The times. (Owosso, Mich.) 1882-1897, 1894-06-29

all emotions, joys, sorrow, anger, awe,
hope and peace murmur from the val
loys, thunder from the canyons and
speak from the heights
Today-this sunny, glorious July day
sorrow and anger only found voices
for poor Ben Tribble. He was alone
away up near the timber line, sitting near
the mouth of his tunnel, wondering
what had become of his dog, the only
friend he had left in the world.
Ben was one of the unlucky ones Of
earth. Since 1879 he had been toiling
alone up there in tho mountains, hunt
ing fortune. When he came west from
Iowa, with only his dog Jonah and the
. old rifle Betsy he had carried through
the war for company, he had stal1ed out
his claim in the San JUAN built his lit
tie cabin on the mountain side and gone
cheerfully to work, with his pick and
hand drill, confidently expecting to strike
lead soon, sell out and go back to his
wife and boy with bag full of gold
dust. The letters he got weekly helped
him amazingly. They were his incen-
tive, his stimulant. Jonah was faithful,
and Betsy was useful. Occasionally Ben
would leave the tunnel and the cabin
qnd go down the mountain to Pay Dirt
camp, wnere ne soon became popular
among the many good follows. And so
at first, while he was strong, ambitious
and hopeful, everything went very well.
Afterward?
The years went by, and Ben did not
find his silver minc. Not that he was
not diligent. Never man in the San
Juan worked harder than Tribble He
staked two other claims besides the orig
inal one, and in turns worked all.
His stalwart figure began to stoop; the
burrows deepened on his forehead; sill
yer besprinkled his long, tangled, red
beard, but still fortune was shy. The
long summers drifted by his door, and
the winter SHOWS hid his tunnels. Ev-
cry fall he said, "By spring, l reckon"
and every spring he said, II Gale late by
fall kin go hum" but he never went.
His wife wrote regularly the news Of
her simple village life. His boy was
grown up and earning q fair living
his boy, whom no remembered as q lit
tie sunny haired youngster stamping
about in his first pair of boots. Tribble
would sit alone night after night pic
turing the two he had left behind, wor1-
dering about them, dreaming of them,
longing for them. Sometimes no started
up in frenzy, crying out that he would
go-that day, that hour-back to them.
What matter if he had no money? He
could tramp over the mountains, the
plains, to find Molly and the boy. Then
his eyes would fall on tho mouth of tho
tunnel, and mechanically he would
shoulder his pick, take his lantern and
go back to his dreary search
Then, one day, Tribble struck leadl
Struck fair vein of silverl The very
next week the silver panic came
Tribblo was dazed. He could not I'M
derstand. Day after day he CROPPED his
way down 30 Pay Dirt to hear the news
from the east. He joined the circle of
hopeless, dospairing men who sat watch
ing silver go down, down, feeling rs If
the bottomless pit were yawning at
their feet.
Then suddenly Molly's letters stop
ped. Tribble wrote again and again,
but could get no answer. A silence as
vast and awful as that which reignad
ON the mountains swept between him
and Che two he loved.
Tribble grew morose, sullen and sus-
picious. After little ne ceased going
down to the camp, but dwelt apart from