Year: 1863

the tenderness of woman's, and the


rough sun burnt hand wiped away the


starting tear, as he told US of his two no


BILE SONS who were Dead in the Desert,


The ashes of my elder son, said the


old man, Tie on the shore Of Clear lake


on the little island of Alempo, shut in by


the densely green foliage of the Mama


nita, at the foot of the sacred mountain


Co-noke-te, or High Mountain, whose


steep sides are clothed with the tall dark


pine which, interlocking with the ever
green oak, shed funereal gloom over


his resting place. My boy was loved by
the Indians who had seen his courage
and admired his manly spirit, and, that


his grave might be undisturbed by the


wild beasts Of the mountains, they helped


me to raise funeral pile, and as the
smoke of the blazing pyre curled and
twined around the tree>tops, mournful


wall, prolonged by the echo of the noun.
tain, rose from the assembled Indians,
while to comfort me, they pointed to the
western horizon -'whther,' said they,
his spirit is passing to its faroff home,
for he was good, and his spirit has trav-
eled towards sundown, where the earth
and sky meet, and be has become a star


And what Of your younger son ? we
inquired.


The old mans eyes fell, his lips be-
came compressed, bis breathing short and
quick, and the violent heaving of bis
chest indicated the deep agony of his
soul at length in the deepest accents of
his rich bass voice he replied: He sleeps
on the banks Of the Sweetwater,' and
hastily leaving US, he paced in moody
abstraction up and down the deck
There was sorrow in connection with
the death of his son too deep for inquis-
tive curiosity to meddle with, and we
made no further effort to renew the sub
ject.


Two hours or more had elapsed, and
our vessel was nearing little wooded


island about a mile below what is now
the landing place to the village of Rio
Vista. The OLD trapper was reclining
upon the deck wrapt in silent musings
the silver rays of the moon bringing out
in fine relief the careworn rugged lea-
tures of this grand old man Of the noun
tains.


Seating myself by his side, l said:
You mentioned a stream called the
Sweetwater; have you ever seen upon
its banks the grave of widow named
Udolf, a Swede ?


Seen i; 2 said the old man, 'ay, often,
and full well | know, too, the grave of
her husband on the far off Colorado ;
and then beckoning me 10 follow him to
the foreoastle, he pointed out the decay
ing trunk of n sycamore tree lying near
to the waters edge, hanging from which,
by an iron chain, was the rusty Auke Of
an old anchor, and short distance fur
ther On, but almost hidden by the dense
underwood, he pointed out the ruins of
a wooden shanty, The roof crushed in by
a fallen sycamore, and the whole scene
looking weird and desolate. Now said
my companion, sit down by me, and
when have lit my pipe | will tell you
something of the orphan boy of Henry
Udolf the Swede, for a strange story
hangs to that old anchor huke.'


IT'S nearly twelve months ago. said
he, that towards the close of sutry
day / was seeking near this spot an an
chorage for the night. For several days
| had been successful in trapping beaver,
and l sought a suitable place for prepar-
ing my skins. As | neared the island
off which we are now sailing, observed
a man intently watching me from the
shore, ard he was evidently seeking to
attract my attention, so, just feeling that
my six shooter was in readiness, pulled
hard into shore and landed; the stranger
advanced to meet me, and confidence was
soon established between Us. He proved
70 be a citizen of San Francisco who had
been spending some days in this solitary
island to sport among the abundant wild
fowl.


You seek camping place for the
night?' said he. If you will join me,
we can occupy a ruined shanty close by :;
but first we must bury the body of its
late occupant. for he lies there cold and
lifeless.' Dead in the desert ?'-I found
myself involuntariIy grasping my revol-
yer. Could my companion be murder
er? But my nerves were too Injured to
danger TO feel fear, and SO | followed on.
We entered the dreary, desolate cabin,
and there, upon heap of withered tule
rushes, lay stretched the body of a man
in all the squald wretchedness of power