The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1904-06-10


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. 'T'll 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 a pOnderous
leather thing, and it's 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 a rude deer-horn handle.
The blade was rusted, and looked as if
not cleaned after its last thrust.
The white hands touched it gingerly.
Il 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
a flood 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
a book agent was in the front hall,
and the contents of the game-bag were
left in heap on the floor.
SiIra 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 it's 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 a trace of one
| of her mans murderers. This fact
worked itself slowly into her darkened
mind, for the knife in the game-bas
cried out Howes implication in the
crime.
But now, at the very moment of hel
impending triumph, shadow fell
athwart her CLEAN of hope. The boy
nurtured into stalwart manhood fol
one end, looked at her listlessly when
i 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 u
rouse him and try again to wake the
vengeance in his blood, but he did no
know her.
Wild with apprehension, the ole
sQuaw's first thought was of Mrs
Howe, her never-failing source of sue
cor. The kind eyes up at the white
house grew large with sympathy ant
| dread. Its only fever, Sikra,
young Hal came forward to assure her
and catching up his hat he followed thu
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 hell
him on the threshold. But Sikra'
dumb look of appeal prompted him tt
enter the room. The calm presence
and the cool, firm hands of the whit
boy seemed to lay the fever-devils
And the thought that the fever nigh
be contagious was overbalanced in hi
mind by the grief of the squaw mother
HE must not die; he must not die,
she walled. 81 raise him for now
For just now!"
The weeks that followed were grin
struggle with the fever-deyils tina
filled the Indian boys frame. Whel
his wild rawlings and threats of venge
ance rose to shrieks and Threatened
to exhaust the Pickering flame of life
nothing but the cool, strong hands tina
had first quieted him had any powe
to calm him.
"Poor old Sikras heart seems set Of
his accomplishing something before h
dies" young Howe explained, one day
to his mother. 1T is pitiful to see he
hopelessness whenever the symptom
are discouraging." And when 9th er
said: Let the goodfor-nothing red
skin die; he is menace to the neigh
borhood," the boys blue eyes fiashe
? his scorn at their sentiments. 'He
all she has," he answered
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