Bertram W'ingate closed his desk
with a weary sigh as the bell in the
courthouse tower struck five. The
I>lans for the Bettler hospital were not
going very well. There are times
when even a "rising young architect"
ceases to feel the stimulus of his up
ward movement. W'ingate paused a
moment before the window to look out
upon the swirling snow which was fast
converting Nicollet avenue into a white
desert.
"Wonder if 1 can have a carriage to
goto Minnie Norton's tea?" bethought.
*T've had to buy my dinner at the club
three nights this week. Every one re
covering from Christmas, 1 suppose,
and too tired to entertain. Club dues
on New Year's with the usual tips and
presents. No. the Eighth avenue will
have to do me."
He hurried to the hotel, and after a
brief toilet boarded a car for Park ave
nue. The rooms were crowded when
IIP I
"MOTHER, HERE'S BERTRAM WINCiATE."
tie arrived at the Norton horm. The
heavy odor of roses, the suspicion of
charcoal from the samovar, and, above
all. the animated chatter from the
guests made his head ache, so he was
very grateful when Bessie Shaw mo
tioned him into a deep window seat
upon pretense of consulting him about
favors for the next cotillion. They
were hardly seated when some one
beckoned Bessie away and she left him
vi'h voluble promises to return in r.
moment.
Wingate. leaned back against the
cushions and drew the heavy draperies
as a screen between himself and the
glittering kaleidoscope of the room.
Presently there was a rustle of skirts
and two ladies seated themselves on &
divan beyond the curtain. Wlngat"
had no desire to play eavesdropper, but
his position seemed too desirable to
leave, so with half-closed eyes he s» t
tied himself to await Bessie's return.
The first words of his unseen neigh
bors roused him to instant interest,
however, for it was .Margaret Little
who spoke.
"Now Aunt Madge, what is it this
time?" shf aski'd, with a defiant note
in her voice.
"Only one question, Margaret," was
Miss Redmond's <-alm reply. "Why
have you asked Bertram Wingate to
the New Year's dinner?"
"Charity, pure and simple. I assure
you. Aunt Madge," laughed Mi >aret
"He doesn't seem to belong anywhere
in particular. New Year's is t-i h a
•tilplil day now that no on< r-<iv
and he has In en very nice to me, you
know!"
"H' has U'«n more than nice.' said
Ml i lte;,ii.ond crnvely. "!!<• has
•eeu.td thoroughly d»-sot< l fur • .<-ral
monil 'i Ni'W Year's dinner has
been a fan !> 112 tl.al with u» for
many y'-u bit eeli lirati your
fatb i b!r .i.■ •» .'lla tic K<II -I
boll-lav. and 'it In.itutW'ii to that din
Her 111 I- I > e; . '
"Nuthim; of the turt, auntie," lnt:?r
inpi'd Mar irt t, "l'<*rhi'i* l< was
thought la i of uie to ik i in) to that
<l|nuei but I am *i'r«- H n .JJ \VK
Mat i l<> 11» r than t.i i|n ~m bu
eait lira v pltb=> fur -|i a I j i »0.41
uioik v Why, I wouldn't think of mar
rying a poor maji. I should always
wonder how much I weighed in the
balance of selection. There's two much
of my father in me to want to give
something for nothing. Now with
Charlie —"
"So it is Charlie Lefflngwell, after
all?" said .Miss Redmond.
"Well, yes, if you must know,"
laughed Margaret. "It's all arranged,
but Charlie is putting through a wheat
deal for papa just now and it wouldn't
do to have our engagement announced
yet. I shall give a large reception soon
and tell everybody. You will have to
come and help me. Let the home and
the ladles' Thursday go for once."
"I shall, of course, receive with you,
Margaret," replied her aunt. "But
about Bertram Wingate, I do not think
you are acting right. He seems to care
sincerely."
"Oh, not really, I think," said Mar
garet, lightly. "He just thinks it looks
well to be a good deal at our house.
You know he believes that things like
that help him in his profession. He
lives at the West for the sound of it.
