The L'Anse sentinel. (L'Anse, L.S., Mich.) 18??-current, 1902-01-25
The Gold-Miner's Story.

7 AMT a sentimental sorter coon,
i by no manner O. means, and what's
more, never purtended as I were.
A incident that knows of, though,
for downright sentimentality beats
anything I ever heerd tell of. Even
now, though it happened long time
ago-somewhere back about the fall
of ST. CANT recollect it without a
chokin' lump rises inter me gullet and
me eyes become sorter moist. It's a
yarn of what a Teller done COS he
thought it was his dooty and cos he
loved a gal.
Yes, I tell yer, there's dramas en-
acted in SIGH lives as ourn which, if
they was performed on the stage,
those pale-faced clever noospaper
knowalls, or crickets, or whatever
they calls 'emselves, would say it was
unnatural, and could never have hap
pened in rale life. But they'd be mis-
took for all that, COS this here yarn
IS gospel.
"I'l tell yer 'xactly how it come
about. 1t was at Davidson's Creek
as wild and brown and lonesome a To-
-cality as ever mortal man clapped
eyes on-all level and sandy and mo-
not'nous.
They was wild, harum-scarum lot
of boys collected there, too, gives
yer my word. OF course, when gold
is located at a place, yer wouldn't ex-
pect very high-class serciety; and Da-
Wilson's Creek were no exception,
unless it were worse than most il
anythink. Nigh every soul there was
a wrong 'un.
Wal, Tim Bennett, though-yer
could hardly call him wrong 'un,
He was short, insignificant, little
shrimp of a Teller, with chivvy yer
couldn't help likin', and the most in
formally bad luck as ever logged a
miner. He had smile and a kind
word fer everyone, and I honestly
b'lieve he would have given his last
penny to pard who was down on his
luck. We mostly called him the "par-
son." not that he was extry religious,
but cos he was so much better'n the
rest of us, and had never been known
to cuss for more'n half a minute at
a time.
The fellers at first used ter take
vantage of him, but it wer'n't long
fore he showed us he could use his
fists or his shooter as well as the
best of us.
Then there were Nelly Bell-ol'
Hanky Bells darter. She were a good
one, and no mistake. She were al
ways mending or patching fer some
one, or making fine appetizin' stew
out of some of our tough stack" fer
some feller that was took sick. We
used ter fairly worship her, but she'd
have nothing ter do with us. She
was dead gone on the "parson," and
the on'y one that didn't know it was
the "parson" hisself.
Wal, to be gettin' along. One day
Denis O'Brien were a-comin' back to
camp after a bit of saunter round
when Nelly comes runnin' up ter him,
her eyes all red and swollen with
cryin'.
''Denis," she sobbed, eyer are a
well-plucked 'un, and l wants yer to
help me. Will yer?"
Off comes Denis's hat in an instant
want me hellup, do We, Nellyf
.Shure, il We on'y say, of with yer
head, Denis bedad Oil do it jist to
show yc that Oh name bis'ness. And
what have We been cryin' yer purity
eyes out for, and what are ye afther
wantin' me to do?"
"Oh, Denis, it's awful. They've been
and got the 'parson' at SHADES saloon
and they're jest a-goin' ter string him
up. Yer know Dan Black. 1t pears
he keeps all his money in two black
boxes, marked ID. b. One of them
boxes has been found empty under q
heap of clothes in the parsons tent
and they're sayin' he's done it. Blu,
it amt him, Denis. I'll stake all I've
got it amt him. has my suspicious
As ter who it is; in fac I'm pretty
sure; but, yer see, / can't prove 1t
Yer will help me, Denis, won't yer, oil
pard?"
"But what dye ixpict me to do
Nelly?"
do? I've been up ter the saloon
and tried ter git him off, but IL ain't
no go. They says the suspicious 4,
too much agen him-they wan,
proofs. and unless they're brought the
law rust take it's course. And car
bring proofs. Yes, Denis, I will bring
proofs. So what want yer to dc
is ter stop 'em fer half an hour. By
that time I'll bring my proofs, and y
I can't-then Heaven help poor Timi'