The Leon reporter. (Leon, Iowa) 1887-1930, 1915-12-16

the, GATE IN the OuIu stone Jug On the
hill. But where's the prisints? IT'S
as bare as me own pocket" he went
on wonderingly.
At that moment the boy got up, and
going forward to the woman, pulled at
her dress to attract her attention.
Mother, isn't Santa Claus coming?
He's awful late We shan't have no
Kismas tree if he doesn't come soon. q
It's the snow, dearie,' explained
the mother Such bad storm that
now it's cleared up, daresay he'll be
here SOON"
Her words were CHEEKY, but Mike
caught the anxious glance she gave
her husband.
Go out and see if Williams in
sight yet, Alice" said the man. He
ought to have been here an hour ago.
/ only hope nothing has happened to
the poor old fellow"
Mike dropped on hands and knees
behind the angle Of the wall as the
door opened, and the woman stood on
empty snowclad valley
Somehow the pathos Of the bare lit
tie Christmas tree and the anxious
family appealed to his hardened old
soul, and when the door closed again
he rose to his feet, and instead of fol-
tering the house to demand food and
clothes, climbed the wall again and
made off down the valley.
IF Williams coming this way,
there'll be road of Sorts" he said
to himself.
And sure enough there was.
Though covered deep in snow, he
found that there was a path down
the valley, which he had little doubt
would lead eventually to the main
road to town.
He had gone another mile when a
dark patch in the snow straight ahead
attracted his attention, and he caught
his breath sharply as he stopped be-
side it.
For it was a man lying fiat on his
face, and, judging by the snow which
almost covered his body, he had been
there in the same position for some
time. Beside him lay halffilled
sack, also covered with snow.
Mike gave a sharp glance around.
The moonlight horizon was still
bare. He stopped and turned the man
over.
''Dead!' he muttered. Dead and
cold!" as he laid his hand against the
chill cheek.
For moment he stood staring at
the dead mans face, which was that
of little old man, wizened and beard
ed, and very much of Mikes own type
and build.
Then, like a flash, it came to the
convict that here at last was his
chance and thrill shot through his
weary frame.
He'll not need thin duds any
more,' he muttered, and, dropping on
his knees in the snow, began with
trembling fingers to strip the dead
man of his clothes.
They were worn and old, but to
Mike as precious as broadcloth, for
once he was rid of his convict garb
he had multiplied his chances OF es-
cape hundredfold.
Not till he had completed the whole
change OF costume down to boots
and hat, and had buried his broad ar
rows deep in a neighboring drift, did
hot ;rlx IF
He snatched it UP eagerly, hoping
it might contain food, and turned the
contents out upon the snow.
A small drum, bag Of lead SOL
diers, a cheap doll, box of wax
tapers, and one of crackers, and
couple of packets of sweets. Not an
article Of the lot which had cost rs
cents, and the value of the whole not
five dollars.
Mike stood and stared at them. The
box of soldiers had fallen open. He
stopped and picked up the little paint
ed figures, and replaced them care
fully.
$50 twas poor ould Sanity Claus"
he muttered. And the children win
be waiting on him. Twas hard luck
intoirely."
Again he bent down and quickly
bundled everything back into the sack.
He laid this by the dead body, and
turning on his heel, walked rapidly
away.
He could not be more than four
or five miles from the town now,
and with his knowledge of rail-
way matters it would be easy
enough to stow away in truck, and
lying under a tarpaulin be carried
scores of miles away from the hated
prison. Besides there was money
in his trousers pockets. Only a lit
tie, but plenty to buy food and drink,
a clay pipe, and plug of tobacco.
Mikes mouth watered as he thought
of a square meal.
He tried to keep his thoughts on
the prospect OF these almost forgotten
luxuries, yet, somehow it was difficult.
The picture seen through the cottage
window kept rising before his mind,