Santa Fe daily New Mexican. [volume] (Santa Fe, N.M.) 1885-1897, 1895-06-21


OH the wood pile near the door, On line
stretched between two posts hung few
patched garments Tapping in the wind.
John was IS years old Since he could
remember everything had looked az 1t
looked now. He could not recall time
when his mother had not coughed or when
the house had not looked as II family
had just moved out His father had gone
west with his wife and baby when John
was less than year old, and the house
that stood on the side hill now was the
one that hardy Jacob Millar had built
with his own hands-built, hoping and
expecting that before five years were over
he would own thriving, we'll equipped
farm A half broken colt that he was rid
ing to the village plunged, reared and
threw him to the ground, then bounded
riderless across the traokless prairie.
When they found Jacob Millar, he was
dead, and the frail woman who had come
to share her husbands lot in this distant
land had no choice but to remain. Their
original claim was rented to neighbors,
and the little income therefrom kept the
mother and child from absolute starva-
ton.
Since Johns eighth birthday he had at
tended the village school, and now as he
was walking slowly homo he was thinking
over and over the words that had just been
said to him by the head of an engineering
party that was surveying railroad
through the country. and whose work he
had stopped to watch. The opportunity
he had longed for had come. He need not
spend his life in that miserable dugont.
There was broader field opening before
him. He could have work with the sur
veyors. Four of their men were down
with chills, and they needed help. He
could leave this cherries scene. He could
be a part of the great human pulse which
he felt beating against the arteries of the
world, and which he now thought himself
to be separated from.
Why did he walk SO slowly? Why was
his head bent OIL his breast, his step like
the step Of one oppressed by the weight OF
years? 1t was tho vision before his mind
of thin, wan face of an elnaciated body,
of two large brown eyes dulled by suffer
ing of bent shoulders and a languid step.
Could he leave her? Leave her alone in
that desolate place while he went out alone
to earn money to buy her luxurles that
would make her life more comfortable
Was that why he wished to accept the ell
gineer's offer and leave this scene behind
him9 Was 1t for her, or was 1t that he
was hungry for the world which be had
never seen, but which he knew existed?
As no walked toward the house the door
opened, and thin little figure moved out
Into the sunset light. She lifted her hand
to shade her eyes and looked anxiously at
him as he approached.
John did not have 1t in his heart to tell
her what was on his mind, but with a
woman's intuition and mothers quick
perception she read instantly that some
thing unusual had occurred. With the
tact Of her sex she said nothing Of what
the boys face SO plainly told her, and to-
gether they entered their home.
Mrs, Millar made an effort toward pre-
pairing supper, but a paroxysm OF cough
ing seized her, and she was Obliged to lie
down. The boy took candle and disap-
peared into the cellar, returning with the
potatoes and bacon which served for their
evening meal
Scarcely word was spoken. Should
he tell her? Could he leave her? What
would she say? He had never been more
than ten miles from the village. The
thought that this was the opportunity Of
his life inade every fiber OF his being VI
brato with the intensity Of his desire to
20. Night came on, and he climbed the
ladder and threw himself, dressed as he
was upon his straw mattress, and with
wide open eyes that saw nothing Of his
surroundings he turned the question over
and over In his mind. Ambition, desire,
curiosity, love Of adventure, all said CO.
Love for the frail little woman who lay
tossing restlessly on her bed In the room
below held him back What was the use
Of two being wretched herep II he were
gone, the little money would 60 further
for her. But then came the other thought
--sho was his mother, and he loved her.
and with tear that his manliness strove
to hide even from himself he resolved that
come what might his lot should be cast
with hers
One who has not seen prairie fire can
form no conception Of II; but, on the 9TH
er hand, having seen one, the memory can
never be eflaced.
John Millar started in his sleep; he
opened his eyes In alarm. Was the sun.
set light still lingering in tbs beavensi
Indeed; no. The situation flashed on him
instantly, and hastily descending to the
door he saw that tho demon Of the prairie
was coming on with lightning speed.
There WAS safety in the river. Could they
reach IT. In another moment he had
caught his mother in. his arms, and bare
headed he rushed out into the night He
could hear the roar Of the encoming, all
devouring fury, The burden In his arms,
light as 1t was, proved almost too much
for his boyish strength, but tho fire Of de-
termination was In his eye, and he rushed
forward. The soft, springy soil gave way
under his feet. Tho air was heavy with
smoke. Still he pressed on. He saw moth
ing, but the broad Missouri and It's sandy
banks were almost reached. With one
flnal effort he plunged forward and laid
bis precious burden upon the cool sands.
When consciousness returned, he looked
over the blackened land and saw but
heap Of charred timbers where their poor
little place had bean. Then, turning to
comfort her whom he had struggled his
utmost to save, he saw her lying ON her
face STOPPING low over the beloved form,
he itrove to rouse her, but he Had done al
for her that he could, and this time he
made no effort to hide his tears Chicago
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