Mountain Home Republican. [volume] (Mountain Home, Idaho) 1915-1946, 1921-01-15

They're pretty we'll shot. OF course,
you can go to some sanitarium, If
you've got the money. II you haven't
enjoy yourself all you can for about
six months"
Dams voice had been perfectly cool
and sure when he replied. He had
smiled little. too. He was still rath-
er proud of that smile. "Six monthsi
Isn't that rather shortf"
Maybe whole lot shorter. think
that's the limit"
There was the situation: Dan Fail.
Ing had but six months to live. He
began to wonder whether his mother
had been entirely wise In her effort to
keep him from the trough games" OF
the boys of his own age. He realized
now that he had been an underwelght
all his life--that the frailty that had
thrust him TO the edge of the grave
had begun in his earliest boyhood. But
1t wasn't that he was born with ply
| steal handicaps. He had weighed a
/ full ten pounds; and the doctor had
| told his father that sturdier little
chap was not to be found In any ma
ternity bed In the whole city. But bis
mother was convinced that the child
was delicate and must be sheltered.
Never in all the history of his family,
so far MS Dan knew, had there been a
death from the malady that afflicted
him. Yet his sentence was signed and
sealed.
But he harbored no resentment
against his mother. 1t was all In the
game. She had done what she thought
was best. And he began to wonder
In what way he could get the greatest
pleasure from his last six months oil
life.
Good Lord |" he suddenly breathed
II may not be here to see the SHOWS
comet" Dan had always been partial
to the winter season. When the snow
lay all over the farm lands and bowed
down the limbs of the trees, II had
always wakened curious flood OF
feelings In the wasted man. 1t seemed
to him that he could remember other
winters, wherein the snow lay for end.
less miles over an endless wilderness
and here and there were strange
many-toed tracks that could be fol-
lowed In the ley dawns. But OF course
II was just fancy. He wasn't In the
least misled about It, He knew that
he had never, In his lifetime, seen
the wilderness. OF course his grand
father had been q frontiersman of the
first order, and all his ancestors be
fore him--a rangy, hardy breed whose
wings would crumple In civilization
but he himself had always lived Ii
cities. Yet the falling SHOWS, soft ant
gentle but with kind of remorseless
ness he could sense but could not un
derstand, had always stirred him
He'd often imagined that he woult
like to see the forests In winter.
In him you could see a reflection o
the boy that played beside the pont
Of snow water, twenty years before
His dark gray eyes were still rnthe
large and perhaps the wasted flesl
around them made them seem large
than they were. But 1t was littl
hard to see them, as he wore iarg
glasses His mother had been sure
years before, that he needed glasses
and she had easily found an ocuis
that agreed with her.
Now that he was alone on the path
the utter absence of color In hi
cheeks was startling. That meant tn
absence of red-that warm glow 0
the blood eager and alive In hi
veins. Perhaps an observer woul,
have noticed lean hands, with big
knuckIed fingers, rather firm mouth
and closely cropped dark hair. Ill
was twenty-nine years of age, but h
looked somewhat older. He know nov
that he was never goIns to be an.
older. A doctor as sure Of himself Al
the one he had just consulted couldn'
possibly be mistaken.
ne sat uOWu Uil u puTk DeHCllg JUS
beneath the spreading limb Of O grea
tree. He would sit here, he thought
until he finally decided what he woul'
do with his remaining six months.
He hadn't been able to go to war
The recruiting officer had been yer,
kind but most determined. The boy
had brought him great tales of france