The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1885-12-10


as that Death which has just come and
gone across the grass to the tent Of
her patient. She peers cautiously
within, then turning. flies back to
where the miners still stand about the
tiny, quiet form.
@'St! French John is within the
lady's tent-surround it and seize him
he is a robber and a murderer.
Lotela knows"
In a moment more the tent is sur
rounded by men whose movements will
not discredit those of their red breth-
rem of the forest. For little space
they listen to the clear, low tones Of his
voice.
"An6 Leda. ma belle, they have your
brave cheUalier under lock and key;
given over to justice by the writing of
your own fair hand Lies are all tres
bie'a, cherie, in the right place; but
that Jack Bernard should be taken and
hung for Jacque Bonnard is trop mag
nifque. Cieli how drolll"
Hung! My Godl"
"Hung, OH, madame; swung up,
taken from life-I, your husband, say
1T. MATS, that is your pay, mon ange,
for frightening me out of my senses
that day in the canon-I thinking
saw your ghost. Why did you try to
find me? You are as white as le diable,
only he's counted black by those who
know. Are you i'll. ma BELIEF" Z.
He will be hung-it cannot bel And
1, you say, did tit is my fault?"
"Oui, madame, by writing him your
brother Jdcque, and signing yourself
BonnarP-isn't that plain speaking,
dame de mon cgur? / ask, again, are
you Ill? Had / known you were so
near at hand, 1 should have before now
paid my little Uisite de ceremoraie."
Il am ill. Tonight son was born
to us; but though you be a thousand
times the father of my child, yet shall
you suffer for your crimes~ Then;
raising her voice with almost superhu-
man effort, she sends piercing shrek
out upon the midnight air.
In moment more the daring devil
of the hills is pinioned so that escape
is impossible, and at once the Younger
members of the camp set off with their
prisoner for Livewood.
Days come and go at Thunder Gulch
All day the miners pick, and dig, and
rock their cradles for gold, and at
eventime go out to the little grave I'M
der the big redwood, a stones throw from
camp, and look with thoughtful eyes
at the rude little cross Absalom has
placed at the head of the mound. The
little grave is so pitifully small that it
seems to pull at their heart strings as
no larger mound could, while each rent
heart is beating sympathetically with
the little childless child mother, who
is battling death with only dear mother
nature and cunning old Lotela to help
her. Which will win? Sometimes
death seems very near to the poor girl,
as they hear through the thin canvas
her mutterings and senseless speeches.
They know the Jack she calls for is not
her brother, but they have forgiven
her little deception, and fill their hearts
with pity in lieu of resentment.
Eff he would only come,," says Alb
salon. as he stands before the tent
door; "what on airth kin keep him
so almighty long, wonder? Pears as
if twas agin all mater to let that sweet
voice go on begin and begin -"
a great weight falls upon his shout
ders. He turns and confronts Jack.
How is she, friend ?" comes in hoarse
tones. How"
'Oh, jack oh, Jack you told me
to! / meant to do your bidding, else
/ would not"
The Jack she calls for bursts into
great sobs at the sound of her wailing
cry, and putting his arms about the
neck of old Absalom, he weeps as if his
heart would break. He has gone
through SO much. He has come to find
his love for the tender little sufferer
so great, that his sorrowing soul breaks
bonds, and he weeps until relief comes,
upon the old mans shoulder.
''Blows the wind in that direction ?"
mutters the old man, looking down
with grim smile at the shaking form
of the youth within his arms. "A reg
ular cyclone hez cotched We onsudden
Love hez powerful stormy ways some
times, begin ter feebly understand:
and that pesky little kid in the picter
books, as puts on style what with wings
and bows and arrers and SIGH trumpery,
pre-empts all the varnal. varsal world !!
Quiet, now, pard, the showers lettin'
off steam, and the sun'll shine. like
glory when her eyes set wonst on yer!
Go within, boy, and Gods blessin' fol-
Ter YEP
But, though she does not know him
when, at last, he stands before her,
love enters her being through his mag
netic finger-tips, and the big tender
hands soothe her with soft touches.
The Indian woman's place is usurped
in many ways; but she does not resent
it, and together they fight with death,
who, seeing two brave souls against
him, gives up the fray and leaves the
little form, so wasted and worn, to the
tender mercies of Mother Nature and
the two faithful nurses.
And, by and by, the curtain lifts from
before the shrouded faculties and rea-
son resumes her scepter. Little by
little of what has CHANGED is told to
her in such soft, endearing accents that
the terror of it all is half shrouded In
the tender words of love.
One day he asked her by what chance