Alone in the house with the silent little pilgrim, who seemed beyond
all human aid, the gray old miner knew not what he should do. The
shrub tea was failing, it seemed to him. The sight of the drooping
child was too much to be borne. The man threw back his head as he
knelt there on the floor, and his stiffened arms were appealingly
uplifted in prayer.
"God Almighty," he said, in his broken voice of entreaty, "don't take
this little boy away from me! Let him stay. Let him stay with me and
the boys. You've got so many little youngsters there. For Christ's
sake, let me have this one!"
When Miss Doc came quietly in, old Jim had not apparently moved. He
was once more dipping the pungent liquor from the cup and murmuring
words of endearment and coaxing, to the all-unhearing little patient.
The eager woman took off her shawl and stood behind him, watching
intently.
"Oh, Jim!" she said, from time to time--"oh, Jim!"
With a new supply of boiling water, constantly heated on her stove, she
kept the steaming concoction fresh and hot.
Midnight came. The New Year was blown across those mighty peaks in
storm and fury. Presently out of the howling gale came the sound of
half a dozen shots, and then of a fusillade.
Pages:
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152