St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1892-11-27

l
and send for the wife and child to whom
| he had been so loyal in purpose, but had
| so miSerabiy failed in deed.
l. Now you know why / don't want
lmy name to go down in your book. You
| know why Pve never exchanged need
less word with man or woman TILL you
| came up the trail today. Ive lived so
| long alone with the rocks and trees and
the bare facts of nature thatI'v almos
| forgotten the ways of civilized speech,
but think Pve made you understand.
Do you want my name"'
The girl hesitated in INDIGESTION and
| doubt.
: s'You don't know? No more do I. Do
! you see that face in the rocks across the
| gulch?'
lie led her to an opening on the hill
side and pointed across the chasm down
| whose bed the mountain stream leaped.
| In the jagged outlines of great cliff
that overhung the gulch the girl easily
! diScerned massive, sphinX-like pro-
file.
"When you live alone in the mount
tains,' SAID Grizzly Jim, ''you get to
| depending on signs and Omens. You
can't help it. When the sun touches
that cliff, little past noon, some day
the face smiles, sometimes it frOwnS.
|
| I'll write in your book"
The mist had long since flown back to
! the sea, and the sun ShOne high in the
heavens. Only this portion of the gulch
remained i'll tue shadow, shut OFF 10y the
crags that rose above it. Slowly the
| sunlight crept past the rocky barriers.
| A flood of sunlight bathed the dark
niche. The ripple of the water below
| sounded like a chime of bells: burst
of bird song thrilled the air. A wave OF
] light passed over the sculptured face,
and benign smile fingered there for a
| moment: then the features relapsed into
their customary calm.
Grizzly jim reached out trembling
hand for the book and pencil.
| The census marsUal slipped over to
| her horse and examined her saddle
| grths, for her business there was fin
| iShed, and the steep trail was slippery
/ OF descent. The miner wrote slowly
and aWk Wardly, closely scrutiniZing tho
+ fine print at the head of each column
before he made the entry beneath.
When he had finished he returned the
book and pencil to the marshal with
grave courtesy She could not resist a
| feeling OF absurd solemnity as she re-
ceived it. She had meant to show a
! proper deicacy by closing IL without
| looking into it, but her wOman's curl
osity ovesmastered her. and she took
one quick glance at the name, which
was boldly and plainly written.
| Her face crimSoned.
at is not true" she said, Indignantly,
flames Godfrey Peyton died while
crossing the plains in 80. Miriam Fey
ton is my mother"
The effect of this intelligence was
| like a StupenduouS blow. The old man
pressed his hands to his temples, while
he made an effort to span the cruel gap
of years.
"Miriam-my little Mirriam's child !"
| His Smolderng eyes devoured her
| with the hunger of starving soul.
| Her cold unbelief was beyond his
power to combat. That which had
been his strength became his weakness.
| The secret SO closely guarded for half a
! century unnamed HIM when it was
! laid bare. He sat down at the foot Of
the oak, burying his face in his hands.
Impelled to an instant faith in his
| truth, the girl knelt humbly beside MIN.
| A gentle hand 5troked his gray hair;
| fresh young face was pressed against
| his wrinkled cheek.
"They are both here, only few miles
I1away. Come with me. Come home to
| day."
He didn't answer for many minutes.
Then he said slowly:
IAN old, weather-beaten wreck, rag
ged, penniless. can't do it. I'd bet
ter live on here. You'll keep it from
them. l can trust YOU"
But even as he protested the longing
in his face, the anxiety with which he
awaited her reply, were painful to see.
I'VE are all poor, but we will join
| bo pdc anG 1uOrly and malzo uur Wav -
said tile girl bravely. 'And listen!
| She-my yrandmother-is no longer
| young and pretty. She is a feeble, fad
ed, lonely little old woman. She has
I mourned you all these years. 1t would
| be like opening the gates of paradise for
| her."
In the edge of the valley that broad.
| ened out below the mouth of the gulch,
! where prosperous mountain village had
| been built upon the ruins of an old min
ing camp. there stood shabby cottage
| powered in honeySuckle and roses. The
| tiny almond orchard at the rear was in
| bloom, and the pink petals fiuttered
| down and drifted over the ground. Two
women walked slowly back and forth
| along the narrow path, bordered with
| Sweet-scented carnations, that led from
| the house to the gate. One was plump
and matronly, the other old and slight
and frail, leaning heavily upon the
younger woman.
Its past time for her to come. It.
isn't right, Miriam, to let that child race
about the country alone. There's no
telling what may happen to her."
Don't worry, mother. I'd trust her
anywhere. Every one respects her,"
returned the younger woman, with
mothers proud confidence.
IL know I'm old-fashioned in my
ideas. Miriam, but | can't feel easy. A
young girl like that oughtn't to 20
around the country doing mans work.
LII her father only hadn't gone to the
bad or her grandfather had lived--'
Let us go in. It's growing chilly"
"Hush. There's some one coming up
the road. She has come. Some one is
with her." said the old lady.
The twilight was kind to Grizzly Jim.
1t Smoothed out the wrinkles on his
face, dyed hair and beard. mended his
tattered clothing and brought out the
massive strength of his great frame,
presenting him as he really was-a
handsome. StalWart man, still in the
vigor of his prime. The slight woman
on Miriam'S arm peered Wistfully at
him, then she trembled and swaved. He
spoke one word and wild cry quavered
on the night silence.
The old miner forgot his poverty and
rags. Thanksgiving was in his heart as
he folded her in his arms. His voice
broke as he tried to speak.
"l've struck it rich at last" said
Grizzly jim.