Deenson's Thanksgiving

The afternoon sun was doing its last and most efïective work of the day; for this was the only hour that anything like beauty could be said to touch the settlement. Half a dozen cabins divided by a dusty roadway, a blacksmith shop, and a store, constituted the settlement. The road was never empty from a procession of pigs and chickens, with occasionally a cow - the property of the inhabitants. It was a kind of public barnyard. The store and smithy ran each other close as to which should have the latest bit of gossip to retail to its customers. It was a not unfriendly rivalry, however, and one proprietor was never too proud to listen to what the other liad to say. The settlement did not pretend to be a mining village. lts men were hunters in a desultory way, and had lived there some time before the gold fever broke out around them. Some had caught it and gone away, but the majority preferred the old way of life - it involved less worry and responsibility. The place was unusually lively this evening, for some miners had come up the valley with wonderful tales of a claim down there that was paying out gold by the handful. They stood in the center of an eager group that completely surrounded and filled the doorway of the store. Presen tly a girl carne up the path, with a bucket on her head and her sun bonnet under her arm. She was small and dark and very pretty, but sad looking. '"I wish you all nould let me in," she said. The men separated, and as she entered the store one of the newcomers asked who" she was. ' She's Deenson's daughter," said a member of the settlement, running his thumb under his suspender and giving it a hitch. "Ain't you never hearn of old Deenson- him as lives over on 'Poverty Flat"? He"s mad, they say, an' I guess he must be or he wouldn"t go on livin' on a worked out claim. He says the gold"s there yet; but the other man as owned it hadn't patience. Lord! he's got patience, but that 's about all. Deenson's so poor and the claim so low down poor we calis it 'Poverty Flat.' " An embarrassed silence feil upon the group as the girl passed througli it; but if she had heard she gave no sign, and she now wore the large lirnp sun bonnet, which completely hid her face. As soon as she was gone, a man detached himself from the edge of the party, and hurrying round the store, struck a trail that a few minutes would cross the one that Deenson's daughter was following. He was a tall, fine looking fellow, of any age betvveen twenty and thii-ty. He wore the typical miner's clothes, but walked with an easy grace that suggested mvich mountain climbing. When they met she expressed no surprise at seeing him. " Ye can carry the pail if ye want ter," she replied to his offer, "but there's not enough in it ter-night to make it heavy. I wonder what we're goin' to do this winter, Jack?" she went on, with a sigh. "Dad will stick to the old claim, though thar's nothin' in it. He ain't much fit to work, if thar war. Sometimes I think as how hes a little teched right here," she said, pushing back her bonnet and putting her hand to her head. Jack wondered uneasily if she had heard what they said at the store. "Teil ye what 'tis, Dolí," he began, hurriedly, "it's a dreadful lonely life fur ye down 'ere on the Flat, with no un but the oldnan fur company." She didn't seem to think this required any ansvver, and they walked on for a time in silence. The path that they were following was a very pretty one, but it is doubtf ui if either noticed it. The tall, dark pines mee overhead, their soft brown slippery "needies" made a carpet under foot, while the hazy November sunshine, now slanting through the tree trunks, cast their long shadows across the path. After a while he began again, but slovvly, as if wishing to iuipress her with the earnestness of what he was saying. 'Tvo knovved ye now, Doll, this six months back, an' I dun know how ye feels - but, afore God, I'd ruther hear you say, 'Jack, I love ye,' than strike the best payin' claim in the state." She stopped with a little gasp, and her hands tightly clasped before her; down went the old Bunbonnet all unheeded. "Jack," she cried, "Jack, do you mean it?" "I ain't got no Bible, Doll," he said, solemnly, laying his hand upon her head, "but I swar it by the next one of God's works I hold mostsacred, and that's ye." "Then, Jack," she sobbed, "I do love ye. I' ve most a-died fur f ear ye wouldn't care fur me. Let's go home an' teil dad, Jack- an' ye'll stay to supper," sheadded, returning to the practical. Outside the cabin they lingered for a time, unwilling to interrupt the first charm of their happiness by another presence. The pine woods lay behind them, the mountains before them, with a long stretch of rocks and isolated pines between. Where they stood it was already twilight, but on the mountain tops the sunshino still lingered. It was a desolate outlook, and calculated to subdue the most buoyant spirits. No wonder Doll's eyes were sad. When they entered they found the old Continued on Slxtb Page. Continued from First Pase.] man down on his kneea before the fire trying to coax it into a blaze. "Dad," Dolí said, "here's Jack Seton. He's- he's come to supper." Some finer instinct told her that the important news sbe had to communicate ought not to find lier father in such an undignified position. Slie waited until supper was over and the two men