The Chickasha daily express. (Chickasha, Indian Territory [Okla.]) 1899-current, 1905-06-16

house, with brown, un-
H. ri painted walls, and doors
I!SN l9IID and windows open to the
pine-ciad mountain side, man sat
at a small deal table reading over
pile Of cherished letters. They were
written by woman; dated from a
house on Beacon street, Boston, and
they dealt with books, with music, and
with art To the reader, who was
hard-pressed In the battle OF life, they
seemed to let him into a great treasure
house, while he longed for the more
CONSTRUCTED walls Of home; the sim
pier beauties of a fireside. All, they
were so intellectual, these letters, and
try as he would, he could read nothing
between their linesl AS he turned over
the pages, tiny child of three years
old, with large rent in her pinafore,
ran IN from time to time from the open
air. At sight Of her, the. cry IN the
heart Of the man for the woman was
stronger than ever. Both of them
needed herman and child, they
needed her so much.
At length he took his pen and began
to write TO her. All her letters ad-
dressed him as Dear Mr.. Geraldson";
his letters TO this date had been in
varlably superscribed to Dear Miss
Vinlng." But now he broke through
the wells OF reserve. He wrote to her
as the dearest woman on earth, calling
her his love. He threw aside all the
topics with which hey had dallied so
long, and wrote simply Of himself-of
his own hopes and fears. He told her
how for years he had been wanting to
ask her to come out to MIN; how his
poverty had forbidden his doing so
and how, in spite Of all his efforts. he
had remained poor and struggling,
without anything TO give her. Two
months ago ne had believed hat at last
his chance had come. He had gone
up into the Trinity Mountains to take
up an offer of partnership in a promis-
Ing prospect" he had received from
d friend. But on the long stage-jour-
ney from Redding through the heat
and dust, he had fallen in with an un-
fortunste Englishman, very sick with
typhoid. who had implored him 70
stand by him and see him on his legs
again. Circumstances had been such
hat K had been impossible in com
mon humanity not to stay with this
man and his little mite Of a motherless
girl So he had nursed and tended him,
and had experienced the satisfaction of
pulling him through the worst dan
sc- But the poor fellow. who was
terribly impatient. had attempted TO
yet out OF bed IN spite OF every warn
ing, and had died suddenly one day
from the passage Of clot OF blood to
the heart, when his nurse and little
daughter had left him for a breath OF
fresh air.
"And so.' went on the letter, 81
found myself with the child on my
hands. haven't the heart to do any
thing but keep ller. For though ap.
parently she has no relatives or
friends, she's a splendid little piece of
stun. and II would be a crime to send
her 10 any institution. And the sequel
Df this is, my dear, dear friend, that
the venture which was to bring me
fortune. to give me the right to ask
you for yourself, has come to naught.
BY the time had fixed everything up,
my friend, unable 10 wait for me, had
taken In another partner on the deal.
| went prospecting near Weayeryille,
but luck was against me. Then both
the little grille and myself fel. sick
with malaria. and so came home to
my pine trees again"
Here Geraldson's pen fell from his
hand. for the fever had him in its grip,
and he was shaking miserably. Later
Oh he managed 10 put the letter into
an envelope addressed only with her
name, for after all. he thought, he
should never send it. and he left it
on his table, thinking that when he
had strength again. he would go on
writing. Just FOR the sake Of the conso- |
latlon It was merely to pretend that he
eould tell her everything. But the let
ter was never finished. He grew rap
Idly weaker, till one morning he found |
himself so sick that he could scarcely |
drag himself to the couch on the ver-
nnda TO scan the landscape for the help |
that never came. For Lone Pine
Ranch was isolated as only mountain
ranches can be, and no one might set
foot on it for weeks together. Now |
as be lay helpless, unable TO move,
lost sometimes in suffocating black
ness, the child brought him water in |
the tiny cup-drops that tantalized |
rather than Quenched his thirst-and |
he wondered what would become Of
her, and in bis last coherent moments |
told her to run out along the trail and |
call with all her might. That was the
last thing he could do. Soon after he
ceased to move, and did not hear the
desoate wall that resounded through |
the empty house.
But Geraldson was not to lose him
self forever in the dark water Of un-
consciousness. Once more he felt him
self alive, and, on the verge of sleep.
lay with leaden eyelids, unwilling 10
awake, till a memory Of little Margery,
whom he had last seen weeping in
corner OF the room, forced him to open
bis eyes. 10 his surprise his bed
clothing covered him very neatly. The
eheet ,voa ffllded under his chin in |