The L'Anse sentinel. (L'Anse, L.S., Mich.) 18??-current, 1904-06-04

fellow slumped down on the cellar
door, his keen eyes following the
chickens preparing to roost In the
cedar trees.
But while the soapsuds splashed and
the water streamed and dripped over
the floor, the thrifty housewife busted
herself at tidying things on the porch,
for glance at the young buck made
her realize the propriety of her pres
ence on the scene "fll do what
have always intended to do with this
game-bag," she said, half aloud. 1T
has hung here long enough collecting
trash. This is good time to overhaul
it and throw the rubbish away"
The game-bag was ponderous
leather thing, and its capacity appar-
emily unlimited. Old fishhooks and
tackle came first, rusted and rotten
from long disuse. Then hatchets,
horseshoes. gopher-traps, doorknobs,
coils of wire, shot-pouches, rubber
gloves-everything. in short, that a
catch-all of such sort collects In the
course of 20 years. The last thing
brought up was an, old hunting knife
an ugly-looking weapon, broad and
short, with rude deer-horn handle.
The blade was rusted, and looked as II
not cleaned after its last thrust.
The white hands touched 1t gingerly.
II don't know what to do with all these
things after ALL" the woman said.
looking up into the quiZzical eyes OF
the tall young fellow. who came sing
ing Bonnie Doom" through the house.
whistled the dogs over from the
stable, stirred the drowsy canary into
food of song. and sent the cats
scampering away from the neighbor-
hood Of the meat-safe. They were
your fathers things. Hal, when he
wasn't much older than YOU" she ex-
planned in the subdued tones In which
one instinctively refers to the dead.
But the duty on hand was temporarily
dropped when the boy announced that
book agent was in the front ball,
and the contents of the game-bag were
left in a heap on the floor.
Sikra bent low over her tubs, but
now her eyes were wild, and every
nerve in her body tingled with excite
ment. The back of her benefactress
was scarcely turned when the hunting
knife was swept into her hands and
stealthily concealed under her apron
| Her boy did not follow her actions
| but sat idly In the sunshine, watching
| the lower branches of the cedar filling
| with its tenants for the night Mean
while the pile of clean clothes grew
with surprising rapidity. A wonder
full energy was at work rubbing, rims
ing, wringing, and soon the work was
completed, and the squaw departed
with her son.
The next weeks washing was accom-
plished with the same degree of un'
wonted energy. Sikra stood upright
no longer bent and decrepit. Her hour
Of triumph was come. The knife still
hung at her belt-the knife she had
watched Black Wing make from the
horn of the deer she had seen him kill
At last Sikra had found trace OF one
of her mans murderers. This fact
worked itself slowly into her darkenet
mind, for the knife in the game-bas
cried out Howe's implication in the
crime.
But now, at the very moment OF hel
impending triumph, shadow fel
athwart her CLEAN Of hope The boy
nurtured into stalwart manhood To-
one end, looked at her listlessly when
with dilated eyes and hushed voice
she told him the story of her discovery
He did not seem to even hear her tale
After a sleepless night, she went +
rouse him and try again to wake tn
vengeance in his blood, but he did no
know her.
Wild with apprehension, the oil
squaw's first thought was OF Mrs
Howe, her never-failing source of sue
cor. The kind eyes up at the whit
house grew large with sympathy an
dread. Its only a fever, Sikra,
young Hal came forward to assure hel
and catching up his hat he followed tn
distraught mother to her little hut.
The wild. black eyes that met his
as he entered, startled him with thei
ferocity, and the wilder words hel
, him on the threshold. But Sikra
dumb look of appeal prompted him
: enter the room. The calm presence
and the cool, firm hands of the whit
boy seemed to lay the fever-devil
And the thought that the fever migf
, be contagious was overbalanced In h
mind by the grief of the squaw mothe
"He must not die; he must not die
she walled. II raise him for now
> For just now!"
The weeks that followed were girl
struggle with the fever-devils th'
, filed the Indian boys frame. Whe
his wild rawlings and threats OF veng'
!, ance rose to shrieks and threatene
to exhaust the Pickering flame of lif
nothing but the cool, strong hands th'
9 had first quieted him had any pow
O to calm him.
% Poor old Sikra's heart seems set
his accomplishing something before
. dies" young Howe explained, one da
= to his mother. 1T is pitiful to see h
y hopelessness whenever the symptom
. are discouraging' And when othe
I said: Let the good-for-nothing re-
. skin die; he is menace to the neigl
borhood,' the boys blue eyes fiash'
j, his scorn at their sentiments, "He