St. Tammany farmer. [volume] (Covington, La.) 1874-current, 1908-11-07

vile and Oroville chances to wander
for awhile along well-defined trail
on the banks of brawIing branch of
the Feather river, he is pretty sure to
come upon a weather-beaten basin,
and to be surprised by the singular
object under glass case that may be
seen through its only window. Some
times the curious traveller also gets
glimpse of the occupant of this lone
ly abode, a gaunt, bent old man, with
hair and beard and shaggy brows of
silvery whiteness.
But there is kindly CLEAN in the
honest blue eyes beneath those shaggy
brows, undimmed even yet by the
long years that have frosted the thin
hair and patriarchai beard, and, at
tracted by the strange personality of
the recluse and the romance of his
surroundings, visitors have from time
to time won his confidence sufficiently
to draw from him the particulars that
have become sublimated into the crys-
tai of this strange story.
Horace Robb, though accustomed
from boyhood to live and look out for
himself, was by no means always a
hermit, stunning his kind. He came
to California in the early fifties-not
a pioneer, but follower in the track
Of the earliest searchers for gold.
Youth, enthusiasm, restless energy,
and a determination to win fortune
for her whom he had left behind were
his incentives to untiring effort, but
they did not bring success. The great
er the endeavOr, 1t seemed to him,
the smaller the result. Now and
again he found a color or two, just
enough to keep him on the move.
Finally, tired, for the time, of roam
ing, he relocated an abandoned placer
claim on this foaming branch of the
Feather river, inheriting with it a de-
serted cabin and it's meager plenishing
Of rude table, stool and bunk, and
rusty pots and ans. He Strengthened
up the rickety door, cleared out the
spring, and installed his stock of
bacon, beans and potatoes. Then he
settled down to days of weary tramp
ing with pick and pan and nights of
deep, and dreamless sleep.
For the second day of his sojourn,
Robb had found sticks, pebbles and
other trash among his beans, and at
tributed the adulteration to a dishon-
est trader, but as the weeks went by
the stock of beans diminished with
alarming rapidity, while the refuse in
creased in proportion Next the DO
tato sack seemed filling up with rub
bish, also, and the potatoes went fast
er than he ate them.
One day, returning suddenly to the
cabin for a forgotten implement, he
surprised great rat in the act of drag
ging candle into hole which Robb
had supposed to be securely stopped,
and the cause of the disappearance of
his supplies became apparent But the
steady increase Of sticks and stones
was still puzzle to him until he re-
called some of the queer tales told to
him by miners of the trade rats that
are said to be born with a sense of
Justice, and cannot help trying to do
the square thing"
Without stopping to theorize. he
determined to put the matter to prac-
teal proof, and when he went to his
next days work he placed a tempting
piece of bacon rind on the stump
that served him as a sideboard, leav-
ing the rat-hole still unstopped. When
he came home at night the bacon was
gone, and in it's place was a stone.
Day after day he repeated the ex-
pertinent, until it became a habit with
him to put a remnant of griddle-cake
or bit of bacon or potato skin upon
this stump, and invariably he found
at night a chip or twig or pebble In
place of the vanished scrap of food.
1t was sort of barter, in which the
balance always showed on the wrong
side of the ledger, but by keeping his
provisions in a crude, tin-lined locker
OF his own construction, and allowing
the rat-hole to remain open, he not
only preserved his own rations from
molestation, but inspired the trade
rat with such sense of dependence
and immunity that the big rodent
made practice of coming out of his
hole in the quiet hours of candle-light,
for supplementary evening luncheon.
Sitting up on his launches, he would
wink his bright black eyes and wiggle
his Whiskers till the patient miner
brought him a bit of food.
Things went on this way for months.
and the trade rat, now almost tame,
was Robb's only companion and dis
traction in many lonely hour. All
this time he was getting no gold to
speak of, his supplies were nearly
gone, and the prospects were decided
ly discouraging.
One morning. clear, crisp Cali
fornia morning-Horace Robb put in
the customary place on the stump
small fragment from his fast empty
ing 1arder and started out in search of
his fortune just once more. He went to
different place, but there was no
different result, and he returned to his
cabin at the days end as near to
tears as a man of his make ever
comes. Perfunetorily he prepared
and ate his meal which he meant to
be the last in that place, except a
breakfast in the morning. Then as
listlessly he lighted a candle. It's
rays fell upon the stump where he had
laid his last donation to the trade rat
and sparkled upon a bright yellow
nugget about the size of a lima bean.
His breath left him and then came
back in gasps. There before his eyes
was gold-the object of every hours
toll and hope-gold, brought to him
without stroke of labor!
He sat hack on his stool, lighted his