Omaha daily bee., 1896-06-07
old chief and gazed over the waste of wind

old chief and gazed over the waste of wind,
swept rock.
Just in front of them, a little to the north
of the sunset, they saw the snowy summit o.
the Henry mountains.
"Yonder," said the old chief, pointing t
the west. "lies the Josephine. lost among
the twisted hills. There are the graves o.
my people and the white peaks are the
monuments put there by the Great Father
to mark the place. One more sleep, my son
and Tickaboo will show you great mine"
When the two men came down to CAM
ShirtZ related to his white friend all that
the old man had said and they were in high
spirits. The old Indian cook was unable t
account for the hilarity of the camp that
evening, for he was kept in ignorance OF
.ha purpose of the trip.
After supper Tickaboo called for his pipe
and the smart young man filed it partly
with g%unpowder and partly with tobacco.
The aged chief was restless. He was
idiotically superstitious and as he began to
pull at his pipe he unused on what he was
about to do. For a half century he had
held this great secret sacredly in his heart.
At last his love for his white friend had
tempted him, standing as he was on the
age of the grave, to show him the ruins of
the old niue.
IF it is right" said he, 1--WE shall find
tiff 1t is wrong there will be some token
maybe so my mothers ghost will come to
me tonight and tell me what to do. More
blanket. son. Waugh! How the fire spits."
ShirtZ wrapped the old chief warmly in
an extra blanket and the two sat apart from
the others and conversed softly. If a prowl-
ing lion snapped a twig the Indian started up
and looked for his grandmother's ghost. a
lone cayote stood upon the canon wall and
walled, precisely where the two men stood
that afternoon, and the chief said that 1t
was the voice of a dead brave warning him
not to show the lost mine to the white man.
sI nm afraid d cntd tha anaH Indian sttha
hero Of a hundred battles shakes like a
squaw. Tickaboo, the brave, is walking
backward In the night, and he shall fall, and
his bones shall lie by the trail to brighten
the kayuse of the pale face. These hills
will swarm with the Hosteen peso-la-ki, as
lean badgers they will grub In the graves
Of my people. You were wicked not to let
me die yesterday, when ! could die in peace,
with this great secret locked up in my cold
breast"
did not your father, Bull-face the brave,
give this secret to your keeping"' said
Shirtz land can you not trust your SOM
But you are not of my blood; much as
love you, i can see the face of the white
man, and he ia my enemy. You think you
love me now, but when you have seen the
face OF your own father, Tickaboo VIII be no
more to you.
yes, it is so-the lambs go with the
sheep, the calves with the cattle; and you
VIII forget me NutH i ain bohS' iNhoDoO
has lived long time, and has seen all his
people die, but has never been 30 troubled
as he is tonight. The fire burns low, the
yellow moon is ashamed to shine-the lean
cayote keeps his place on the ricks above;
there is no meaning, my son, in all this.
Tickaboo the brave is no more-Tickaboo is
a squaw man tonight, the child OF a white
man stands between him and his people"
Again the cayote- howled on the hill, there
was a fash-a pun Of smoke and Tickaboo's
- -...N 10 aNaaAA In .nin AAA tho tun.
white men endeavor to persuade the old
Indian that 1t was only a joke. and that
shirtzie friend had put powder in the pipe,
1T was a token-a warning" the old man
said. "and they would go no further"
All night the old chief sat wrapped In
thought and blankets. gazing into the flick
ering fire; and ut the dawn OF day the little
band began the journey back TO the village
Of the Utes. The little joke of the white
man had cost him and his friend a fortune,
for Tichaboo could doubtless have found the
lost mine, but he alone held the secret:
CY. WARMAN.