were sitting before the flro smoking. It was a scène that would have looked well on canvas. Doll had put out the lamp, to save oil, and the only light in the room was from the lire. It threw a warm, red glow over the faces and clothing of the three people before it, and sent their shadows, long and flickering, across the floor, to be lost in the obscurity of the corners. It brought out strongly the Unes and furrovvs in old Deenson's face, and a curious watching look that come3 to people from hope deferred. It shovved Jack young and vigorous and determined; but around Doll's soft young beauty it seemed to linger lovingly, vet, compared with her eyes, it died away to darkness- for the light of love was shinIng there. Old Deenson spoke but seldom, and ■when he did, it was always of what he'd do when his luck turnad. Doll cante and stood behind him, with her hands upon his shoulder. "Dad," she said, "Jack says that he wants to marry me." She had scarcely spoken before he sprang to his feet with an oatli and dashed his pipe into the fire. "Never! so help me God, never! Do ye think I'm goin' to let ye waste yerself on a common ruiner? Do ye think Tve been workin' day in and day out fur ten year that ye niight be an heiress, an' then let ye spend yer life in these dÍKgin"s? Ye're goin' to be ricli; the money'll come rollin' in when tlie claim begins to pay." "Hold on, pard'ner," cried Jack; "the claim'll never pay. I daré say I ain't good enough for Dolí, but I can give her plenty to eat an' to wear, an' that's more'n she gits now." But oíd Deenson made no answer, for he had already returned to his golden dreaming. The whole conversation seenied to pass from him, and he went on patiently digging day after day. He had been a man of one idea so long now, that it was impossible for him to keep his mind on any outside matter. His continued bad luck, however, seemed at last to begin to teil on him. "Dolí," he said one day, "if thia 'lead' don't bring somethin', I'll give up. But it'8 comin' thla time; so thar ain't no use worryin'. If ye go to the sittlemint, bring home a charge of powder; I'm goin' ter blow up a rock ter-morrow." At the store ehe met Joe Stroll, the man who ha-J told the stranger about her. "How's yer dad?" he asked, evidently not expecting any answer, as lie went on: "My oíd womao 'lowed as how termorrow bein' Thanksgivin', she'd run over ter see yous all fur a spell at noon. Sall's smart, I teil ye. She's the ony woman in the sittlenient as knowed termorrow is Thanksgivin'. Must be powerful lonely fur ye down thar on the flats," he added, reflectively. "Yes, it's lonely - some," she answered. "Teil Sall ril be glad ter see her. Was Jack Seton here ter-day?" "Wal, I reckon so, 'bout ten minutes back. Think he was a-goin' yer way." She hurried through her business, and taking the short cut that he had used on a former occasion, she soon carne up with her lover. "Jackl" she said eagerly, "don'tcome ter the Flat ter-day. Dad'a goin' ter blow up a rock ter-morrow, an' soniehow or 'nother I'd like ter have ye 'round then. Dad's powerful careless. He's acted awful strange lately, an' says this is h9 last chance. I hope nothin' bad won't happen. Joe Stroll says ter-morrow's Thanksgivin'!' "That's all right, Doll," said Jack, reassuringly. "Don't ye take ter frettin' - I'll be thar." It was late in the day bef ore he arrived, however, and Doll was watching for him at the door - she thought the place had never looked so dreary as it did that morning. "Dad's gone over ter Sunken Rock," she said; "that's whar he's workin' now. But it's all right - he hasn't got the powder." "Sure of that, Doll; whar's he keepit?" "Why, it's thar on the table, ain't it? No, it's gone! Why, Jack, he's got it! Come quick." She hurried out, and he after her. It was a long way to Sunken Rock, and she wasted none of her strength in ■words. At last a sharp bend in the path brought them suddenly upon him. He was sitting upon a tree stump, his head in his hands, mumbling to himself, and indifferently watching the flame of a match creep slowly along the wiek ing to the powder he had placed in a crevice of the rock before hini. In8tantly they saw their danger. Doll sprang forward, but Jack pushed her back. Never, it seemed to hitn, had he moved so slowly. The old man was in bis anus - he stumbled under hia weight - one step or twenty, he could not teil. Then carne a horrible sound as if the earth was opening under him, and - oblivion. "Wal," said Sal Stroll, telling about it at the settlement, "if that warn't the most retuarkable thing! I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't a-seen it. Thar war the old man allright; thar war Jack Seton just etunned a bit; thar war Doll on'y upsot as war nateral; an' thar war the rocks layin' all about them as chock full of gold as an egg of ineat. Jack's goin' ter marry Doll. Old man Deenson wouldn't year of it at first, but he'a given in some since Jack saved his Ufe. He never had good sense, nohow, old Deenson - showed that when he sot hisself down on that rock to get blo wed to kingdom come. He war right about qne thing, though - that's this gold. Doll jJeenson'll own tne rlcliest claim in the huil state. Wal, I reckon she desarves it, fur she's been powerful patiënt with that oíd dad of liern. Lor', Joe! I wish we all had a reason fur thanksgivin' same as thein has on Poverty Flat."-