Year: 1872

and our pulses beat low with anxious


suspense, Ollendorf applied his revolv-


er, pulled the trigger and blew the pile


clear out of the countyl 1t was the


f1attest failure that ever was.


This was distressing, but it paled be-


fore greater horror-the horses were


gonel 1 had been appointed to hold


the brides, but in my absorbing anxiety


over the pistol experiment, l had un-


consciously dropped them, and the re-
leased animals had walked off in the


storm. 1t was useless to try to follow


them, for their footballs could make no


sound, and one could pass within two


yards of the creatures and never see


them. We gave them up without an


effort at recovering them, and cursed


the lying books that said horses would


stay by their masters for protection and


companionship in distressful time like


ours.


We were miserable enough, before;


we felt still more forlorn, now. Pa
tiently, but with blighted hope, we


broke more sticks and piled them. and


once more the Prussian shot them into
humiliation. Plainly, to light fire


with pistol was an art requiring prac-


tice and experience, and the middle of


desert at midnight in q snow storm





quiring of the accomplishment. We


gave it up and tried the other. Each


man took a couple of sticks and fell to
chatting them together. At the end of
half an hour we were thoroughly chilled,


and so were the sticks. We bitterly


execrated the Indians, the hunters and


the books that had betrayed US with the
! silly device, and wondered dismally


what was next to be done. At this crit
ical moment Mr.. Ballou fshed out
four matches from the rubbish of an
overlooked pocket. To have found
four gold bars would have seemed poor
and cheap luck compared to this. One
cannot think how good a match looks
under such circumstances-orh how love-
| able and precious, and sacredIy beauti-
| full to the eye. This time we gathered
sticks with high hopes; and when Mr..
| Ballou prepared to light the first match,
| there was an amount of interest CEN
tered upon him that pages of writing
| could not describe. The match burned
hopefully a moment, and then went out.
1t could not have carried more regret
with it if it had been a human life.
The next match simply flashed and
died. The wind puffed the third one
out just as it was on the imminent
verge of success. We gathered togeth-
CT CLOSET Gudu ever, anu o0VS1Opou d SO-
licitude that was rapt and painful, a.
Mr.. Ballou scratched our last hope on
his leg. 1t lit, burned blue and sickly,
and then budded into robust flame.
Shading it with his hands, the old gen.
tleman bent gradually down and every
heart went with him-and everybody,
too, for that matter-and blood and
breath stood still. The fame touched
the sticks at last, took gradual hold up
on -hesitated-took a stronger
hold-hesitated again-held its breath
five heart breaking seconds, then gave
a sort of human gasp and went out.


Nobody said word for several min
utes. 1t was a solemn sort of silence;
even the wind put on a stealthy, sinis-
ter quiet, and made no more noise than
the falling fakes of snow. Finally
sad-voiced conversation began, and it
was soon apparent that in each of our
hearts lay the conviction that this was
our last night with the living. / had
so hoped that 1 was the only one who
felt SO. When the others calmly ac-
kDowledged their conviction, it sounded
like the summons itself. Ollendorf
said:


/" Brothers, let us die together. And
let us go without one hard feeling
toward each other. Let us forget and
forgive bygones. 1 know that you have
felt hard toward me for turning over
the canoe, and for knowing too much
and leading you round and round in
the snow-but meant WELL forgive
me. acknowledge freely that l have
had hard feelings against Mr.. Ballou
for abusing me and calling me loga-
rythm, which is thing l do not know
what, but no doubt thing considered
disgraceful and unbecoming in America,
and it has scarcely been out of my mind
and has hurt me great deal-but let
it go l forgive Mr.. Ballou with all my
heart, and"


Poor Ollendorf broke down and the
tears came. He was not alone, for L was
crying too, and so was Mr.. Ballou.
Ollendrof got his voice again and for
gave me for things had done and said.
Then he got his bottle of whisky and
would never touch another drop. He
said he had given up all hope of life,
and although ill-prepared, was ready to
submit humbly to his fate; that he
wished he could be spared little longer,
not for any selfish reason, but to make |
a thorough reform in his character, and |
and by devoting himself to helping the |
poor, nursing the sick, and pleading |
with the people to guard themselves |
against the evils of intemperance, make |
his life benefcept example to the |
young, and lay it down at last with the |
precious reflection that it had not been |
lived in vain. He ended by saying that |
his reform should begin at this moment,
even here in the presence of death, |
since no longer time was to be vouch-
safed wherein to. prosecute it to mems |
help and beneft-and with that he |
threw away the bottle of whisky.


Mr.. Ballou made remarks of similar
purport, and began the reform he could |
not live to continue by throwing away
the acient pack of cards that had So
laced our captivity during the flood and
made 1t bearable. He said he never
gambled, but still was satisfied that the |
meddling with cards in any way was
immoral and injurious, and no man
could be wholly pure and blemishless
without eschewing them "And there
FORE" continued he, Sin doing this act
always feel more in sympathy W tn that
spiritual saturnalia necessary to entire
and obsolete reform" These rolling
syllables touched him as no intelligible
eloquer ce could have done, and the old
man sobbed with a mournfulness not
unmingled with satisfaction.