Crawford avalanche. (Grayling, Mich.) 1879-19??, 1896-06-04

basque for me, and when she rode on,
she promised to come often.
The next day q wagon came from her
home, and In 1t was q fine rooster and
six hens, and a big bundle Of clothing
that she had outgrown and that fitted
me.
How dreary the howls of the cayotes
were at night, especially when one Of
their number was killed! They would
seem to unite In chorus Of maledic-
lions.
Miss Bessie rode up one day, and at
her heels was nm overgr0wn shepherd
puppy, with big paws and jolly little
black eyes.
Here's cayote exterminator,
Grandfather Byers," she said, as she
jumped from the saddle, and the black
horse fell eagerly to eating the short,
crisp buffalo grass, just as though he
was not stuffed at home.
She initiated the cayote's cry; the dog
bristled, his eyes shot fire, he looked In
all points of the compass, and then,
with fierce howl, tore madly around
the house.
Through Miss Bessle's kindness
found a ready market for my eggs and
chickens, and for the butter l learned
to make; and she showed me how to
'lay butter down" for winter use.
Though she never had to work she
knew every task in farmers wife's
existence; and perhaps it was best, for
there was young man living near her
fathers ranch, who himself owned a
day afternoon with her father and went
to church down in the village every
Sunday evening with her.
About two miles from our ranch were
three low hills, or mounds. Behind one,
in a sort Of valley, hedged in by the
hills and facing the plains, was well,
ninety feet deep, called, regret to say,
"Byers folly" Poor grandfather had
had the we'll dug, hoping to obtain the
water to irrgate his land. He could
not see ahead to the time when q COM
pany Of capitalists would intersect the
region with irrigating bitches, and each
mans land could be benefited by pay
ihE Il NdlCI UiA.
Grandfather's money gave out be-
fore the we'll was finished, and the
wide, deep black hole, carelessly cross
ed by rotten boards, and big pile of
earth, was all that was left Of his labor
and his fortune.
Not only was his money sunk in the
hole, but also large sums borrowed from
Mr.. Little, who, / knew, had forgiven
it, and five hundred dollars borrowed
from Mr.. DAVIDSON, of D., and to
this man our ranch was mortgaged.
Grandfather grew gloomy and sad as
spring came on. He frightened up a
little when l showed him my account
book-Miss Bessie showed me how to
keep it-and proved to him how much
money l had made with the hens and
the butter; but he sighed a moment af-
ter.
''Ef l hadn't "a done that, how COM
ferable we'd "a been. You're such
smart girl, a son more'n a gal, Charley,
But Davieson's a hard man; dunno as
ter morrer-ll find us with a roof to cover
us, an tits fine property too, now the
irrergatin' ditch crosses it,"
He seemed to take little interest in
the farm work. He would harness the
horse, pillow few burrows and then
stand in helpless attitude, looking to-
ward D.. He would wander down TO
the road to ask passers If they had a
letter for him, and then would sit out
side the kitchen door, his face hidden
in his hands. George, playing near by,
would try to comfort him in his loving
baby way.
one day, however, a man came up on
horseback. He tossed me letter-I've
hated yellow envelopes ever since-for
grandpa, who was down the field with
his team; it was such sunny March
day, 1t gave him new life for his work
l could not bear to take it, so l put
Georges sunbonnet on him, and pin
ned the letter to his frock, and with a
big cookie in his hand, sent him down
to ''danpa."
They came back later, hand in hand,
the same old horses following. Grand
father hurried past me into his cham
Der and shut the door. His face was
ash-coiored, his eyes bloodshot. 1 wait
ed long time; l feared he might be
dead, so l raped on the door. He
opened it; he was dressed in his black
brOadcloth suit, with his old-fashioned
high collar. remembered then it was
the first time had ever seen him wear
a white shirt. He held an old beaver
hnt in his hnn6 che
brushing the nap with his sleeve.
Its come, dear. That! I'm goin'
ter D. I'll try If he won't wait till
fall. I'll work hard. Maybe the
crops'n do summat.. I'll sell the stock"
those old horses were so dear to him!
mo, don't kiss me, dear! it 'ud break
me down. I've just found out I'm a
weak old man. / never felt it afore."
He staggered out to the barn. 1 fol-
lowed him.
II mayn't be back for two days or
so. VIII you be afeered?
"No," said, but was. / helped him
into the wagon. lie seemed dazed and
half-blinded by his misfortune. Oh, if
l could help him! did the work faith
fully when he was gone, driving the
cows and milking them, and taking care
of the house and George and the poul-
try.
The next day a band of Indians-ten
or twelve-rode up to the cabin. l was
frightened, but met them as coolly as IL
/ had plenty to protect me. George,
in wild alarm, hid under the bed. The
Indians seemed kind, and only wanted
a drink of milk. There We're four