The Londonderry sifter. (South Londonderry, Vt.) 1883-19??, 1891-12-25

forward to spending the Christmas holi
days in the beautiful town of San Ber
nardino, on the other side of the Sierras
On the 23d the wagons. pack mules
and all the men, excepting three who
remained back to complete some work
with myself, crossed the range that
separates the Mojave pronounced Mo
| hav-ee) desert from the Towering and
| frnitfnl paradise of southern California;
For six weeks we had been working
in the desert. running lines, taking
elevations and plotting our work at
night by the smoky light of dried
creosote and sapless sage brush. AT
times we were sixty miles from the
nearest water, and when obtained the
water was alkaline. Many of our pack
mules, maddened by thirst, broke their
ropes and wandered further into the
desert to die.
Hard tack and bacon, and not too
much of that, had been the only food of
the men since we entered the desert,
and so.the most cheerful became grum,
and the skin of the youngest grew dry
and parched as that of mummy.
We did our work in silence; even the
officers came to speak in whispers, for
our throats were dry and our lips
cracked. Everything with moisture In
it parched as if in furnace.
The alkali on the level expanses looked
like dazzling snow. The fantastic hills
and mesas were crumbling and burning
up in the forceful and persistent fires of
oxidation. And amid all this the mirage
would appear to mock us with lakes and
streams in which were reflected the
spires, domes and minarets of grand
oriental cities, such as might have been
built by the genii of architecture.
1t was half past 8 in the afternoon,
and we hoped to reach the pass by dark,
where fresh horses would carry us to the
town before midnight and Christmas
day.
AS our horses staggered on, we saw
three vultures rising from dark object
little to the right. A glance through
my field glass revealed the outlines of a
PROSTATE man and horse, stretched out
side by side.
Years Of this wild life had accustomed
us to such sights Yet as our hearts
were full of thoughts of the Joyous
Christmas days of the past and of the
rest, fresh food and water for bathing
which we were to enjoy on the morrow,
there was something inexpressibly sad
in the presence Of death at such time
and at the foot of the purple mountains,
beyond which lay Eden.
We refined in our thin, painting horses
and dismounted. In that atmosphere no
organic substance decays-it shrivefs up
and becomes as hard and indestructible
as the glistening volcanic rocks that sur
round it; but enough remained to tell
us that the horse had once been a noble
creature, and the saddle and equipments
were such as the wealthy Mexicans Of
southern California delight in.
The man was of medium height, and
the carbine, pistols and knife, still belted
about his shrunken waist, indicated abil-
lily to resist. He was young. The long,
dark hair and the silky mustache,
through which the white teeth cleaned,
told this. We opened the saddlebags
and found 5000 in gold, the titles to a
lot of California mining lands made out
to one Louis Bolton" and bundle of
letters tied with blue ribbon.
In the middle of the bundle there were
two vignettes-one that of sweet faced,
motherly lady, the other that of beau
tiful girl, the name Dora" at the bot
tom of the picture being surrounded by
a delicately painted wreath of forget
menots
These letters were dated at "The
Elms," but, as the envelopes were de-
stroyed, there was nothing to indicate
the town, state or land. One read as
follows, and, curiously enough, it was
dated Christmas eve, year before:
my DARLING BoY-I think of you mt
all times, but on Christmas eve you fill
my heart so that can think of nothing
else, and if it were not for Dora, who
has come to cheer me, fear | could not
stand it. Where is my Louis tonightY
This question haunts me, and / picture
you out in the deserts of that wild land,
homeless and friendless. still hunting for