The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1888-08-31

~ lance by rail.
There had been slight furry of
snow the day previous, and drifting
particles Of frost glinted in the early
morning sunshine like floating bits of
silver The snow-caps on the mount
aims had been piling higher and high
er, and the leaden cloud-banks that
hung about the peaks gave promise of
another storm.
Old John Barnacle, grizzled and un-
kempt, came out of the little dug-out
set in the side of the mountain, and,
after giving himself a shake, glanced
at the sky and then at the distant
camp.
You'll hey ter work in the tunnel
to-day by yerself, Bat; I'm bound ter
go to camp fer some terbacker. It's
alters my luck to git out O terbacker
when thar's storm in the air"
Bat Barnacle stopped in his work of
shoVeling snow and looked anxiously
up at his father.
Seems to me you're out O. ter
hacker most every day lately, pap"
he protested. I" You got some on'y day
before yistiday."
The shadow of an emotion akin to
shame swept over John Barnacle's
face. He drew his eyes away from
the searching gaze of his son and al
lowed them to wander hesitatingly
over the adjacent mountains.
81 low ! do go ter the Pint too
often, Bat, thet's fac! But it's ter
backy this time, shore. They was
most out day before yistiday, an l
only got teenty piece. It's gone; an
I'm tibet restless this mornin' 'thout it
tibet / don't b'leeve I c'u'd work, no.
how"
"'Thar's the feel O. blizzard in the
air." urged Bat, Fan I've been
worryin' bout you ever sence we heerd
O them slides at Aspen. The caps on
ole Badly heur looks powerful threat
enin' sence tibet las blizzard. Eft
sh'u'd come anorther'n like tibet we
git it cert'in."
"Thar won't be any storm till night,
nohown replied the elder Bamacle,
again surveying the leaden cloud
hunks and the frosty sky. "I'll be
home fore then; an eft wants to biz
after | git back, why, let it biz. /
reckon the biggest slide tibet ever slid
couldn't hurt this dug-out."
He whistled to the dog and walked
rapidly down the trail, leaving Bat in
utter loneliness.
Bartholomew Barnacle or ''Bat,n as
his father called him, was perhaps fif-
teen. 1t was difficult to judge of his
age, for hard work and anxiety had
stunted his body while ageing his face.
His father had come to Bald Mount
ain the spring before. Mounted on an
old, blind horse, with Bat perched be-
hind him, he had set out intending to
cross the divide. Near the point
where the dug-out now chung, the horse
had slipped and fallen, dislodging a
great quantity of earth in his efforts to
regain his feet and revealing very
promising streak of "pay-dirt. y
Barnacle went no further, but set his
stakes and named it the Blind Horse
claim.
cts the first good luck I've he'd in
fifteen years, Bat he said, exultantly,
IAN the blind boss brung it TO us. We
must take good keer of him"
But the old horse died in the course
of month and about the same time
there came ''slip" in the "pay
streak.
Barnacle started tunnel, hoping to
strike it again furtheri in the mountain;
but the death of the horse weighed on
him, The old craving for liquor, which
the excitement had for time lulled,
came back in all its force, and the work
dragged. The camp saw him more
frequently than the claim, and the lit
tie labor that was performed fell main
ly on the stunted shoulders of his son.
Bat leaned the shovel against the
front of the dug-out and sorrowfully
watched his father out of sight.
It's good thing MANS dead!" he
said, as tear trickled down his face.
ltd break her heart eff she knowed