Spirit of Jefferson. [volume] (Charles Town, Va. [W. Va.]) 1844-1948, 1914-11-10
HOW LITTLE We KNOW
BY JOE Il. RANSOM.
6Copyright.)

AAouluSut NiLuOuI uOuDi CuISiuS Inv
thoughtless being who led her thus
far afield. Destiny stood by, perhaps
atop the burning plain, scornful, un
whimpering, faithful
Picture the dear lady, older than the
hills whose profile beckoned like the
ghosts of departed joys from the hori
Zon, logging the steps of thirst-mad
man, through dust-choked miles, until
the weak being sprawled himself upon
the sands to die
The memory of that mad, heartless
whitening con of fire is to me of the
haziness of the never-to-be-forgotter
nightmare, a smear of flame-endless
hellish miles-a throbbing fountain OF
blood beneath my skull-myself q
mindless, writing automaton.
/ flung the canteen from me with O
thick curse in the afternoon of the
first day
1t was so hot that it burned my
hands. The liquid that 1t gave me, its
last sip, was heated to the point OF
blood. | cursed the canteen and the
lll1Q 6Ouo mat ucu leu l1C lhtO thAo RAe
of burning.
Then | became the automaton and
simply moved, without joy, pain, hate,
fear, my head hung between my shout
ders low to my breast, my arms hung
listless at my sides, my legs moving
forward each in its turn without my
will, my back curved, a creeping, shiv-
ering, grotesquely weeping thing, like
| unto a distorted spirit, moving with
infinite labor endless through the fe-
gered acres Of the damned.
1t is all a smear, a horror hid in
some recess of my brain, mercifully
stripped of its nauseating details. The
last concrete, tangible memory is of
cursing the empty, senseless, scorch-
ing canteen as | hurled it from me.
A man held me in his arms, pour
ing water upon my face, into my baked
lips 1t was like a fine, improbable
dream The dream passed, and
went once more into Inconsistencies,
my mad brain still fighting on through
he fire.
son for the first time replacing the
tangled phantasmagoria of horror, they
rested upon the interior of log hut,
with skins clinging to the walls and a
small. square window looking out upon
The placid ranges.
was alone. ] noticed my hand
upon the coverlet and tried to raise
it. The thing was pale, bloodless, al
most transparent | could see each
fingers bone. An old scar on the
back of the hand looked scared and
old and whitened, like an alteration
on a long-bleached bone.
The hand refused to obey me. 1t
1uttered, rose an inch and dropped
back feebly upon the sheet.
Then a man came in. He had been
sharpening a Ratchet outside, and he
had it in his hand when he sat down
by the bedside.
He told me that his name was Sam
Spencer, and that had been his guest
five weeks. He said it was a hundred
and fifty miles to a doctor. He had
pulled me through alone.
He had found me lying as dead on
the sand and brought me to his hut
and fought with the death that al
ready claimed me- He told me Of the
fever that had burned me, of the fiend-
ish visions that had tormented me.
Strength came slowly at first, then,
in the quick mountain air, with leaps
and bounds. A fortnight saw me walk
ing about the cabin, doing light work
A month and ] was stronger than
had been In my life
Spencer was a miner. He had pros
pected ten years. He had had some
success, enough to keep his own faith
and that of the men who grub-staked
him. But he never realized his
dreams. He had lived the ten years
mostly alone, in the hills, sometimes
six months without sight of human
visage.
When / had fully regained my
strength. Sam Spencer made me a
proposition. My company for three
months had spoiled him, he said. for
solitude.
He had worked alone before, so that
when the strike came it might be
solely his. Now, he felt differently.
He wanted a partner We would share
fortune. | agreed
Then one night he came in and laid
a specimen on the table. | paid no
particular attention at first. Then |
saw his face and picked up the speci
men.
There was no doubt about 1t. What
he had toiled for and hoped for and
had never doubted had come at last
The vein passed all our hopes. dis
counted our fondest dreams.
The experts who came threw ur
their hands in wonder. The discovery
marked new era. 1t meant new
towns, new people. new empire. 1t
meant new fever in mems blood for
the yellow coquette of the hills.
it meant love, joy, hate, envy, mag
nanimity, charity, philanthropy, muir
der.
To Sam Spencer it meant the re-
alization of a dream, the proof of his
optimism. Beyond the mere affording
of possibility to do certain things, /
think the extravaganza of his sudden
wealth utterly escaped him.
In his great-heartedness he insisted
that we share and share alike. / was
on the point of refusing when looked
into his eyes. ] agreed.
MY fortune was made, but | fingered
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