a
smart girl, son more'n gal, Charley.
But Davieson's hard man; dunno as
er-morrer'll find us with a roof to cover
us, an It's fine property too, now the
irrergatin' ditch crosses it"
He seemed to take little interest in the
farmwork. He would harness the horse,
plow few burrows and then stand in a
helpless attitude, looking toward D..
He would wander down to the road to
ask possers if they had a letter for him,
and then would sit outside the kitchen
door, his face hidden in his hands.
George, playing near by, would try to
comfort him in his loving baby way.
One day, however, man came up on
horseback. He tossed me a letter-rve
hated yellow envelopes ever since-for
grandpa, who was down the field with
his team; it was such sunny March day,
it gave him new life for his work.
l could not bear to take it, so put
Georgie's sunbonnet on him, and pinned
the letter to his frock, and with big
cookie in his hand, sent him down to
"danpa."
They came back later, hand in hand,
the same old horses following. Grand
father hurried past me into his chamber,
and shut the door. His face was ash
colored, his eyes bloodshot. l waited a
long time; feared he might be dead, SO
l raped on the door. He opened it; he
was dressed in his worn black broad
cloth suit, with his fashioned high
collar. / remembered then it was the
first time l had ever seen him wear q
white shirt. He held an old beaver hat
in his hand, and was absently brushing
the nap with his sleeve.
"It's come, dear. That! I'm goin
ter D.. I'll try if he won't wait till
fall.Pll work hard. Maybe the crops'll dc
summat. III sell the stock"-those old
horses were so dear to him! mo,
don't kiss me, dear; it 'ud break me
down. I've just found out Pm a weak
old man. Inever felt it afore."
He staggered out to the barn. fol
lowed him.
81 mayn't be back for two days or so,
VIII you be afeeredW
"No, said, but was. Ihelped him
| ihtO Ll4O NdSOhs liz SCCIlICll uuLCu anu
half-blinded by his misfortune. Oh, if !
could help him! did the work faith.
fully when he was gone, driving the
cows and milking them, and taking care
of the house and George and the poultry,
The next day band of Indians-ten
or twelve-rode up to the cabin. l was
frightened, but met them as coolly as il
| had plenty to protect me. George, in
wild alarm, hid under the bed. The
Indians seemed kind, and only wanted 9
drink of milk. There were four squaws
among them, with kind, bright eyes
one gave me a necklace of beads as they
rode off.
Shortly afterward Mr.. Little and Ton
Gray rode up in haste, their horses white
with foam.
"Bessie!" shouted Mr.. Little, as hi
came up over the hill. 'Is she here
! Have YOU seen herr"
'Not for week, said. "Has any
thing happened"
"She went to ride yesterday afternoon
and hasn't returned yet, nor has she beer
seen. We hoped she was here"
"She hasn't been"
They looked white and scared. Mr.
Little seemed to have aged in night.
'There was band of Indians here,
said Gray; "they II ay have taken her.
l told them of the Indians visit, anC
thought it improbable, as they seemed
so kindly disposed; but they rode OF
following the trail.
That night was more dreadful thar
the first, and the dog seemed trenzieC
over the cayotes, who yelled till morn
ing and cried myself into hysteric
and frightened poor little George, whC
sat up in bed and screamed the "kiyo
were eating his dirl." lie always callcC
Miss Bessie his "dirl."
The next morning a number of peopl
came up; they were hunting for Bessie
The whole neighborhood was searched.
l could not leave home, but Georgi
and l walked over the ranch, looking il
every hole, and wistfully across til
plains. Our dog, Smarty, ran after us
and a silly old turkey-gobbler, my pc
and the pride of my poultry yard, joineC
in the procession. Smarty chased him
and Gobble flew over the wire-fence an,
rushed down the hill, through a valley
across the road, and saw the two, mer
specks, tearing up the hill near the we'll
"Hell kill Gobble!" shouted, seizin
Georges hand, and we rushed afte
them, George crying at the top of hi
lungs and being winded at every step
At last took him on my back, an,
finished the race with heavy burden.
At the foot of the hill was the well
and there Gobble stood, scolding AM
shaking his red neck, while Smart
seemed to have forgotten his very exist
ence, but was running around the well
uttering short, quick barks.
The planks around and over the we
aa-ll. rL.o..L Il