The Chanute times. [volume] (Chanute, Kan.) 1897-1913, 1901-07-26
CHAPTER I-(Continued.)

WhO bAaLSQ nlo IidCh Will q CaI-Oh
shovel used as a cane.
Paper for Henley" he puffingly re-
marked as he opened the door Of the
shed above the shaft. Paper dressed
to Franklin Henley" and tossing 1t
in by the side of the man who was eat
ing his lunch on box, he plodded
ahead to return to the trail.
"Thank you, Billy" called the other;
much obliged"
He finished a bone, gave his fingers
a wipe on the ragged trousers and slit
off the wrapper of the "down-east"
paper.
Sitting in the door, he read the news
of the far-away home eagerly absorb
ing every line. OF sudden he paused;
a CLEAN of something wild came flash
: ing in his eyes and the muscles of his
hands and arms abruptly stiffened.
Married, by the Rev. Richard Wat
son, Feb. 20, Miss Agnes Coles to
Frederick Law" was all that he read.
The type swung dizzy waltz, with
the notice for their center-a thousand
animated demon spots they were,
dancing at his anguish.
He hurled the sheet in crunched
up ball, along in the brush; he grasped
pick and went where the paper lay
all crisply swelling to open again
and dug and gashed it to dirt-printed
shreds.
$50 that's the reason she hasn't been
writing!" he fiercely Kissed. That's
- lAt1 to-
shift! Undermined me!-tapped the
vein!-robbed the pocket Damn his
.cowardly heart!-damn the mine!-
damn everything!" His voice was
choked; he reeled to the shed, he
sank-half fung-to the earthen floor,
to lie where the door, like flabby
jaw, was vainly trying to close against
his body.
His fingers gouged in the sand like
hooks; his face was pressed to the
chill, hard cheek of the soil. The wind
swept through, the hole of window
its vent, beating the door, in weak,
squeaking blows against his back.
The day grew old; drizzling rain
descended darkness obscured him as
he lay, half within, half without. The
night came down and found him mo-
tionless. The creak, creak, creak of
the door was mingled at midnight with
the distant bowling Of a lone coyote.
In the morning, when the Indian
girl was come to the cabin, a wild
eyed man, mumblins and cropping, bag.
( gard, unkempt, staggered out Of the
sage brush to fall over on the floor of
the kitchen.
~ There on the boards she fashioned
-he couch whereon he tossed and roll
3D. fought and mined for fourteen
nights and days.
Feebly he opened his eyes at length.
1t was Susie above him, LAYING his
forehead; Susie preparing the food at
the stove; Susie who sang him the
lullaby of rest in Washoe music, soft
and persuasive.
Wistfully his eyes remained on her
round young face. He lay there help
less, feeling like man of thewless cot
ton. Day by day she coaxed his pulse
to its strong quick thump of action.
Night by night his energy crept in
through his system again. Yet what
was the use.
There came an hour when he tottered
to his feet, got the gush of spring
from the visiting breeze, and at length
returned to the mine-to dig in the
adamant, to work off the shadows of
hatred and vengeance.
He dug out a pocket of gold, nearly
pure, and laughed in scorn at its gilt
tering spread on the salver of dross
and porphyry. 1t lay where it fell-a
pyramid of riches; and he striking
sparks from his steel and the rock in
the opposite end of the tunnel
Susie remained-his shy little doe
adoring the air that haloed him about,
thrilling increasingly to hear him
speak-lived in her womanly scheme
}of an earthly heaven.
The blossoms now presented their
cheeks and lips in manifold petals for
the suns caress; the birds, wide
throated by gushing melodies, express
ed throughout the day the joys of
twining a nest in the branches. The
to feel the current of love and life
that sweetened the air.
At times, as the spring bud bour-
geoned into summer, the girl and Hen
ley roamed on the hills hand-in-hand,
seeking the grass blades that smoothed
the roots Of the sage brush, hunting
out the flowers, hooking the mellow
lark-who sang of endless summer.
Now and again the man was fired by
hot desire to honeycomb the mighty
hills with drifts and shafts and tun-
nels. Yet, how sweet to wander
s.home" in the cool of the evening.
stepping to the cheerful notes of crick-
cts by the trail, to meet the day new
born again in the beaming face of
Suslel
CHAPTER III.
Chloride Hill, the mining camp, was |
nothing to Henley, nothing to Susie.
But out of its streets there came one |