Has a little bit of a room at the very
top. the boys say. And they say his
office boy takes his breakfast to —e of
fice from Russell's. He calls it his sec
ond breakfast and says he acquired
the habit when studying in France—
but the boys think—"
"Margaret!" exclaimed Miss Red
mond, sharply.
"I didn't mean to gossip, really,
Aunt Madge," said Margaret hastily.
"I don't care what he docs, although it
seems foolish for a bright man to try
to keep up with things he can't afford.
Men wouldn't think any the less of him
for sticking to his work now. and when
he has succeeded lie can put on all the
frills be likes. There. 1 must be going
now. You have made me feel quite un
comfortable about that invitation to
the New Year's dinner, though truly it
was only out of charity. 1 half ex
pected Mr. Wingate would be here to
! accept in person, he so dotes ongoing
to teas in business hours, but perhaps
the fates will be kind and he'll refuse.
Good-by, 1 must run on. Don't forget
your promise about the reception."
As Miss Redmond tnil Margaret hit
He moved away B ssle Shaw returned,
and It was some time before Wingate
eould excuse himself from the discus
■don of cotillion favor and escape Into
the cold twilight.
Although lie ha«l quite convinced
himself I hat he cared for Margaret,
ntlwr than Mia Uttte'a ha I raw. Wla
gate found his Imllgnaiion at her mis
apprehension of hi motives quite swal
lowed up iu thi» misery of realization
that be wa b ing ..inghed at for th»*
very prct. n h.i which he had Hat
t<-reil himself w.-re assuring his sue
i it lb turin d iiv. iy from the band
ome house on Bark avenue ami walked
briskly toward the outskirts of the
•Ity. There was some satisfaction In
crunching tin- mow under his feet and
In feeling th«- s'lng of the spitting
l»rt which r it bis cheek*, where the
red of air-'fy humiliation burned
through the tin «> earefuly acquired
on th« Mlnmtonka links. For -I*
ye*r he tu; I struggled for a position
CAMERUN COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, DECEMBER 14, 1905.
n society. He had dropped old friends
ind cultivated men in whom lie felt
no real interest; he had lc*en errand
tiny for the matrons and cavalier tor
he buds; lie had joined more clubs
ban he could afford and had pinched
in u.'BJiy ways to make up l'or the ex
penditures. He had told countless
-tories of his life at Harvard, hut never
spoke of his family in Dakota. He had
jften referred to incidents of liis trip
ibroad, without hinting that he had
seen tutor to a rich youth; he had told
Ireamy tales of a winter in Mexico,
■arefully concealing the fact that lie
lad been assistant to an invalid archi
tect. He had talked wittily of plays
md operas, gathering his ideas from
lie daily papers rather than from ob
servation. Indeed, he had done evcry
hing in his power to seem a man of
lie world and a favorite in society.
And now—when he had thought his
position assured—when he had
lreanied of spending John Little's mil
ions with perfect taste and passing his
lays in an atmosphere of wealth and
eisure with the grace of one "to tlie
nanner born," lie found" that he did
lot "seem 10 belong anywhere," and
waj,to be given a New Year's dinner
Hit of charity, while little Charlie Lef-
Ingwell, who never managed to get be
,-ond his freshman year at Yale, whose
inly accomplishment was driving an
iiitomobile #nd whose one aim in life
.vas to increase his already large for
une. was to share the Little millions,
md "the boys" would no doubt laugh
jehind his back because he, Bertram
Win-gate, had angled for them in vain.
The whole shallow mockery, which
ay bare to others, for the first time
seemed thoroughly contemptible to
him. Angry tears smarted in his eyes
»nd his hands were clenched in his
pockets with a fierce determination to
tvin an enviable position without the
help of society: to live a life too busy
Tor the tolprant patronage of women
Dr the amused contempt of men.
Ho had walked for nearly an hour
before he became conscious that his
feet were numb with cold and his face
no longer felt the sting of the sleet.
Pausing irresolutely to get his bearings
before seeking the nearest car line, he
stood for a moment in a shaft of light
from the window of a pretty cottage.
