Bennington semi-weekly banner. (Bennington, Vt.) 1894-1902, 1895-04-26

forgotten me. Then falls in love with
Jim. I'm sorry, Joe, if I've hurt your
feelin's, but now knows 1 loves Jim the
most. Can't you forgive me for not waitin
for your 1 couldn't help it. I loves Jim
so much"
! She stops speaking, advances toward
Cheyenne and extends her hand.
The proffercd hand is rudely thrust aside.
"Fergive you'll Why, gal, you've ruined
my life 1 worked hard and saved my
money, expectin some day to make you
happy. I've been honest and square, just
fer your sake. Forgive you for goin back
on me and maxim my life one long noun
tain trailY No Gal, you amt no more
with trustin than a coyote"
The crowd of miners surge toward Chey
enne Rude hands grasp and handle
roughly the man who dares to insult n
woman on her wedding day. Pistols are
drawn There is the muf1led report of a
shot at close quarters. The voice of Cas-
telIa is heard above the noise of the scuffle.
Don't hurt him, boys. Please don't,
fer my sake! He's clear gone mad and
don't know what he says"
The rough hands reluctantly loose their
hold Cheyenne's right arm hangs help
lessly by his side Blood drips from his
sleeve and forms a shining pool on the
floor. Cap Woods steps to the front.
"Boysy it shall be as my gal SEE. Thar
amt goin to be any scrimmage on this
particular occasion. That amt my style
of celcbratin weddin's. Put this pugna-
cious cuss on t'Othcr side of the door and
pcrcecd with the festivities. Out with
him!"
Three brawny miners do the ejeCting.
! Cheyenne curses, but does not resist. He
realizes that he now holds losing hand,
but mutters that "the game is not out.
The door swiftly closes, and the disturbcr
of harmony finds himself lying in the
snow, ballled and beaten, with one arm
perforated by bullet. He lies there and
listens. The violinist is once moro cndeav.
oring to make the old masters turn in
their graves. The sound of boots shuilling
over the floor can be heard. The dance
goes mcrrily on. He wonders if Castella
does not reproach herself for her faithless-
ness. AS if in answer, he hears a silvcry
laugh. How well he knows that laugh.
He can imagine Castcla throwing back
her quecnly head and showing her pretty
teeth He groans in his anguish Then
the spirit of the Indian, which has long
he rises to his feet. His anguish turns tC
rage. He shakes the fist of his good hand
at the shanty
Laugh on, Castella Woods, " he shouts,
"but beware Of the Indian. You've let
them turn Cheyenne from your door like
a homeless cur. l wuz half white then
I'm white man no more. Laugh now
but eff you laughs tomorrow it won't be
here"
The rising wind takes up his wild words
and carries them down the canyon. The
merrymakcrs hear him not.
His hand drops to his side and he stag
gers forward toward the shanty where Joy
reigns supreme. He does not enter, but
passes it with "a muttcrcd curse. He will
not openly take his revenge. Like the true
Indian, he will strike in the dark The
rain of yesterday has left the snow soft
and he makes but poor Roadway, but he
keeps on "a course that would lead him
around the mountain. The trail to Hecla
canyon is far to the south, but his face is
turned to the north. He does not stop I'M
til he reaches Devils ridge He is weak
from the loss of blood and weary from ex-
ertion, but his rest is short. He arises
from the rock which has served as q rest
ing place, and faint and stiff and sore as
he is starts directly up the ridge. His
destination is now apparent Cheyenne is
bound for the summit of Eagle mountain.
The wind blowing across the rocky ridge
has kept it almost free from snow, and
now it forms II clear way to the mountain
top. 1t is Il tedious climb. His arm is
still bleeding, but Cheyenne stops not to
bind it. His teeth are firmly set, and there
is a determination in his eye. He must
live to accomplish his mission; then death
is welcome. Hour after hour he climbs,
his progress necessarily slow on account
of his weakness. At last he reaches the
summit. Far below him lies Barton's
camp. One bright lit cabin botrays its To-
cality. The merrymaking must still be in
progress
Cheyenne slowly gathers handful of
snow and presses it into a ball. Then he
stops. His face is not pleasant to look
upon. He kncels down and rolls the little
SNOWFALL to and fro, chucllling ominously.
1t picks up the soft snow and grows in
circumference. When it is as large as
mans head, he rises to his feet. He holds
the ball of snow poised aloft. There is an
insane light in his eye. He looks down at
the brightly lit cabin and fairly screams in
his rage:
Eyer loves Jim best, does yer? Yer
didn't think yer weddin dress would be
yer grave clothes. 1t costs hundred lives,
but no gal plays me false and lives"
The ball of snow leaves his hand and
starts down the mountain side AS it rolls
it grows as only SNOWFALL can rolling in
soft snow. Now it is as large as Il cart
wheel. A few moments and it is as large
and wide as house. Rocks and earth are
following it. The noise it makes is music
to the man on the peak. He shouts and
dances with the glee of maniac as he
hears the rumble and the roar growing
louder and louder. The SNOWFALL has
started ponderous mass consisting of
tons and tons of snow, which, rushing
along with rcsistless force, tears up bowl
ders and bushes and carries them along
In its mad flight. As long as he hears the
roar of the avalanche Cheyenne screams
md curses until he sinks exhausted to his
deathbed in the snow.
The great back of the mountain lay bare
in the morning sun. Where Barton camp
had stood there were hundred fathoms of
snow, and the gulch was as silent as the
valley of death. 1t was as if the mountain