Eagle River review. [volume] (Eagle River, Wis.) 1890-1927, 1923-05-24

Il
pool Of dark water and began to as
cend a little slope that led up to q
shelving cliff. Another object halted
| the Indian. It was a pile of stones,
1 weathered, crumbled, fallen into ruin.
/ but still retaining shape enough to
prove it had been built there by the
/ hands of men. Round and round this
the Yaqui stalked, and his curiosity
attested a further uncertainty. 1t
was as if he had come upon something
surprising. Gale wondered about the
pile Of stones. Had it once been a
prospector's claim?
/ sUgh!' grunted the Indian: and,
+, though his exclamation expressed no
satisfaction, it surely put an end to
doubt. He pointed up to the roof of
the sloping yellow shelf of stone.
Family outlined there in red were the
/ imprints of many human hands with
| fingers spread vide Gale haC often
seen such paintings on the walls of
the desert caverns. Manifestly these
told Yaqui he had come to the spot for
which he had aimed.
Then his actions became swift-and
Yaqui seldom moved sWiftl7. The
fact impressed Gale. The Indian
searched the level floor under the
shelf He gathered up nandfuls of
small black stones, and he thrust
them at Gale. Their weight made
Gale start, and then he trembled. The
Indians next move was to pick up
piece Of Weathered rock and throw it
against the wall. 1t broke. He
snatched up parts and showed the
broken edges to Gale. They contained
yellow streaks, dull glints, faint trac-
ings Of green. It was gold.
| Gale found his legs shaking under
him; and he sat down, trying to take
all the bits of stone into his lap. His
| fingers were all thumbs as with knife.
blade he dug into the black pieces of
rock. He found gold. Then he. stared
down the slope, down into the valley
with it's river winding forlornly away
| into the desert. But he did not see
any of that. Here was reality as
sweet, as wonderful, as saving as
dream come true. Yaqui had led him
to ledge Of gold Gale had learned
enough about mineral to know that
this was rich strike. All in a second
he was speechless with the joy of it.
But his mind Whirled In thought about
this strange and noble Indian, who
seemed never to be able to pay debt.
Bedding and the poverty that had
come to him! Nell, who had wept
over the loss of a spring Laddy,
who never could ride again! Jim
Lash, who swore he would always look
after his friend! Thorne and Mer-
cedes! All these people, who had
been good to him and whom he loved,
were poor. But now they would be
rich. They would one and all be his
partners. He had discovered the
source of Forlorn river, and was rich
in water. Yaqui had made him rich
in gold. Gale wanted to rush down
the slope, down into the valley, and
tell his wonderful news.
Suddenly his eyes cleared and he
saw the pile Of stones. His blood
turned to ice, then to fire. That was
the mark Of a prospector's claim. But
it was old, very old The ledge had
never been worked. The slope was
wild. There was not another single
Indication that prospector had ever
been there. Whkre, then, was he who
had first staked this claim? Gale
wondered with growing hope, with
the fire easing, witt the cold passing.
The Yaqui uttered the low, strange,
involuntary cry so rare with him.
cry somehow always associated with
death. Gale shuddered
The Indian was digging in the sand
and dust under the shelving wall. He
threw out an object that rang against
the stone. It was a belt buckle He
threw out old shrunken, withered
boots. He came upon other things,
and then he ceased to dig.
The grave of desert prosLectors
Gale had seen more than one Laid
had told him many a story of such
gruesome finds. It was grim, hard
fact.
Then the keen-eyed YaQui reached
up to a little projecting shelf Of rock
and took from it a small object. He
showed no curiosity and gave the
thing to Gale.
How strangely Gale felt when he re-
ceived into his hands fiat oblong
box Was it only the influence Of
the Yaqui, or was there nameless
and unseen presence beside that
grave? Gale gould not be sure. But
ne knew he had gone back to the old
desert mood. He knew something
hung in the balance. No accident no
luck, no debt-paying Indian could ac-
count wholly for that moment. Gale
knew he held in his hands more than
gold
The box was tin one, and not at
all rusty. Gale pried open the re-
luctant lid. A faint old musty odor
penetrated his nostrils. Inside the
box lay a packet wrapped in what
once might have been oilskin. He
took it out and removed this covering.
A folded paper remained in his hands.
It was growing yellow with age.
But he described a dim tracery Of
words. A Grabbed scrawl, written in
blood, hard to read He held it more
to the light, and slowly he deciphered
it's contents:
1--WE. Robert Burton and Jonas War
,.oX, c;xyo half of fhic 1roI17