A young girl, turning briskly to
:>nter the house, exclaimed: "So you
have really come to see us at last. This
is the place. Come right in. Your
mother said she would write and tell
you we were here, but we thought she
lad forgotten. Mabel is teaching, I'm
joing to the conservatory, Bob's in
business college and father's got a
;ood jot) buying wheat for the Consol
idated. Why haven't you been to sea
LIS before?"
Wingate murmured something about
being very busy, as lie meekly followed
the girl into the house.
"I suppose you're always busy," com
mented the girl kindly. "Out this way
in some building I guess? 1 hope you
i aven't been to dinner.
"Motner, here's Bertram Wingate.
He was out this way and has looked us
lp," she said, ushering Wingate into
'he cheery sitting room.
He was thankful for the easily as
sumed explanations and glad to follow
the girl into the cosy room. Mrs. Wliit
comb greeted him heartily and the
whole family gathered about him,
pressing him to stay and asking news
of his people. There was an air of
pleasant affection and a deference for
bis accomplishments which was sooth
ing to his wounded vanity.
When he took his departure, Mrs.
Whitcomb said, kindly, "Can't you
spend New Year's with us, Bertram?"
"It would be real charity on your
part if I may," said Wingate, flushing
warmly at the thought of the other
charity dinner he had expected to eat.
"It's nice of you to speak that way
Bertram," said Mrs. Whitcomb, strok
ing his sleeve, but you know the pleas
ure will be ours in having a friend
from the old Dakota home to share the
day with us."
The New Year's dinner was by no
means the last which Bertf-am Win
gate ate in the little cottage.
In the spring Molly, the irrepressi
ble, wrote to her Dakota confidante,
'Mabel and Bertram Wingate are
going together a good deal. He isn't a
bit stuck up as some of the Dakota
pwple used to say he was. Father sayn
he has drawn the plans for nearly ail
the big buildings to bo put up this
summer. If he's going to he my bro
ther-in-law. I hop" he'll plan a cuta
little house for Mabel. I think mother
knows all about it. hut she won't tell "
—Washington Home Magazine.
A NEW YEAR RESOLUTION.
Mr Huoz r r< -OIVIM to celt*brat' th*
New Y<-ar Indoi rs this time.
Bon-Bon B< xeb of Ve^etablee.
Ilig turnips. eweet potatoes, beet
and mii all ipiai-h answer this purpose
capitally Cut off the tops, leaving a
lanting f-dtte lor a fair*Um| paper
'if can ly wrapped in oiled paper.
Place thin in the hollow vegetable and
tit the lid on the top by u«intc wooden
toothplrkM an tack" No one would
a I •< t that >o.ir Umbo tin I era lit cot
Just a omuion vegetable.
. $% r ' ntfc/m af&rzlAttl^^J
" ..^^t--~yJ&>*£? 7 ff J
~ ITCH WATER was on no
Ml fnn,o,w - Now it is an
almost unknown spring.
WJKMX in a rarely visited
mountain gulch. For
\ many centuries Indians
have regarded the place
with superstitious awe,
. < and had named it Medi
Medicine in Indian
does not mean medicinal, but anything
mysterious which influences life, health
or mind.
The water of this spring was "just
or'nary drink-water," as "Limpy"
Jackson, the scout, said. Its medicine
lay in the manner of its flow.
The trail led over the brink of a
short, rocky gulch, perhaps 50 feet
deep. One clambered itftwn the slope,
went a few rods up the gulch, and
there, about four feet above the bot
tom, was a small shelf of rock, not
larger than the top of a hogshead, in
a niche of the wall. Water flowed over
this shelf out from a crevice, and
dripped from its edge to the little ba
sin below.
At irregular Intervals the water
spurted in a jet as large as a man's
finger clear beyond the self, a yard or
more. If one were stooping to drink
at the basin, or stood carelessly too
near, he might be drenched. This jet
lasted only a minute, and then died
away.
