Crawford avalanche. (Grayling, Mich.) 1879-19??, 1885-12-10

the stars alone to guide his course.
Luckily the horses know the road even
better than he, and before midnight
they turn into the familiar courtyard
of "shabbily new" little inn.
ais Colonel Malone within and
awaken" asks Jack eagerly of the po-
tentate behind the bar.
"He is, sir.
"Will you send him word that Mr..
Jack Bernard awaits him on important
business?"
"May / ask"
"Tell the Colonel await him." care
lessly laying round metal coin with
in easy reach of the dapper palm near
est him. "Say my business Is urgent.
An anxious ten minutes is passed,
and then through the doorway the
Colonel-highest Government official
within the village-enters.
Jack turns to him with outstretched,
eager. handsome. burning. honest
eyes, and wolds that suddenly die upon
his lips as the august officer APP
proaches, and, laying O heavy haud
upon Jacks broad shoulder, says cold
ly, "You venture far, Mr.. Bonnardl I
arrest you upon the charge of robbery
and murder. Official information re-
specting a certain road agent-Jacque
Bonnard by name-reached me this
afternoon. You are my prisoner"
"Good God, man! arrested for muir
der-IY
mo heroics, I beg. You will come
with me quietly?"
"If you will listen first to me-nay,
I will not speak of this outrage upon
my honor-that will come in due time" !"
says Jack, bitterly.
In moment more he has explained
the few accommodation particulars of the
woman whose sweet white face is lying
now miles and miles away under the
myriad of stars that look down like so
many inquisitive eyes on Thunder
Gulch.
Though a cold-blooded officer, the
Colonel is yet a man; and, besides the
actuation of mere humanity, an idea
strikes upon his brain that makes him
accede to Jacks request.
"The squaw shall be sent this in
stant," says he, cutting short the
thanks Jack makes an effort at utter
ing.
That night sees old Lotela, famous
in that section of the wild country for
her curative powers, together with her
simples and herbs and necessary sun
dries, go galloping along the dark road
leading to Thunder Gulch, followed by
an escort of two mounted soldiers.
At the gray dawn they arrive at their
destination. Old Absalom ushers the
Indian woman within the tent, and,
directly afterward one of the two sol
diers delivers letter to the white,
little lady still prone within the ham
mock.
LEDA BoNNARD Dear Madam-Is the gentle
Please answer and obiige Yours respectfully,
G. H. MALONE, Col. o. s. A.
This she reads; then hastily she
writes across the unwritten page of the
note with pencil the soldier has in
readiness:
He is my brother Jacque.
LEDA BoNNARD
Silence and darkness reign over
Thunder Gulch. Two days have passed
since Jack mounted the drivers seat on
the big coach to go for help for the
tered his life. She, unwitting of the
cruel fate that has come to him through
her obedience to his mandate, lies weak
and suffering upon q little pallet of
spring boughs to one side of the tent.
She is content to lie still, like some
bruised and ship wrecked creature, for
the waters of agony have buffeted her
sorely, and her feet walked through
the valley of the shadow of death but O
little while since; but now darkness
and silence reign over Thunder Guich.
There is no other light in all the
camp save that from Jacks lantern, as
it swings overhead in the little tent and
lights up the sick lady, the picturesque
old squaw, and the hammock with its
strange new occupant.
Evidently the new occupant does not
appreciate the homely surroundings, for
walls of discomfort or distress begin to
issue from the hammock; faint walls
and few, but enough to set the ears of
the miners in camp to tingling. Was
it-could it be-up jumps every man of
them, and, still as Indians, they steal
across the rank grass to where the lit
tie lamp flares through the tent-seams.
The old, Indian hag passes to and fro
casting terrible and uncouth shadows
upon the muslin surface, and the faint
cry of q baby are all to be seen and
heard.
"Lotela! Lotela May we see it?"
"'Stl The lady sleeps--Lotela will
let you see the papoose; but hear Lo-
tela--the papoose will not live till day /!
'Stl She must slumber. Lotela will
come to you;" and suiting her action to
the whispered words, she gathers up
the now quiet infant and goes with it
directly to the first LARA sort of dirty
dugout. Absalom gets light and holds
it so that the rays fall upon the baby's
wien, immature, yet strangely aged
looking face. How very, very small it
isl Grave thoughts, crude and un-
formed, come to them full of life's
wondrous problems, and thought of
a living God and Creator comes closer
home than ever yet, in all their rough
lives, even the shadow of such thought
has come.
at is dying" says the Indian
woman, a stole, unmoved by, the short
feeble breathing of the child, or the
unconsciously drawn sighs of the
miners huddled about her. The great
strong men, feeling the tears coming as
they never felt them since childhood,
allow them to find their unwonted
way down the rough brown burrows of
their cheeks. 1t is a subject for an
artist-worthy even our great dead
master, Dore.
After little space. in which the still