The National tribune., 1895-02-14

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Texas; then, agin, we'd take to prospectir
for year or two in New Mexico or up il
the Gunnison country.
"Once / got kinder home-sick fur tn
East, and / mentioned it to Mart an wanteI
him to 20. He jest says:
why, yea, Jack; you could 90 wei
enoTfi, and the trip will do you good; bu
l don't care to go, and will wait for yol
here
Then all T. once l remembered we't
buried his only brother down there in tn,
| lonely hills alter the fight We had at Stony
Copyright in tween the two mountains. y,
member. i know you must, cause yor
We're thar, boys; an il jest seems funny u
me 'at we are all lere so long after tina
time-I mean us six.
Il did not urge him any more an
'twouldn't done no good to. When he said
no to oanything-why, then, he never changed
Il LETT him and went to our old home east
of the Mississippi. Things seemed changed
so much to ME that / stayed only jest
long enough to say how'dy-a few days
an then it wasn't morn four weeks, / wa,
homesick rs ever in my life, an few days
mere an / was back with Mart. / found
him in the very boardin' house whar / had
left MIN, in Salt Lake.
"Oh, yes; Mart ask'd bout the folks, an
ef / he'd seen any of the old boys we were
with in the army. But / never hear him
mention woman's name for years after this
an then only once, mebby.
Well, men Mart took up our old life
agin, and from that time on to 80 we hardly
ever talked of anything 'cept Jest what wu2
around US i'll wildish mining camps, an our
work, an luck, an sich In these rough
places / used to get into rows an rows
Got a built in my shoulder now 'at /
caught one night in Gunnison camp. Mart
carried me TO our dugout, an didn't work
a pick or shovel for MORN three months on
account of that spree Times when I'd
turn on the bunk an hurt my shoulder, I'd
GIT mad, like fool, an 'ud cuss my luck,
cuss Mart, or anybody 'at wuZ round, AN
then I'd feel like shootin' myself in minute.
Mart 'ud come over an set~down on the
edge of my bunk, and Jest smile kinder
quiet like, and put his han on my head aud
smooth back my hair, an say: Never mind,
Jack; il III all come right after while
Then, again, sometimes, he'd get down from
Its shelf q big old book he got when we
were In Frisco onct, an read to me pieces
bout kings and queens; wuz always
mighty glad when he'd read. j couldn't git
heads nor tails of Cleopatry, Richard the
Third, Isabella, Portia, nor none of the
whole kit Nv 'em, fur that matter, but his
voice wuz so smooth L could always git to
sleep in little while. Mart never drank
liquor, and he'd give up most every hing we
had before he'd come right down to his gun
bat when he see thar weren't no other way
to settle matter, why he'd call down whole
ranch just quick es he would one. He never
he'd a row on his own account-seemd like il
wuZ always bout sumthIn' that / had done,
or hadn't done
One day we were down in our shaft
pickin' long as usual. Mart he'd climbed
out an gone over to the cabin fur his mag
nifyin'glass to look at some quartz we'd
struck. l heard him sing out to something
mp near the top of the shaft, Halt, halt,
haiti! then Ia clear, ringing shot from his
ready revolver, an /, rushin' up the pole TO
the top NV the shaft, saw mean buck Iniin
that I'd he'd a fuss with fur stealin' some
deer-skins from me. He was lyin' fat on
his face, with one arm still circled round
bowlder. A few drops of blood he'd oozed
outn little round hole an inch over his
right eye, an mlxin' with the red dirt we'd
throw'd out'n the shaft. The sneakin' cuss
he'd been layin' fur me, you see. an when he
see Mart up bout the house, he slipp'd up
TO dump his rock in onto me. see at
glance what 10 all meant. All Mart said
bout it was: It's nothing but what just had
to be, Jack. You see, il was You or he.'
He walked over 10 Bill Gardner's cabin,
an got his mule an cart an took that dirty
Injun down the gulch, six miles, to his
squaw.
people 'at didn't know him real we'll. He
read some books an a few papers, when we
could git 'em, an most ever day he wrote a
little, mebby jist line or two. in an old
book he kept in his pack.
'Scuse me, boys, blam't, I can't ever
think Nv Mart an the old time, 'thout it
kinder upsettin' me. Italways seems though
he oughtn't left me; but, then, l know I'm
selfish to think that way.
Well, % years after the war, one day, up
IN Leadviile, We wuz workin' tOg ther down
in lead hole on the slope near by our cabin,
an ! hear Mart kinder hummin' TO hisself
an sayin' over words of song, thought.
II WIZ the fust time l ever hear him even
hummin' song. When we went in am
housed mp that night he talked more'n he
ever did before about tbe war; an when he
wuZ a boy, an mentioned how long he am
he'd been together, an how old he wuz I
had slept in the same bunk with Mart, now,
for bout half our Iives-mor'n half of his'n.
He'd been shot once in the war, you member,
an some nights he didn't sleep well. He
said IL was rheumatism come in his side
whar he wuz hit. When he couldn't sleep
he used to git off'n the bunk au' set in the
door, or over a little fire ef twas cold-so's
not to keep wakin' me, he said.
"No, never hear him mention her name
till that night-an' then didn't know what
he wuz sayin' or what he meant till found
1t IN one Nv his books IN his own writin'.
Long bout midnight hear somethin',
an raised up TO look round. Mart weren't
In the bunk; then heard from over in one
corner of our little room the same sort of
hummin' sound heard him singin' or sayin'
down in the hole that day-only the words
were palmer now. would never have re-
member'd the words eff | hadn't found 'em
afterward on blank leaf in one of his books
/ tore the leaf outn the book an have got it
with me now. What he said over TO hisself
that night was this:
ELLA, OH EiIla--the end cometh now
Truly I've kept my soldiers iove-vow.
Mo woman iO love-foTever--but you ~
ELLA, oh, Eilia-once tender and true.
DEv'rything 'peared SO still, cept jest Mart's
soit-like voice sayin' of them lines 'at /
didn't move nor disturb him 'lill,he had
finished sayin' 'em. Then lightin' Il lantern
'at hung at the fireplace, went to him. His
hans were cold, an when | lifted his arm at
lay acrost his face, i See at once that Mart,
my best friend of all my life, had left me