Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1890-06-28
set with CLASSY stare at the ceiling.
mo, don't brighten it away. Why it's a

4 henry SAT beside her m0tlonleSs, his fac
buried. And so, it seemed to us VIII
watched, a long time passed.
| Presently the lips of the sick woman
| again moved; for moment no words came
then, feeble as they were, col,
shiver ran through Inc, and | fel
the presence of being from anethe
| world.
| More distinct, now. Yes, I thought so
All, coming down. Down. Down. The
color was returning to her pallid cheeks
| slowly she raised her arms and opene,
them; to her lips in death there camt
a sweeter smile than any I had sesI
there in my life, as her last breath formed
one word.
| "Will.n
! Then the color faded away, aud of liv
ing form only the marble count arpart re
manned. But Henry Keane sat there still
his face buried deeper than before:
strong man. collapsed.
And though in no long space spring had
come at last, he did not go back to the
Mule Horn. He sold his claim, and came
to live in the camp; and in listIess way
did little odd jobs. He was taking tc
drink.
But when the next snow fell, the family
to whom he had sold out came back to the
camp. They said it was ''too lonesome out
there" And they in their turn sold out
to man from Iowa, who went to live there
by himself.
When the following winter set in, and
the eternal covering of the mountain grad
ually spread downward till it draped the
valleys also, he too returned.
Its too wild-like, out there, these long
nights. for a man wi no pardner," had
been his sole remark, and he departed for
the East, presumably to get 'pardner,"
for IN the vicinity of the Mule Horn they
were scarce. Men began to fight shy of
the place
But Henry Keane was taking more and
more to drink; and, that article in the
camp being of the deadliest kind, he was
passing from one stage to another, until it
was forgotten that he had ever been de-
cent member of the community.
As for me, spent much of my time in
shooting. On such expeditions sometimes
met the Indian from whom had received
SO good lesson in fishing for he came on
to the Mule Horn now and again to hunt,
spear and trap. And sometimes. even, he
would cone and see me in camp-always
leaving on such occasions with sundry
little presents of coffee, sugar and tobacco.
He took much interest in my shooting,
especially of blue grouse-strong flying
birds he could not shoot them, flying, with
his rifle, and / verify believe he was not
aware of the difference between a gun and
rifle, and consequently put me down as a
most extraordinary shot,
So time passed on until late in the "falP'
when a stranger came among us.
'Fve traded for claim up on the head
of the Mule Horn. What kind of place
is ii ?" he asked of me-
'1t's fine piece of land" Ireplied, shut
somehow no one seems to stay on it. 1t has
changed hands several times"
allows that ?"
~ don't know exactly They stay there
and make money, all right, through the
summer, but don't seem to be able to stand
the winter"
BLAMED FOOLS" he said to me as we hap
pened to meet few days late, and allud-
ing to the former occupiers of the claim,
"hadn't dug well. How could they ex-
pect to stay the winter? Why, all the
natural water would freeze up, or snow
under" And he went off, laughing a; the
foolishness of all men but himself
Once more, a few days later, | went up
the river in search of blue grouse; for
goodly number of them had lately come
into the valleys, and they were beautiful
eating. And once more | met my Indian
friend coming down.
He greeted me with 'sHow ?" (which
you will remember he did not at our first
meeting.l
Perhaps he was really turning back, or
perhaps he wished to see me do little
more of my blue grouse shooting. At any
rate he turned and came back with me up
the stream. / had bagged several grouse
by the time we had reached the meek" |
generally gave him one or two on these
occasions, and perhaps that had something
TO do with his tenacity, and then we passed
out on to the flat-a favorite place for
birds when no one was about.
But now several men were there. They
had evidently been digging for water, as a
number of large piles of earth and ''hard-
pan" testified. We went up to where they
were now at work.
ats a queer thing about this water
question; anyhow" said the new proprie-
tor, scratching his head perplexedly.
"We've dug thirty feet in three different
places. won't 60 lower than thirty feet
There must be water here lying closer to
the surface than that. What do you
say?'
1t was my Indian friend that answered.
''Injun heap water witch. Show white
man where to dig"
And going to the stream he cut fork of
willow, leaving about three inches of the
stem on the fork, as a point, and cutting
off each branch at the distance of foot.
Then, holding one of the ends in either
hand, with the wrists turned upwards so
that the point stood to his breast, he began
with measured tread to pace about the
fiat.
'iDer you believe in that ar nonsense ?''
inquired the new proprietor of me, as he
watched the proceedings with a cynical
eve.
81 am bound to say do" l answered.
"Ill tell you why. When was living in
Tennessee, in valley at the base of the
Cumberland mountains, a doctor well
known throughout the district, and great
personal friend of mine, was digging a
well. He lived about half mile from me
and on considerably higher ground. His
men had reached a depth of about hun
bred and thirty feet without striking wa
ter, when there CHANGED to come along a
man known throughout the country as a
water-witch.
"'It's queer thing your not finding any
water he said to the doctor; it lays
through this country in seams. You've
gone too deep
"He took a fork from neighboring
peach tree, and OWNED that seam
passed little to one side of the hundred
and-thirty foot hole.
"'You can't have missed it by many
feet he said, standing on the spot which
his rod had indicated, and you've gone
about hundred feet too low. Let ne
down your hole
When he had been lowered down about
r II II u