The Colfax chronicle. [volume] (Colfax, Grant Parish, La.) 1877-1981, 1898-10-01

81 A RE you a Yankee ?" he asked.
n His voice was gentle, his man.
ner apologetic; l thawed instantly,
and replied:
"Yes."
What part?"
Colorado"
"Colorado-well. I'm jiggeredl" And,
his face all smiles, the stranger ran
on: "You don't say so. Ever get so
far north as Caribou"
His look was so wistful should have
CHANGED a lie just to please him, but /
was speaking the truth when / an
swered:
.Yes-lived there two years; ran the
Cardinal mill and mine in the early
seventies"
'Then you are Frank Howard?"
Eyes; and your"
Harrison Snowdon. only got down
Caribou way six years ago; prospect
ing over in the Middle Park before
that. May join you? I'm just starv-
ing for a talk with somebody"
told him to sit down; told him was
glad to see him. And was. / am not
given to sudden fancies, but liked
him. He was handsome man, that is,
handsome as we class men on the
range; frame built for rough ways and
weather; clear of skin, eyes two bits of
Colorado sky; beard long, soft and
brown. But it was his voice that took
me, for it had that peculiar note COM
mou to men who live alone among the
mountains, men knowing the voice of
Nature better than the voice of man.
Snowdon drew up his chair and
placed his glass Of whisky on my table,
and a moment later we were deep in
talk of Rocky mountain days, ways and
people. At last, our camp talk having
run to dregs, / asked:
"What are you doing in London?"
"Came over to sell my tunnel"
Shave you sold it?
"Yes. Tom-that's his name, isn't
it?"
eyes"
TON, bring us two more of the
same"
When the glasses had been placed on
the table Snowdon said:
Howard, I've got kit of trouble
heavier than / can manage alone;
you'll help me if you'll let me talk.
May II"
go ahead. old boy, and don't forget
you're talking to man from your old
camp"
That is what said, for felt for him
somehow. There were lines in this
mans face and hunted look in his
eyes that knew were not born in the
Rocky mountains. wanted to help
him. My heart must have got into my
words, for Snowdon without further
question began his story:
my tunnel, Howard, was down in
Pleasant valley-the old Mcdonald
claim. You must remember the
Scotchman?"
"Yes, remember him; hot old
party"
swell, knew every inch of the hill
over that tunnel, and believed could
open up, by the tunnel, some blind lead
no one had tapped from Caribou hill.
That's why / bought the tunnel when
old Mac died; why, put all my cash
and five years work into it. More
than once was for chucking it; and
would If it hadn't been for the Ames
folks. Ever meet Ames?"
''No; he must be a newcomer"
"Of course" exclaimed Snowdon,
"he came to Caribou after did. Ames
farmed that little ranch in Pleasant
Valley; no good himself; drunk six
days out of seven, gambling the other
Gay. His father was rich Boston man
who couldn't hold the boy in, so pen
stoned him and put him out of sight.
i never took any stock in Ames, but his
wife, Clara, and their little child, Jessie
why, in short time they were the
whole valley to me. There is some
thing almighty fetching. Howard,
about q free moving, high-spirited
woman; and this Clara Ames, she was
both. Maybe it was the Colorado air,
maybe it was getting away from a
bricked-up city; / don't know just
what 1t was; do know they were both
awfully alive, and the sight of such live
people set my blood tingling a. 1t
never tingled before.
"Clara and Jessie used to come to
the mouth of my tunnel about noon
every day; this was the time when l
came out to eat my dinner. They both
seemed to take, to me, don't know
why. Maybe they'd never seen a chap
as queer in get-up and ways. Maybe,
too, it was only my fiddle. for had q
sure enough fiddle, and could make
1t sing. Clara, she was always
wanting me to play. And when
I'd play she'd curl up ON the
sand, and pear to catch every
note; don't believe one got past her.
yXbor. ...,...,x 49,.