Elmore bulletin. [volume] (Rocky Bar, Idaho) 1889-1906, 1904-06-30

floor did | understand what the old
man had in mind when he would run
the grains through his fists, like sand
through an hour glass, and talk in a
slow Apologize monotone about the
wealth of the marshes.
hope no one will think me a sordid
person. l speak of his within because
it explains his last wish and his last
act. He did not own foot of the
landscape and the shanty was no more
than b squatter's claim. But some
how bis vague intentions had instilled
in my heart longing, without hope
or reason, to inherit the dreary acres
of reeds, pools of salt water and piles
of swaepings, emptied from grain cars
on the Y, and God willing, | shall live
on this forgotten estate as long as /
may.
1t iB now perfectly clear that my
gentle, sensitive benefactor had
thought an heiress would be happier
far from here with the love of
worthy bridegroom, who once belonged
in city. He showed this by mute
signs when he himself went out from
the rule habitation never to come
back alive.
For how many years l cannot tell, |
sifted the waste Of the grain cars that
came down from the mills and eleva.
tors. Tons and tons of sweepings are
run cut on this little branch Of the
railroad and are unlcaded by the
brake man with huge shovels. The
railroad people call it the dump, but
cha fat, sa1
name of the station is Marsh Mine. He
it was who discovered what those
placer heaps contained. He invented
a SITTER and taught me how to sep
arate the dust from the wheat.
At first it was wild play to see the
chaff and flour dust flying like fine
snow in the wind. ] was little girl
then. After a while l came to know
it was work, but did not complain.
Other poor people found out the mine
and worked it for their daily bread
and something more besides. But
the idea of vast wealth grew upon
my aged foster father until he began
to ia lk about turning the sacks OF
wheat into sacks of pure gold by some
mysterious means. This he said he
could do, his thin face-pallid as the
flour dust-staring at the hour glass
he m AIDE with his bony hands.
AS we sat together by the peat fire
In thR. shanty and waited the long win
ter evenings for word Of a new siding
of cars l would ask the old man many
silly questions, but always wien he
did hot wish to speak his mind he
was listening to the wind rushing in
from the sea over the salt marshes.
And his answer was ever the same:
"Ah, my little girl, it will be fine to-
MORROW at the NINE"
Afterward the track walker would
knock to tell us the cars were due to
come down by daybreak He would
seldd m enter and seldom stay long,
beca lse think he was afraid the rail
road spies would hear he was giving
information and have him DISCHARGED.
though he never said so.
He was a fine fellow for takin4 the
risk. But whoever heard of employ
ers 80 selfish, so heartless2
Frpm the track walker I earned all
the signals of the trainmen and |
could answer them when | saw him
far off sounding the rails of the main
line and stopping now and then to ex-
anime loosened bolt. But he would
not come near the diggings of Marsh
Mine in the day. Hundreds of bags of
half wheat have the old man and I
taken out of the sweepings from the
mills. which are many miles away.
The work did not stop in any season
wet or dry, warm or drear. since the
mills never quit grinding At last the
old man became too feeble to carry
the sacks of wheat on his back to the
shanty. All he could do was tie the
full sacks with strips of cotton. darn
holes in those that were empty and