The spurt was accompanied by a long
sigh, like a heavy breath of relief,
which proceeded from the bosom of the
rock, and one might feel a puff of air
issue from the crevice. Clearly, thought
the Indians, there was a spirit impris
oned in the rock, and this place was
"Medicine." An early white hunter
"GO, LETTERS! GO TO SI'OTT'S!"
translated the Indian name correctly
into Witchwater.
One day Investigation came along
with a miner's drill and maul, and
would know what made the water act
so. The maul broke down the self;
the drill penetrated the crevice. A
gush of air and water, and it was re
duced to a commonplace spring. After
that the great trail no longer bent
that way, and the place, once thronged
with devotees, became waste.
When a few thin settlements began
beyond the mountains, Richard Garry
took the contract for carrying the mail
over the Witchwater route once a
month. This route was 93 miles with
out a habitation. He followed the old
trail past Witchwater, the new road
being not yet made, and it was general
ly called "the Witchwater mail."
An accident had lamed Garry, so
that his nephew, Ben. a young hunter
not half-way through his teens, took
out the December mail, starting at day
break with the post-bag, provisions,
snowshoes, ax and fur sleeping bag
bound on a sledge, making a load of
about 100 pounds. His rifle was at his
back, revolver on one hip. knife on the
other, sledge line of buckskin over bis
breast, and dog at his heels.
"Ben," said the old postmaster, "this
Is :>n extra mail. All the settlers on
the other side get their Christmases
In this mall. Be careful, lad, and put
her through on time. You can do it
in four days?"
"llnele Sam can be sure she'll get
there all right if the mountains don't
fall on tis —can't he, Letters?"
Letters was Garry's small shepherd
dog. who barked as if in acquiescence.
"Good-by, then. Snow isn't deep yet.
Guess you'll have a fair trip. Luck to
you! Good-by, Letters!'
Letters ran up and gravely put up
a paw for his customary good-by
shake. The ceremony having been duly
performed, the postmaster watched
them stride over the snow until they
disappeared behind a clump of bush.
It was still early to camp when B- r.
arrived at Witchwater, the second day
out. This was the usual camp, and
had a little brush hut with plenty of
wood piled up, close to the spring. He
had only 43 miles farther to go.and
two days In which to do it. lie was
tired. So lie lighted n Arc. ate supper,
made his bed, and slept, with Letters
at his feet.
In the night Letters growled and
pawed at his master's breast. All the
evening a pair of mountain lions had
been screaming not far away; but such
ft<>i>ud* were too familiar U> alarm
either Ben or the dog
Wondering that the dog had roused
h'm, iti ii took Ills rifV and went out.
Kit < amp lire, nearly burned to ashen
tt:i 1 el' to the gulch wall, was visible
a few yards' dlstau • There wa but
a faint moonlight tlown In the gulch,
but the rough snowy edge showed dis
tinctly against the skjr
Seeing II ithinx alarmli I lien sup
posed that one of the lion* had ven
tured in the gulch e'iff directly over
the camp. " that lie itoy milled him
If so, the creature was now gone; be
side?, he cared little for such beasts.
Walking silently down the gulch a
little way, he suddenly encountered a
deer, probably going to the spring to
drink. His rifle sprang to his shoul
der, but it took some seconds to catch
an aim in that light. As his finger
pressed the trigger, he saw, out of the
corner of one eye, the head and pricked
ears of a lion rise over the edge of the
gulch above him.
With the flash and crack of his rifle
the deer leaped and fell, and the
stretched body of a lionesH appeared
falling through the air upon Ben. He
was driven violently back into the
snow, and lay dazed.
Presently he caught his breath and
his sight cleared. The lioness stood
with one paw on his thigh. Instead of
seizing his throat, she screamed an ex
ulting signal to her mate, and watched
Letters, who was bounding frantically
about her, menacing assaults upon her
flanks.
The dog soon ran in valiantly and
nipped lier tail. She turned head,
snarling. This gave Ben a chance. He
slyly drew his revolver. At the click
of its hammer the lioness started, but
too late. He shot her through the head
and was trying to rise when the lion
leaped from above at the dog, only to
receive a ball in his chest as he
alighted.
