The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1896-12-12

He was getting so cold! But he must
make the effort; chopping and shoveling
would warm him-so bravery he went
at it.
Bv the aid of the snow shoes, he
reached the enclosure, and then set to
work shoveling awhile and then using
the axe.
He worked quite fast at first; then his
arms aChed so! His strokes became
slower, and finally it seemed he mus, sit
down and rest. But there were those
poor brutes he must push on, A few
more strokes; then his AIMS refused to
move and his hand unclasped from the
axe-handle. Twice he essayed to pick
it up, then-then--
'He's gonetn
1t was one of the cowboys who spoke,
taking the stiff lutte form in his arms
"And he was trying to let the brutes
out Just as we orter done, said the other.
Guess that'll sober the old man off.
Shan't tote him spell? Poor little Jef!'
The roueh fellow rubbed his mitten
across his face, then turning suddenly,
said: "lf yer thinks ye kin manage him,
mebby better finish this job-just to
please him."
$50 ahead, was the terse rsjoinder,
as the first speaker, carrying the boy out
in front of him, i'll order to keep his bal
ance, skinned along toward the house.
He had been awakened by draught of
cold air coming in from the shed, and
as soon as he missed Jeff, and saw the
opening, he understood.
HurredIy he awakene his companion
not Jeff S father ard together they
went out the same way as the boy had
gone in search # him.
"H.rc, you old brute, wake up, " cried
Bill, roughly shaking Jrif's father who
was, by far, the worst intoxicated Of the
three.
A growl was the only answer. One or
two more efforts he made, then gave up,
and turned his attention to the boy
Nain'y he warmed and rubbed the
body, vainly he tried to force a drop Of
wa; n spirits down his throat.
"No use; It's Just as | said; he's a
goner, Poor little Jeff. nd he was such
a good boy. I'm ALFRED sorry | ever
poked fun at him, nd to think we WIZ
all drunk, nd he out don' our workn
faint no use Jake" he said, a while
later, when the other came in, che died
fer his principles, he b'leved in bein'
kind ter the creeters, ez he sed, ez
couldn't talk fer 'emselves."
cole Bill md us killed him the same
ez-"
81 know it,"
Together, they made another effort at
restoration, but in vain; and when the
drunken creature on the floor became
conscious, and essayed to rise, called
thickly for drink, p" Bills scared, white
face bent over him, and Bill pointed
without a word, to the rigid form in the
dirty Jacket, stretched out wooden
bench. There was a wooden blanket
under him, but they had purposely left
him uncovered to meet his fathers gaze
With something between an oath and a
groan, the man sat up and stared.
"You helped, We miserable creeter,"
muttered lake, as if glad to have some
one to lay it on.
Then Bill briefly told the now thor
oughly sobered man, the story; causing
the latter to sink back on his pallet, and
cover his face with his hands.
To their credit be it said, they spent
sober night, and in the morning they
removed hay rick, and dug him a shall
low grave over which the wretChed
father shed a few tears.
"Poor little Jeffl'' muttered Bill again,
as he shoveled IN the frozen clods.
"Pity he couldn't lived"
We do not agree with him. The dying
mother had prayed that her boy might
not grow up wicked man, and now he
was out of danger-had died a hero, too.
Some day that little ragged cowboy
will stand once more, face to face, with
the pompous cattle king-some day.