The Weiser signal. [volume] (Weiser, Idaho) 1890-1904, 1902-07-30

'Hope you folks has extra spices
on your chimneys and flags out" he
said. s1t's banked so feet at Ev-
ans, and the 80 foot marks on the
pines are covered, and it's showing
like it will never stop. But that's
not what l come for" he continued,
unrolling a bundle, blanket after
blanket, and producing baby that
looked up at the men with wonder
ing gaze; >, .
and half dozen arms reached for
the child.
"Hold on, boys" said the driver
business first. This is Jim Gray
sons baby. His wife died last night,
and he's flat on his back. The cow
was killed in the snow, and there
amt any milk in this town but
this" and the old driver held up a
quart bottle. "Now, the doctor
says that the only thing to save the
baby is to get it out where there's
milk. If we don't, it will starve."
"Why, Reel" said the storekeeper
in an awed whisper, "it's death to
try the mountains in such STORM p
$50 / told the DOCTOR" replied
the stage driver, 'and l haven't the
nerve to try it. know what it is
a mans life against the kids. But
I said I'd state the case. He's new
conner at Sierra. He got here and
can't get away"
cts so miles to milk if it's a
foot" remarked a red whiskered
miner in the group. won't bread
and water do ?"
at might for some," retorted the
driver, "but this baby's not built
that way. She wants milk, and she
won't touch anything else. They've
been trying it for days. Is there any
man here that can suggest any
thing?" And the speaker raised his
voice.
Every miner present knew that it
was impossible to get out of the
mountains, even if it was not snow
ing, until the snow had settled. Ev-
cry one recalled the names and faces
of men who had met death trying to
cross the sierras in storms, and for
a few moments no one answered.
Then, as the driver pulled the blan-
ket over the little figure, which he
held closer to his breast, voice
said:
'Well, if the baby wants milk,
she's going to have it; don't you for
get it, boys" And Long Barton
edged through the crowd and took
the child in his arms. He rolled it
up in the coverings the stage driver
had taken off. Then he pulled on
his snow cap and, followed by the
men to the door, went out into the
storm.
"Well," exclaimed Reel Stacey
I'D have picked 'Tanglefoot' the
last one for such a proposition. But,
boys, we've mistook him. He's got
sand, for he's going to his funeral"
What George Barton said to his
mother no one knew. Time was the
essence of this transaction, and. in a
very short while he came up the
shoot clad in his furs, the baby
wrapped in fur bag which was
slung under his arm. He carried his
staff in his hand, a revolver in his
pocket for wolves, and on his booted
feet were the skis which the incom-
parable "dope" had polished SO that
he could hardly stand. A moment
later he was lost to view.
The same logged persistency
which had led Long Barton to be-
lieve that he could win the race made
him think that he could carry the
baby to safety. If he had been ask
ed an hour before if a man could
do this, he would have said no. He
strobe up the little valley, keeping
in the center, with the walls of the
sierras, snowclad, trembling with
avalanches on either side and in an
hour struck the struggling forest.
He knew the trees well and for five
miles kept the trail. Then he came
to the first slope. By the aid of his
staff he made rapid slide, reaching
the bottom of the canyon safely in
few seconds. And this was to be
his experience-climbing and slid
ing. The next hill was SO soft that
he was breathing hard when he
reached half way. Then he felt q
tremble, nameless thrill, and tho
entire side of the mountain seemed
to give way, and he was carried ire
sistibly down on the wings of an av-
alanche. He made desperate strug-
giles and by a miracle kept near the
top and after much labor dug him
self out.
1t had stopped showing as he
started down the canvOp now cid