Herald and news. [volume] (West Randolph, Vt.) 1878-1943, 1891-02-05

old, who was absolutely without the
sense of fear. This quality, and the
disposition to be obedient no matter
what danger lay in the command, and
the queer things she said and did. got
her the name. But the miners of the
basin loved her; the rough, drinking,
homeless fellows, banning and sluicing
for gold in this lonely sink among the
mountains of California.
Sometimes a grizzly moped indiffer-
emily across the open spaces on the
mountain side above their heads, or a
rattlesnake, cold and loggy and loving
the sun, was found sleeping on the
warm rocks by the spring, and in such
moments Queer Trick was thought of
with a thrill of apprehension. She was
like music to the men, calling back to
their memories home, its comforts and
the faces of dear ones left behind. But
she was Sol Braintree's child; there was
the rub.
Sol was not liked, for his life lay
under n cloud that made him hard and
FESTIVE. He was a massive fellow, with
a shaggy, auburn beard and keen blue
eyes, and was reputed the most power
full man among the hundred or more
who worked in the basin. He asked
no man to help him in his work, but
carried timbers and moved powders
no matter how large or heavy they
Glanced to be. He said but little, and
that austerely like one with sore
heart. He had come into the basin
three years before, when gold was first
discovered there, and staked out a
claim on the creek and built cabin at
the mountains foot. They remem-
bered that he had been a rolliclring,
drinking fellow then, but after
working time on his claim
he went below" as they say of
one who goes down out of the
mountains to the settlements in the
valleys, and when he returned he
brought the child, and was stern and
changed. ''Its mothers dead, was all
he said in explanation. He drank no
more after that, and kept himself apart,
burying himself in work and the child's
love and care. The cabin he rebuilt
down on the floor of the basin, with the
rude door opening directly upon the
claim There the toddling child played
month after month in the sand and
among the white heaps of gravel, happy
and contented as only babies are when
playing in the dirt. The skies seemed
always clear, the air was balmy, and the
very ground was sweet and warm with
perpetual summer. Every night the
child slept with her yellow head by the
fathers bearded cheek, and woke at
dawn to be loved and tenderly com
forted.
1t sweetened the mans life. By de-
grees his gravity of word and mein
softened a little, but he was never COM
panionable. However, not a day passed
but miners came into the shallow pit to
play with and fondle the child. Her
baby speeches made them roar with de-
light. They often gave her little mug
gets of gold, and Sorrel Sam, a red
headed fellow who worked the claim
next above Braintree's, fashioned these
into rustic chatelain which little Queer
Trick always wore about her neck.
Perhaps in time the fathers heart
would have come clear of bitterness,
had not a very grave thing happened:
He and Sorrel Sam fell foul of each
other oyer the use of water in their
claims. Nothing could have been more
unfortunate, for next in value to the
gold itself was water with which TO
wash the metal from the soil. Like the
gold, too, water was often weighed in
the balance against life itself and count
ed the most precious Of the two.
First, with Sol ard Sorrel, weeks OF
heated raneor approaching blows went
by. Then they brought the crude law
Of the time to bear upon the bitter
problem, and Sorrel won. For days
thereafter Braintree moped about In
his mine or sat brooding in the CABIN
Sorrel had turned the water away from
his claim and he could do nothing. his
heart seemed consuming with rage, and
one night after little Trick had gone TO
sleep, he took his rifle and crept over to
Sorrel's cabin with murder in his soul.
A light was burning on the inside, and
the window, such as it was, stood open
Stealthily he crept up to the window
and laid the muzzle of the rifle ON the
sill Sorrel was sitting by the light,
his head propped on his hands, his brow
knit, intently studying a rude map OF
the mines which lay on the table before
him. Braintree took aim at his fore
head The man was SO near he could
see the blood stirring the veins on his
temples. He drew his finger to the trlg-
ger, and the blood rushed into his own
head until it seemed to roar IN
his ears. A hundred thoughts
and pictures flashed through his
mind as his finger touched the trlg-
ger, then suddenly voice cried: Papa
-Solr 1t was little Trick calling him,
as clear and plain as he ever heard her
IN his life. 'sMy God.' he gcsped, ana
drew the gun away. Scrrel never
stirred; evidently he heard nothing
and Braintree, trembling ell over,
turned about and crept back through
the darkness to his cabin. Little Trick
was S1aov,s.rr e..,s,41- ord ruaiu he