Warren sheaf., 1901-08-01
LONG BARTON'S RACE

In q gloomy room, made more dis
NAL by spluttering candle set in q
bottle, the sides Of which were COW
cred with a copious overflow Of tai
low, a young man sat, attempting to
decipher the words on small piece
of paper. Near him, with her head
bent forward in an anxious, half ex-
pectant attitude, was his mother, on
whose not unattractive face were
the lines Of toll and suffering.
"Well, George" she finally said,
|'why don't you read it ?"
''I can hardly make it out, moth
er," her son replied, ''but it's new,
and he says he got the receipt from
one Of the great piano makers in
New York. It's the stuff that makes
the cases shine so. Think of it! If
I could get such polish on my skis,
why, I'd win that 5000 and pay off
the mortgage and get you a thick
cloak and all the things you need"
eyes, George" said the woman, a
slight flush tingeing her pale face;
'@but you've tried SO many kinds of
DOPE and they all failed. I'm
afraid it's your way of riding, dear. y
my way of riding ~ exclaimed
the young man, and he looked up
and ran his hands through his curly
hair. *tWhy, there isn't man in
Plumas county who can toss more
snow in day, lift more, stand more,
than can l." -- y
His mother said nothing. She
sighed as she looked up at the snow
covered windows, then glanced at
her companion with an expression
that combined pride and pity. The
young man had not overstated his
prowess. He was giant, colossus
in strength, seven feet tall, but so
thin, so long Of limb, so strangely
drawn out that for miles around he
was known as ''Long Barton'' and
"Tanglefoot.'' He was miner, like
his father, who had been killed in
an avalanche two seasons BEFORE.
The winter had set in early, and a
succession of snowstorms had buried
the little hamlet Of dozen houses
so deep in the snow that around the
Barton home it was nearly 80 feet
on the level, and the hamlet, so far
as appearances went, had been wiped
out of existence and lay with all it's
domestic life under the snow. The
entire male population had dug the
Bartons out, as in previous winters,
the operation consisting in begin
ming shoot so feet from the front
of the house, or where it was sup
posed to be, and sinking a burrow
or shoot at an angle of As degrees in
the direction of the second story.
It took some time to accomplish this
after the last storm, but finally the
miners reached the attic window,
giving rousing cheer as Mrs. Bar
ton and her son appeared to well
come them. From this time the at
tic window had been the front door.
George had cut steps up the burrow,
and the Bartons, as the postmaster
remarked, were '<in society again. .
The chimney had been spiced with
pieces kept for the purpose, so that
the top reached the surface of the
snow, and as George had piled a
plentiful supply Of wood in the
house in September and there was
an abundance Of candles, oil and
provisions things were as comforta-
BILE in the Barton home as in any
house in the place 20 or more feet
under the snow.
But there is a skeleton in every
household, it is said, and in the Bar
ton home it was pride and debt.
The elder Barton had left a mort
gage on the house, which was soon
to expire, and the mortgagee wished
the money. He lived in the city, 500
miles distant, and did not care for a
risk where the security was liable to
be crushed beneath 30 feet of snow,
as both Plumas and Sierra counties
we're famous for heavy snowfalls.
George Barton had not been able to
save enough money for the mort
gage. Avalanches had covered the
mines and kept him from work,
Then one night in returning home
he could not find the shoot and had
wandered off and when discovered
was badly frozen. It was the custom
in the village for the miners when
going to work to plant staff with
a rag streamer at the entrance OF
the shoots, so that they could find
their homes if a storm came up. But
the wind had blown Barton,s flag
down. -
Then there was another trouble.
For a number of years George Bar
ton had been a contestant in the ski