Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1890-06-28

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fallen. But / don't think we are quite
e the kind of men to be frightened by tina
sort of thing. And at any rate we arr
ready for it."
'sTalking of being ready" put in Will
) the younger, 81 fancy that's what the din
5 ner is at this present moment. Suppose
we go in and have it? ?"
/ had only known them half an hour OF
, so, but they pressed me so heartily to joir
them in their meal that gladly assented
/ though at first / had demurred little
for ] had gathered that there was Mrs
Keane at the house, not in particularly
good health, and was afraid should be in.
truding.
'sNot at all p SAID Will. son the CON
4 trary, it'll be great treat for the missus
she is such an uncommonly bright little
woman, and SO fond of seeing people. I'm
afraid sometimes, do you know" little
anxiously to his brother, "that she'll find
this place rather lonesome" And then to
me again, "She was such favorite where
We came FROM"
He spoke earnestly, almost tenderly, and
at the tone of his voice shade seemed to
fall upon his brothers face. But | had
barely time to notice it before we had ar
rived at the log hut, and moment later
was making the acquaintance of Mrs.
keane herself. She was a very pretty lit
tie woman, rather dark, and evidently of
a lively disposition when in good health.
Even now, beyond the fact that she looked
a tritie worn, could not see that there
was much the matter with her. Will
| keane himself seemed to think so, for,
looking admiringly at her after rather
lively sally on her part at his expense, he
spoke across the table to his brother:
"The mountain air is doing the missus
as much good as we thought it would. She
is heap better than she was at this time
last week, isn't she?'
eyes, that she is" assented Henry,
heartily. you see,h turning to me,
''that's why we come here. She was sort
o sickly way back in Illinois, and we
thought the mountains might set her up
we did leave real good thing"
Altogether, they were a CHEEKY and
united trio-such as, in that wild country,
it did ones heart good to meet. ven
tured to say as much to Will Keane as |
was taking my leave in the afternoon, and
to congratulate him on the happy DISPOSE
ton of his wife.
'My wifer' he CALCULATED, with round
eyes, and then suddenly flushing up. "You
mistake-Tm her brother-in-law. Her
brother-in-law, man, don't you see? She's
my brothers wife. Why, what on earth"
muttered all sorts of apologies for my
stupid mistake, and so departed. 1t was
stupid mistake, certainly; and yet some
how, as l made my way back toward the
camp, it perplexed me as l thought of it.
/ had been introduced to Mrs. Keane in
hazy terms, and the equal familiarity with
which both brothers addressed her had
given me no clue as to their respective re-
lationship to her. Why, then, had | I'M
consciously settled within my mind that-of
the two VIII was her husband? Somehow
the idea chung to me that he had an entry
to her inner life that was denied to the
elder brother
Often that autumn | used to find myself
over on the head of the Mule Horn VIII
Keane and | became great friends he was
trifie the younger, fine, open, handsome
fellow, overlooking with good-heartedness
and good humor, and many were the hunt
ing excursions we made together, Though
neither of us was much Of hunter). But
/ began to see that Mrs. Keane was again
falling off in health began to see that
the shade came more often to Henry
Keanes face-more often, and more pro-
nounced. He was growing morose-at
times almost savage in his temper. VIII
was but dimly conscious of it-utterly I'M
conscious Of the reason for it but began
to believe the sooner he had some inkling,
the sooner he went away, the better it
ha ha # Ind Of
keane and her husband.
Presently l was laid up for time in
camp with an injured foot, and my visits
to the valley were intermitted. 1t was
drawing on for winter when l went up
once more to see my friends. The door of
the cabin was opened to me by Mrs.
Keane. She asked me to come in cordi-
ally, saying that her husband was away on
the ridge, but would, no doubt, be in pres
emily. She seemed 10 me very wan and
worn, and began at once in low tone:
"You have come to see Will? l am afraid
you won't see him for some time. He's
gone"
''Gone?"
Eyes. Gone back East"
"Whatl And never came to see me?'
"Well, you see," she answered, flushing
up, che went off in rather huff. The
truth of it is" she spoke hurriedly, and
| looking down, as with her fingers she
picked at the edge of the table, she had a
fuss with Henry; packed up his things and
went off in huff. | never saw viii act
so before"
"Henry drove him over the ridge to the
Fork she continued presently; u can't
understand why he hasn't written to me-
she broke off, and flushed again. And
somehow the whole pitiful little story
seemed clear to me. "But here comes
Henry" she added, getting up.
l wended my way home that evening
sadly thinking of Will and of how should
miss him, and also Of how few women
answer the greatest question of their lives
in such way that they never regret it.
In no long space winter was upon us.
The snow commenced to fall, and gradu-
ally lay lower and lower down the noun
tain sides until it settled in the valleys,
Joining mountain and mountain.
One day in the dead of the season | met
Henry in the camp.
"Hallo' | exclaimed; showed out?"
NO, not that, exactly" he said. There
amt much doing out on the claim through
the winter, and its lonesome, 80 we've
come into the camp to live-the wife and
me-"
''The shadow" l asked, jokingly, re-
Numbering what he had once said TO me
about it. Enlightened away by it after
all ~
"The shadow" he uttered suddenly and
fercely, white to the lips Then, suddenly
altering and lowering his tone, "For
10. 81 Oh
rubbish, about the-shadow, or any such
rot, to my wife. She's weak and i'll enough
already, God knows" He was wan as
death, and thin; worn somehow, in these
few weeks to the shadow of his old strong
self
What he said about his wife was true