Freeland tribune. (Freeland, Pa.) 1888-1921, 1895-12-12
IN GOLD TIME.
BY ROBERTA LITTLEHALE.

He was straight, and grizzled, and
keen of eye. He had worked, and
fought, and gambled his way through
the lawlessness and passion of the
states early life into the edecencyan up
rightness of successful contractor.
His name was Bill Bowen.
AS n civil engineer, l came more OF
less in contact with him, and rejoiced
in the largeness of his mental mold, as
he let Inc enjoy.
One summers night we took a drive
to distant town on the San Joaquin
river. We were to look at stone for a
lridgo building, and the blistering heat
of the day made us willing to lose our
sleep for the more comfortable travel
ing by starlight.
The horses logged lazily through the
roarse, thick dust on the rivers levee,
nd the insects from the grain fields
and the frogs from the sloughs had
things wholly to themselves until Bill
suddenly interrupted:
Mrs. Chase is pretty enough yet to
the devil, isn't she?"
What are you talking about? / an
swered.
"Oh," said Bill, pulling himself up, 81
forgot you didn't struggle with the rest
of us through those groggy days"
knew Bill well enough to let him re-
lapse just so many minutes; then said:
II e. 4 -.
'han most girls at sixteen, but hadn't
any idea she figured so romantically in
The early days as to send anybody over
board"
III m" replied Bill, reflectively.
The horses travelled on without at
tention, and ! waited in patience.
You know what it was like" he be-
gan at last. Men with guns from all
over the union and gold the heaven we
sweated for. Prayers, and court, and
the gambling tables all running under
one roof, and nary awoman's face show
ing pin the mass ogive us courage. 10
be sure, there were viXenish ribs O.
Satan who robbed, and killed, and
drank with the worst of us; but until
81 we'd never the woman for reverence.
Then, by degrees, the lawyers and q
stray merchant or two aired their
families, but things wasn't dizzy till
pretty Grace Blanchard got out with
her father.
understand, she carried herself as
she'd ought to; but, understand, there
was men among us as was born and
bred to live with blood. The mass OF
US had to take out our satisfaction in
looking at her; but for two the favor
in old Blanchard's eyes was easy read
ing, and it wasn't long seeing the
course the straw took.
Ned Emory was long, lean, blond
fellow, with a blamed fine face and
way that made friends of the
toughest. They said he looked
swell when he called at the
Blanchard's, but 1 never saw him
but like the rest of us-red-shirted and
oyeralled, and an angle to his pistol
that made him joy.
George Stokes-'Shorty,' we called
him-was a man with an answer that
ripped like knife and a head that
made success of everything, because it
could work crooked as well as straight.
He'd been on the bench, but he d located
up there in '52, Naturally, he lost op-
portunities, not being right on the spot,
and the danger began.
THE Blanchard house was swelled
larger than most of the cabins, and had
two long windows that opened onto a
porch. Things might never have been
so bad but for those two lidless eyes
in front.
"One fatal night Shorty Stokes rode
into the settlement-but ] am getting
ahead of affairs"
Bill tossed his cigar into the tules,
and hurried the horses into effort as
the interest of his reminiscence swept
him on.
",Hhe girl carried herself after the
fashion of high steppers, and neither
fellow could swear where he STOOD 1t
was laughter and spirit for both of
them, they said, and nip and tuck for
the yielding. The pace was the sort
that eNhausts men, and Shorty's brain
for lawyering cooked up a scheme for
his rescue. He was for their going to-
gether some night before her, and after
formal marriage proposal, each argue
his claim and fitness for ten minutes
by the clock, their honor at stake TO
stand by her decision.
"It got about afterwards that Emory
wouldn't consent until he saw the
devil to pay in Shorty's earnestness,
and they swore with their fists in each
others to carry the thing through to
the finish. The date and hour were
arranged for the following Sunday
night at eight, and they drank to it
with gall in the cup.
When the evening came the clock
had already struck eight when Stokes
reached the Blanchard house