The record-union., 1894-07-07

Elk Horn struggled hard to shake off
their last nights drunk. The ring of the
blacksmith's hammer was again echoing
through the camp, but the rattle of the
dicebox at the Black Raven was hushed
and still.
Nine, ten, eleven o'clock and all is
we'll; but just at high noon terrified
Mongolian. rushing down from Irish
Hill, fell exhausted in front of the Elk
Horn. crying, "Markee, Markee, him
bankee cave in. Markee killed"
Great Caesar. boys.n CALCULATED Texas
Sam." the LATEST OF them all, as he started
at breakneck speed up the rugged trail.
followed by motley crew of miners,
MexicanS and MongolS.
1t was a hard run that day up that
rocky trail, but it was run to save hui
man life. For moment men stood mo-
tlonless and dumb as they gazed on that
great bank of fallen rock and clay which
had so recently entombed human form.
The kissing waters as they escaped from
the hydraulics seemed to cry, Hurry,
hurryn' while the tall forest trees, with
rustllng lips, whispered sadly, Gone
home! Gone homen' "Turn on the
pipes, boys, We'll wash him OUT cried
fancy Nell Neal.' Nell now sleeps
on the same red hillside far from the
nome of her girlhood. 1t was but the
work OF moment as an hundred willing
arms labored with the frenzied hope that
that great bank of fallen rock and clay
would presently yield up its precious
prey alive. But, alas. for their hopesl
lew more strokes OF the pick revealed
the body of Mark Grayham, pale but
dead. Poor Mark. He had cleaned up
his last sluice. The northern gusts, as
they swept down the gulch, sang sharply,
Too late, too late," while the deeper
swell of the mountain gale in its saddest
refrain murmured, "Gone home gone
homer
A stretcher of young pines was soon
constructed, and hurriedly spreading a
Mexican serapa over the bruised body it
was tenderly borne on brawny arms
down the rocky trail to the camp for the
last time. When the procession reached
the camp it was dark. jim Bagman. the
lg-hearted shoemaker of the camp,
promptly offered back room in MS shop
as temporary resting place for the
corpse through the night 1t was no.
uced-as mark of regard to the young
mlner-that the doors of the Elk Horn
were closed tor the first time in two
years, and 1T was even whispered that
tho dark-eyed seuOrita at the "Black
Raven" would deal no game that night.
The absence of Dick Weaver, the dealer,
would have necessitated such course,
for II was weli-known that Dick was far
DdfSO1l.
DICK declared that if money would fetch
the preacher he would have him on the
first deal.'
Every effort was made by the miners
to make the funeral a Memory EPISODE
in the history OF Muletown. The three
married ladies of the camp kindly agreed
to furnish dressings for the body-at the
expense, 1t was feared, of long unused
1nery, and it was not deemed presump-
ii nd 4
when the presiding genius of the faro
case silently offered a few wild flowers
for the grave. This resulted in an invi-
tation to the funeral from the committee.
who considered that the senorita had
done the right thing at the right time,
as young Grayham had never
tried his luck at the faro case or darkened
the doors Of the Black Raven.
The delicate duty of writing to the be-
reaved mother in the East was entrusted
to the three married ladies. and it was
with moist eyes and tender words they
told the story Of the unfortunate young
miner.
Morning again at Muletown! Already
on a grassy hillside, where the manZa-
nltas grew thickest and greenest, and
where few gray rocks kept silent watch
over the centuries, spot was selected
for the grave. Tar removed, it was thought,
from ali future danger from pick or plow
But, alas! for this lone grave among
the rocks! Like thousands of other pio-
neer graves it formed page in the coun-
try's history, but the Leaf has been torn
away, and nothing is left but the melan-
choly tale il would tell.
The earnest, solemn words of the par
son fell like hailstones among the miners
that day. Men were moved by the
strange, unfamiliar utterances of the
preacher, they were so different from the |
usual cant or the gamblers
slang At the head of the grave the three |
pioneer mothers gave ample evidence OF |
Their Womanly nature and sympathy, |
while on the outskirts of the crowd the |
dark eyed senorita leaned heavily on the !
arm OF Dick Weaver, who calmly con-
templated the newly-diseovered feelings
OF his fair charge. Poor Dick; he was
Just as calm six months later, when, be-
side the mlguided genius OF the faro case.
he lay on the floor of dance-house in |
Rancherla with two fatal bullet holes i'll
his heart. Dicks folks never learned
of his California life in the mines. and
they wonder yet what has become of the |
boy they so tenderly kissed "good-b |
On the banks OF the Susquehanna.
Inc funeral ceremonies over, the crowd |
slowly Withdrew while a few brown
hands filled up the grave. For a time |
Muletown kept on the even tenor of its |
way, broken only, three months later, |
ty the receipt of a tender letter from the |
oereaVed mother thanking the commit
lee and the married ladies for their un-
expected kindness to her son.
To-day the camp is lost. There is now |
no town OF the name. Through the |
progress of civilization and the craft OF |
The husbandman, the historic place has |
been transformed into rodeo grounds for |
,he dalryman's cows. The traditional
sluice-tork lies battered and broken on |
-he washed hillside while the clatter and |
clang OF Iongtoms have given way to the |
,lnkle of bells and the lowing OF herds. |
school girls now gather wild !
popples from its grassy borders and tired |
olowboys occasionally rest on the .tum- I
Die down ruins" of the quaint old camp I
now lost forever.
y &
Far up on the nights the needle-leaved I
pines still swag and sing at night, and far !
away at the sunny South lonely maid I
sill Sits at the window of the little brown
house on the bluff. The wild tlowers
iown in the meadow blossom as of yore
md birds sing as sweetly, but Ellen |
Campton is not the maid of two wears
lgo. The music has gone from her heart /
tnd she is lonely and sad The Young
nen OF the neighborhood think strangely I
II her aversion to society, but they little |
iream LhaC ner neart is buried in that
Instant grave beside the young miner
Who struggled, but fell, in the wild race
or gold in the foothills of the Sierras.
CONCLUDING NOTE.
/ had occasion a short time since to
lass by that same "bank claim" where. |
i've Others in later years, lost their lives
~ the treacherous clays. AS gazed on |
he desolate rocks in the cleft gorge /
wondered If adown the ages the noun
ain spriIe would ever again return to
ell the story of how those boys went
lome, home homel whittier we all must
20. whether by the fiat of age or the