, 1889-03-07

1t was Ute Bill. Hc could not stand by
and sr" lin toss back and forth in bed.
i w,.- Too much. He wasn't used to it.
he doctor had To make another trip
Bill SAID Rivers was worse.
When the doctor had made an exami-
nation Of his patient he declared the worst
was passed, and left Rivers sleeping
/ quietly under gCTtle narcotic.
/ All this time the girl had not released
/ her watch by the bedside, and she seemed
/ 10 be soothing away the delirium of the
. fever III gently passing her hands over
/ the sick man 5 temples. Her eyes never
/ left off their watch Of every movement
Of the "tentcrfoot's" face, and Bill stood
by wonderinGlv, casting furtive glance
at the dcliCately featured face bending
over his spard's pillow, and trying TO solve
the problem in his mind.
Hours passed, and finally, with long
sigh, Rivers opened his ewes and looked
at Bill leaning over the foot of the bed.
Then his wandering attention was fixed
on the anxious face 10y his side. There
was no glad cry Of TeCognitiOn-it was a
mutual understanding. All the warmth
OF his great love was expressed in the
gently whispered name Lillian" as he
drew her face to his. Resting her head
on his shoulders, she told him Of the
long years of waiting for tidings from
him and the haSty letter from Omaha,
which she had only received a few days
before. She had left home, friends,
everything, and gone to seek him in the
wild west, she knew not where, but she
had found him. And Bill had disap-
peared.
\ few days afterward one Of the
''pards' gave up his claim to the little
cabin, and the minister said the cere-
mony which linked two lives into q
world of their own.
Many and hearty were the rough con-
| gratulations. That evening the miners
gathered at the little home to say word
OF welcome TO the beautiful young bride.
Even If 1t were spoken by big, rowdy
miner like Bill, there was a genuine
ring OF manliness about it, and made her
feel quite at home in the wild, pictur-
eSque spot so far from every sign of
+cIvllization. AS the men filed out slowly
Rivers conducted his girl wife to the
porch of the rude cabin, and, standing
close by his side, she sang one verse OF
Home, Sweet Home" The tender,
sympathetic voice fell on the still night
air with a wonderful sweetness, and
awakened many old memories in the
hearts of the rough, coarse miners
gathered there.
Heads were uncovered and there were
tears wiped hastily away as Bill led
them to the saloon. Was there rough
talking and coarse jests now? No. As
each man raised his glass 4 solemn hush
fell upon the group, broken at last by
Ute Bills voice. 1t was choked and un-
natural
Boys" he said, Il never he'd but one
pard, but l give him up to the best pard
other till l get one like his"
Bill set his glass down and walked
away abruptly. 1t was not long until
the saloon was deserted and the camp
hushed in the repose of night.
After that Bill did not seem like his
old self. He was quiet and solemn. He
knew what was the matter, but did not
care to let the boys know where the sun
shine had fallen on his rough heart and
then SO suddenly been swept away.
The next spring came, and the doctor
made another trip to the little cabin.
When Ute Bill went up the next day
Rivers led him into the dainty bedroom
and gave him a peep at the tiny baby
girl that had come that night. The big
rough hand closed tightly over the one
of more delicate mold that was laid in
his, and the two men understood each
other. There were tears in Bills eyes
and an ache in his heart which no one
but Rivers should ever know as he turned
silently away.
The miners gathered again in the sa-
loon to drink to the health of the mother
and child, and hear Bill, now glowing
with animation, tell about the baby and
Its queer ways until they all wanted to
see the youngster. a vote was taken,
and the camp was to be christened after
| the baby, and Bill had forgotten to ask
her name. Away he went, and soon re.
turned. He looked sheepish and finally
came forward and said:
Boys, yer got me this time. They've
called her 'Utella" as near my name as
they could get, and it's my layout.
What'I ye heV!'
The classes clinked merrily, and Mr.
Bill beamed with happiness.
Not day passed that Bill did not visit
the cottage, and as the wee babe grew to
a toddling, isping girl, Bill was her chief
Isympathizer, and the bows in camp at
last called him "Uncle Bill"
There's no harm in me iovin' her, n
he said one day as he stroked the curly
brown head nestled against his breast
"the other wasn't for me-" And Rivers
SlaAStu up quickly dG Dill, 1nQ tnen &c
his wife, who was sitting by the door.
way with her dainty fingers busy in
mending little frock.
"Itwas before 1 knew"-and Bill swaI
lowed the big lump rising in his throat
and tried to go on, but his voice broke
and he trembled in the vain effort to sup.
press his emotion. Rising suddenly he
left the cabin.
That was years ago. The mining camp
has disappeared and only the lonely cot.
tage marks the spot where it once stood
Stanley Rivers lives with his wife and
dark eyed girl in an eastern city and en-.
joys the wealth he made in the pictur.
esque spot which row bear; tt.e name OF
Cheyenne canyon. Bill nvver married.
he loved the beautiful girl who sat by
the bedside of his sick "parI;;" he loved
the tiny babe who played upon his knees
and laid her soft cheek against his own.
And when he died they found q little
faded shoe which contained slip OF
Ipsper. 1t only said: "Give oil my dust
to my pard's baby" And Ute Bill, the
roughest miner in the camp. was buried
near the little cottage in Cheyenne can
yon.-New York Star