The mirror. (Stillwater, Minn.) 1894-1925, 1905-01-05
XY TE HAD Deen at the mine
\N/ for about ten days, | be-
v v lieve, and both Dave and l

T. HAD Deon at the mine |
wv for about ten days, l be-
v v lieve, and both Dave and l
found the novelties of !
camp life beginning to weary us. He
had made the trip for the purpose of
doing the yearly assessment work
upon q mining claim of somewhat
doubtful value. while /, being some-
thing of an amateur nimrod, intended
to test my skill upon one Of the few
deer that still remained in that portion
of California.
Our cabin, a rude, one room affair,
built Of logs, was situated upon the
point Of rocky land dividing Big from
Little Bear Creek. Just across the
smaller stream 9 couple Of placer
miners had claim and a small cabin,
while upon the opposite side of Big
Bear Creek there stood large stamp
mill, cabins, cook house, ETC., the ! de-
serted relics Of once paying mine. "A
half mile below as, and upon the oppo-
site side ofthe united stream q colony
of Indians had built their group Of
shacks and made a. somewhat precar-
ious living raising hogs, hunting, min
ing, and, occasionally, working for
some of the surrounding whites. It is
of these Indians that intend to write.
l was seated in the cabin one even
ing, watching our cook, "Dutch John
as he was called, perform the extreme
iy delicate task of baking bread in a
frying pan, when Dave appeared st the
door and called for me to 'scome out"
"What is it ?" 1 asked, following him
to the edge of the creek. "Llsten."'
AT first could hear nothing unusual.
The dull, rustling Of the oak leaves,
the steady moan of the bending pines,
and the tlnkle of the Little Bear were
ordinary sounds. But there was some
thing more. Very low, at first; hardly
to be distinguished above the noise of
the night; then gradually higher, and
louder-the distant sound of human
voices raised in mournful cry! There
was something uncanny, supernatural,
in that rising and falling chant that
suggested ghosts and spirits, and l.,
quite unconsciously, lowered my voice
to whisper as asked, "What is it?
"a Cry. An Indian died this even
ing and you hear the women crying
over him." answered my companion.
For few moments we stood silently
listening to the distant chant, but the
cold of December, tho we were in Cali
fornia, does not permit even the curl
Gus to linger long in the night air. so
Dave and shook off the spell woven
by that wall of sorrow and turned to
enter the house. But we had not yet
heard the last of the "cry," for as we
reached the door there came a hail
from across the stream.
"Davel Oh Davew
"Hello! Who is it?''
"I's me. Charlie. You hear the
cry?"
"Yes," said Dave, as the speaker, a
yOuuk AuuI0u VI IWCuIy-uNo VI tullGy
years crossed to where we stood; 1--WE
were just listening Who's dead?"
"I's my brawther. You know him
John. He died tonight"
"Oh! That's too bad, Charlie. What
was the trouble?"
"He have consumption. You come
to the funeral? Big Cry, you bet! AL
the Colorow Il. g., Colorado) Indians be
there. We bury him tomorrow -elever
O'Clock"
"A We assured the young buck that w
would surely be on hand and after say
ing "good night" he left us to cross
the Little Bear where we presentI,
heard him calling out an invitation tt
our placer miner neighbors to com.
and ''see my brawther's funeral"
Our sleep that night was not of th'
soundest: twice dozed off and swok,
with a start to hear the faint sounds
of the monotonous chant. Once
heard Dave swearing earnestly AMI
fiuently in whispers proof that th,