In scrambling out of the way, and
firing again, Ben became conscious of
a frightful pain in his right leg. He
could not get upon his feet, so h?
crawled to the lioness and sat upon her
to examine his hurts. The small bone
was broken between knee and ankle.
His clothing was torn, and there were
! long, raw scratches upon his left shoul-
I der anil arm. He sat a few moments,
I thinking.
"Here's a fix," he said to himself. "1
| shan't be able to walk in a fortnight—
| maybe a month —and the mail due
| through day after to-morrow. No help
' nearer than two days' journey. What
! ought a fellow to do? First, got to fix
1 this leg myself. Next, get up that deer
for provision. Lucky there's lots of
wood ready. Guess I can stick it out
! here till I can travel, if they don't mies
the mail and send a scout to look for
, it. Here you. Letters, quit worrying
j the lion's ear!"
Ben crawled to the nearest bushes
i and cut half a dozen stout splints,
j With these and his handkerchief he
: bound up his leg, first carefully put
i ting the bone in place. Then he
crawled to the camp, cut a long string
from the sledge there, and wound his
bound-tip leg securely. Also he washed
his scratches and anointed them with
fat melted over his fire. With the ax
he cut two crotched poles for crutches,
put his broken leg in a sling from his
shoulder, and found that he could hob
ble slowly.
Thus he made his way down to the
deer, skinned and cut it up, and with
Letters to help pull, dragged its flesh
to camp on its skin, a yard at a time.
In doing this while his hurts were yet
new, he suffered much less than if he
, had waited.
This work occupied him all night.
I By the time he had eaten a little break
fast his hurls began to inflame, and the
, pain made him feel sick. Nevertheless
I he slept*several hours in pure exhaus
tion.
When he awoke at noon his broken
leg was swollen and very painful. So
he heated water in his camp pan, and
i laved it for a long time, until the swell
t ins partly subsided and the ache near
ly ceased. But his scratches burned
and smarted dreadfully.
Four days of this wore upon Ben.
Ceaseless pain, an awful sense of lone
!ly helplessness, cold, damp, sleepess
ness, the accidental touching of his
sores and continual Irritation, all to
gether were united with worry about
the mail.
As it was now two days past the
time when the mail was due, Ben 1 >♦-
gan to hope the settlers would sen j
for it. Naturally they would be impa
tient at not receiving their Christmas
letter* and packages.
So far the weather had been good.
Letters had enjoyed himself. The re
mains of the ileer and lions furnished
him with all the feasting to which he
chose to Invite himself.
I The fifth day a great storm bepan.
j which lasted several day*, with int« r
vals. Snow fell thickly, and .t gale
blew net at drifts over the rocky wails
of the gulch lining it with deep piles.
Lurk It) the camp and spring were
under the sheltering wall. All along
, that side there remained a narrow
clear streak, a path hv which Letters
went to his fen ts, and u spare for Hen
to move about the little that «;i tier
essary. This storm put an end to
hopes of speedy rescue. No m-out
would go over the (rail until th< ' now
settled.
Three days later came a storm of
.sleet, followed by freezing weather,
which put a strong crust on the snow.
Seeing Letters frolic over this crust
gave Ben an idea.
"If I could send a message for help
by the dog! Why not? lie's used to
being sent on errands.' So he heated
ihe tongue of a buckle, and burned on
a chip these words
"Xmas mail stopped at Witchwater—
broken leg. Send help. Garry."
Paper might get wet. This chip
could neither tear nor fade. He tied it
to Letters' neck. Then he tried patient
ly all day to start Letters. But Letters
could not understand, although bo evi
dently tried hard. He was wanted to
go somewhere; so he went down (ho
gulch, up the gulch, out on the trail,
forward and back a mile or so, and re
turned.
Finally, near night. Ben ostentatious
ly tied up the chip in a rag. put the
package in Letters' month, and or
dered: "(Jo, Letters! Goto Scott's!
Take it to Scott's! Uo!"
Scott was the name of the postmas
ter where the mail was due. Letters
knew him. He looked grieved, it was
such a long way off. He seemed to
think for a moment; then he laid down
the rag and put out his paw for a
good-by shake.
