, 1891-08-12

began prospecting, Nothing but disap-
pointment awaited him for days. He
was growing weaker every hour. The
pick was almost too heavy to lift The
food was N and he knew starvation
or retreat was right before him. He
bad worked in a cleft between the
powders nearly all day, and was sitting
just Mt shutdown OIL a heap of drift at the
base of a giant rock. He was terribly
tired and hungry. He was growing
cold. He thought with u pang that was
bitterer than death of the unsheltered
heads back there on the prairie. and
turned with a groan of surrender over
on his face to die.
What was that SilverI Not quartz,
not glance, but virgin ore. 1t lay like
a ray of glory across the dull escarp-
ment, 1t was broad AS his hand in the
middle, and dwindled away in wavering
lines a yard in length The man sat up
and stared at it. He felt rich blood
rushing through his veins. There was
the strength of health in his arms. The
pick was a toy-a plaything. He grudged
the swiftly fading light and swung the
steel as he never had done before. This
was fortune.
He managed to work all night. He
was not conscious of the passing hours
further han to watch the moon and
bless it for the help it brought. In the
morning he had taken more ore thar he
could carry. He knew it was n true
vein, and that such n assure as that
must extend a great distance. But the
rock from which he took it was only u
fragment from the massive hills. 1t was
a matter of tons, of feet. They were
mountains and miles. A vein like that,
if he could find the spot in the powders
from which this fragment was broken.
would yield the richest fortune in Col
orado.
he took his bearings, staked his
claim, covered all signs of success and
gathered up a load of metal. 1t was so
pure he could cut it with a knife. He
slung the burden on his shoulder and
started back to Denver. At noon he
rested in n camp of miners and they
stopped work to look at him-he was so
ghostly. But he had an independent,
defiant air about him now, and they
waited upon him. They made him eat
dinner with them. He had not realized
before how near he stood to starvation.
After dinner he pressed on with long,
impatient strides and reached Denver in
the evening. Hi friends did not know
him. He had n defiant, forceful air. He
had good lodging and the best service
o~btainable. In the morning he pur-
chased an outfit and plenty of food. a
man loaned him a mule. They wouldn't
loan me anything a week ago." he said
bitterly. He knew they looked at him
as one who had "struck it" He remem-
bered now that he looked enviously at
Just such figures. He felt n sort of en-
nifty at the world, n feverish hatred of
Carlisle. He hoped he might not break
down till account were squared.
He went back to his claim and found
it richer than he dreamed. In a week
he had u packload of silver that was
worth twenty-five dollars u pound, In
a month he had enough for u train. And
he had only found the beginning Of the
wealth. He had traced the fissure to its
parent in the hill, and had satisfied him
self of the richest find in Colorado. But
there he broke down, He had just
strength enough left to load the mules
and start back. He was weakened with
hem%orrhage. He was blinded and stag
gering. He reached Denver leaning
across n of the swaying animals and
begging in Gods name for assistance.
They took care of him then. He was
a rich man. he was far more than that
in their eyes. He was fortunate. But
he tossed in a frenzy of excitement and
called upon them to hurry him home
1t would nave been death to the man
who stole a dollar. They made com
mon cause of caring for him. He told
them freely, without reserve, rapidly,
where the vein could be found. He
knew he could never come back and
keep his claim. They struggled and
fought for the privilege Of buying. They
asked no guarantee beyond what they
saw. They knew he was telling the
truth. Their purchase money was
worth more than the ore he had brought
away. He was hurried to the train. He
was hurried home. He reached there
unconscious,
Mary Albright had been bearing a
heavy burden. She could not repay the
money her husband had borrowed from
Carlisle. She could not avoid under
standing the horrible alternative offered
her. She could not defend herself except
by taking her boys out from under the
only roof they had in the world. She did
not hesitate in the choice. She only
planned to postpone the evil day. She
promised the money faithfully Sept. l.
In default she pledged a foreclosure Z
dearer to George Carlisle than all the
money in the world. July drifted into
August, and August was burning away
in the torrid rays of a sultry sun. George
Carlisle rode past the Albright farm day
after day. He waite he'd his boy Winslow
playing in the barn or in the woods with
Fred, the eldest son of his prospective
victim. He wondered why the lads were
such inseparable companions, and
thought of the enmity that had always
been between their fathers.
Late in the month he walked across
the fields and tried to enter the house.
Mary met him at the door and warned
him never to cross the threshold. He
pushed his way into the house and she
shot him.
That day the news came that Amos
Albright had arrived, sick, and dying at
the county town, ten miles away. His
wife anS children had fed from the house
which could be a home to them no longer
and were hurrying to the station when
the news met them. She knew that
officers would overtake her, for whether
or not her shot was fatal, it was too seri-
Gus to be forgiven. She met her husband
and drank her great soul full of his one
caress, of his one kind pressure of pallid
lips upon her own, and then laid him
down contented. He knee of her