The Princeton union. [volume] (Princeton, Minn.) 1876-1976, 1916-03-23

ton. 1t struck me that l was myself
in the midst Of something weird. There
were the horses, skin and bone, their
heads hanging low; the broken down
wagon. dim in the mist, while l was
caressing a weeping girl on the road
side.
Come" said to her; .'let me at
least try to help you. Tell me your
troubles
She looked up at me through those
eyes Of hers, so black that they were
the only thing about me clearly visible
in the dull light Of the moon, and for
the first time in my life 1 realized
what is meant by the word despair,
that condition wherein the last shred
of hope is gone. Then she spoke, and
the voice was like the features-weird
and uncanny. .
1T all comes Of the mania"
What mania?" I asked.
For wandering::"
I started. The girl continued:
"Father must have been born With
it. heard grandma say once that
when he was little boy less than ten
years old he ran away from home.
They got him back, but could not keep
him. AS little girl can remember
mother trying to persuade him to be
contented at home. But he wouldn't
He insisted on going to Omaha, taking
mother and us children with him, and
there he QUILTED a wagon train and
started for Pixies peak, where every
one was then going. On the way he
heard that there was gold in the noun
tains and kept on westward. That was
a hot summer, and on the dry alkali
plains the wood in the wagons shrunk
and most of the wheels fell to pieces.
We had seven wagons at starting, but
before we reached the foothills all the
wheels had dropped to pieces except
enough for three wagons. We went
on with these three, leaving the rest
with the goods they contained for the
Indians and the birds.
Mother died before we reached the
mountains. think it was worry kill
ed her. and from that time father was
discouraged: Still he kept on. When
he got to the reported gold fields
everybody was leaving them. They
had turned out to be worthless. He
turned southwark, and we then struck
Denver. We children begged father to
stay there, but he wouldn't. He said
that the great southwest was looming
up and there were fortunes to be made
there.
zone of the remaining wagons broke
down. and Willie got sick and died. We
buried him beside the road soon after
leaving Denver. Edith went next. She
was five years old. Then the baby
died in my arms. That left only father
and me-"
The poor girl fell to weeping again,
and I drew her closer to me and kissed
her cheek. It was like piece Of cold
marble. Wishing to hear what re-
manned of the story, encouraged her
to go on:
"After they had gone and this wagon
was all that was left of our teams ia
Their promised he would go to Santa Fe
and stay there. We reached the out
skirts Of the town, and he said that
since he had promised me to remain at
the next stopping place and We must
spend the rest of our lives there we
had better turn about and go home. I
didn't see how we were going to get
home, but I assented. Father was
very miserable by this time, and 1 fear
ed he would break down on the way.
And so he: did. A week after leaving
Santa Fe he died and left me all
alone"
There was an infinite depth Of mis-
cry in the words "all alone" had
got the story and refrained from CIV
ing the sufferer more pain by asking
her to speak further Of her troubles.
Touching her cold cheek again with
my lips, said:
"Be comforted. l will return to the
wagon and come back with food and
the wherewithal to enable you to rest.
I will bring matches and make fire
to warm you, for you are cold.'
She looked up at me gratefully, but
without a single glimmer Of hope. I
asked her if could not do something
to make her more comfortable while I
was away, and she said not, adding.
'All I fear is that the mania, the
only legacy father left me, will seize
me-"
"Resist it," said. I'm less than half
an hour will be with you with food,
with blankets, with everything you
need, and give you one good nights
rest, and when tomorrow comes
Tomorrow
Oh, the look she gave me when she
spoke the word, and in what tone of
voice it was spoken!
1 dashed away through the brush,
sometimes leaping over it, till I reach
ed my own camp. Snatching up a few
articles Of food, some blankets and
matches, ran back to where I had
left the girl.
The wagon, the horses, the girl her
self, had disappeared. Everything was
still, motionless, except that the top of
bush beside the stump on which she
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