Ben shook, then said: "Good-by!
Now go, sir! Goto Scott's!" Letters
picked up the rag, whined mournfully,
and trotted away over the edge of tho
gully.
One hour —two —three —the dog did
not return. He was gone. Would he
keep on the whole 43 miles? Would
he get through in spite of the dangers
by the way?
When two more days and nights
had passed with no rescue, Ben feared
that Letters was dead, and resolved to
start himself the next morning.
"Bone's knit all right," he thought,
after dressing his leg. "Daren't try
any Nveight on it yet, but 112 reckon I
can travel on one foot Guess I cai»
draw the mail sledge, a few rods at »
time, quite a piece in all day. This
mail has got togo on somehow."
Thus resolved, he slept soundly. In
the night he was awakened by a
pounce upon his body. He started up,
grasping his revolver.
"Why, Letters!"
The dog barked, p.anced. rolled over,
stood up on his hind legs, shook hands
and manifested delight in every dog
gish way. But Ben noticed that he
did it lamely and with nice care. Mak
ing his fire blaze, he. saw that Letters
was badly scratched with sore scars,
besides being very tired.
No doubt the dog had been in a fight
with some wild beast a day or two ago.
Mut the chip was gone—evidently Let
ters had lost it.
Ben fed the dog liberally, and the.
two lay down together. They would
start in the morning, and Letters
would help him.
Just after daylight Letters leaped
up, barking, and ran out of sight along
the trail. Ben heard him barking a
long way off. Soon a clear "Hello!"
sounded above his hark, and presently
Letters reappeared at. the brow of the
gulch, proudly leading three stalwart
settlers.
"Hello, down there!" one cried. "All
alive and chipper, eh? That's good!
We feared —How's this? We expected
to find Dick Garry! Well, well! And
you're getting on fine. Boy, you've
done a big tiling; mighty few men
could have managed so well."
Ben shook hands all round. Then
came a reaction. He buried his face
in his hands and sobbed for several
minutes.
"Don't, now!" "Sho!" "Your hard
times are all over now, youngster!"
"Take it easy!" With such assurances
the men soothed him until he became
calm.
One of them, busy getting breakfast,
broke out: "Well, if the youngster
hain't kept camp neater'n a well man!
Meat hung up, eevrything clean and
handy, no litter. Anil he 'most too lamt
to stir!"
"Sho! So he lias. But see this here
leg. Bill. If there's a doctor can do up
a broken limb in a handier job than
this 1 don't know him! Ben, you'r# u
buster!"
While eating, they told Ben how Let
ters appeared at Scctt's, torn and
bloody. They inferred lie had met nad
fought off a wildcat. The chip which
he carried was read, and three men
started as soon as they could get
ready. Letters' wounds were dressed;
he was fed and given a bed by tht
tire; but he soon started after tho men
and kept with them until they were
about a dozen miles from Witchwater,
when he dashed ahead alone.
After breakfast one of the men sel
off with the mail. The other two rigged
a litter of two po'es, with skins lashed
across them, on which Ben lay coin
fortably. while the men shouldered the
poles and carried him.
The mail reached Scot I's on t lit
morning of tho day beforo Christmas
What a Christmas eve the st tilers
made tor him!
There was not another in
all that region so Htuffed us Ms on
Christmas morning, and thera were
besides, parents that It could net hold
He Mas given a neat of honor at the
Christinas dinner at Scott's, ami when
ihe loasi was given. "The Witchwater
Mail," to which H n was expected tu
'peak, all lie could ay, bain# greatly
abashed at the cheering. Mas:
"Ladle and gentlemen. The mall
w II er the mall lie's iMiund to gel
through, If th'' mountains don't tall on
us! Kh, Letters?"
Lei It-r* was seated in a chair v. hem
lie could catch iiuti • I throw* to hi ID.
At thl» appeal be birV«il I Ighl enthii*!
atftically. plainly replying, "I'lght yo>j
are. Master Hen!" Youths Com pa A
lob.
15