The representative. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1893-1901, 1895-10-30

The rush of the fall blew out the candle
and he lit feet first into a pile of some
thing that crashed and cracked. A
pungent dust arose and stung his nostrils
until he sneezed again and again and
tears came to his eyes. On relighting
e-caHdfeEhelound he was standing
nearly knee deSp in a pile of bones. HUI
man bones, TOO, for there were skulls
among them. But bones had no terrors
for Hobson; TO his quick mind it called
for increased exultation. They were
probably the remains of the old task
masters thrown down and covered in
a punishment in harmony with their
crimes. At the bottom two drifts or tun-
nels led away 10 right and left, high
enough for person to walk through
with little STOPPING. To the right he
went for some so feet to the end solid
face of mineral that glistened and gilt
tered in the candle light. On the floor
a pile of it lay broken up like macadam.
It was galena, rich with silver, the rich
est he had ever seen. What extrava-
gances Hobson committed down there in
that dark hole can only be imagined,
but the circumstances certainly justified
the cutting of as many capers as the
limited space allowed. The lost mine
was found! He would at once go up,
get sack, and take away some of the
ore with him as evidence and for the
almost superf1Ous certainty of an assay.
But when he came to the foot of the
shaft he made a discovery that changed
all joy to despair and froZe his very blood
with horror. There was the rope out of
his reach. He could not climb by brac
ing himself at the sides, for just where
the rope stopped the shaft widened out,
NJ 70 to1
He sat down among the bones, too sick
and weak to stand How long would the
candle last? How long would he himself
last? How long when he, too, would be
but an addition to those old bones? Mil
lions We're his, and yet he was poorer
than the most wretched begger. The sit
uation was a hideous sarcasm. But Hob
son was not man to give up and die
like rat in plugged hole. He looked
all round, rose up, walked unsteadily into
the tunnel on the left hoping against
hope to find something, when he stumbled
and almost fell over a pile of half-de-
cayed poles. They were Is to 20 feet long.
foot in diameter, with deep notches at
intervals cut into them. They were the
rude ladders that, placed transversely
across the shaft one below the other,
furnished those old time miners with the
means of getting out and coming in. Hob
son was not ashamed to admit that when
he found them he sat right down and
cried from pure joy. When he reached
the top and lay painting on the ground
in the sunlight he could not for the life
Of him tell over which he felt the bet
ter, his discovery or his escape.
He collected a bag of ore, and, return
ing, covered up the entrance under the
M ri "a in 10 VII
ity, procured his direction by the COM
pass and struck out for civilization.
He could not retrace his own steps, be-
cause over the rocky surface he had lett
100 scanty trail, taking note of prom
inent features for landmarks to guide
I return, but the country was so broken,
so rough, so tossed about and so diff
,ult that he was continually getting
urned around, and finding from the COM
pass that he was travelling in a circle. 1t
vas many hours before the land resolved
itself into regular elevations and water
courses, and then it was night. In the
morning, by following the draws and
water channels, he finally came to a
iarge stream that he knew to be the San
Saba river The way was now certain,
but it proved to be very long and weary,
md it was far in the night again when
ne rested in Menardville.
Now comes the end of this story, that
as is so often the case in real life and
so rare in fiction, does not end we'll at all.
No writer erver wrote "finis" at the end
Of a more exasperating recital. When
Hobson undertook to find his mine again
he could not locate it, try as he would.
He is up in that country now, diligently
searching. He has not even been able to
locate any Of the landmarks by which he
thought to guide return. 1t is as if he
had been whisked by some fairy to some
inaccessible valley full of diamonds, and
then whisked away again with only one
diamond, and that little one with a
flaw in it. He confessed he might think
it all dream, were it not for that sack of
ore. That is stubborn reality that all
men can see and none get over Every
one who reads this ought to wish hard,
and pull for Hobson, for after such ex-
perierces he certainly deserves a better
reward. JAMES BEE.