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1: f - 6 SOMB TIIK. Some time I think you will bo glad to know That I have kept you ever In my heart, And that my love has only deeper crown, In all (hat time Umt we have lived apart. Some day, when you havo sllpcI away from care. Ami Wly rail to dreaming of the past. And sadly Uilnk of all your life has missed, You will remember my true low at last. Or It may eonie to pass, some drear' night, After a day tliat has baen hard to bear, When you are weary, heart-stek and forlorn, And there Is none to comfort or to care, That you will close your tired eyes to dream Of tender khses falling soft and Unlit, Or restful touches smoothing back your hair, And sweet words spoken by your heart's delight. Oh! then you will remember and be glad That I have kett yon In my heart, And that your heart's true Itome will still be here Although we wander silent and atari. THE BONNIFIELD CLAIM. "The claim doesn't pay, ami never will in my opinion. "What a miserable, horrid life this is ! Oo-oo !" throwing one leg out of the bunk, built into the side of the cabin. Heavy snoring heard from under the blankets in the bunk above him. "Kind o' stiff this morning ! Oo-oo I" draw ing the leg back beneath the blankets. 'Them bowlders must be moved to-morrow, and tliat win'lass soaked and heavy as lead and my back Oo !' turning with 'difficulty his face to the wall. i A shock of coarse gray hair showed above the gray blankets which covered the rudely con structed bunk. Heavy snoring then, both above and below. A slim and beautifully spotted snake glided from beneath the logs on one side of the cabin, moved slowly across the earthern lloor, raised its head when near the centre of the room, and looked around, its two eyes gleaming like two ooals of fire. Then it glided noiselessly away, disappearing beneath the logs on the opjmsite side of the cabin. A brown lizard crept through a chink in the logs, darted like lightning to a spot of sunlight on the wall, caught two unlucky I flies, and then ran down upon the bunks and ven- i tured within a foot of the gray head resting there, raising himself on tiptoe once or twice, and turn ing his head from side to side knowingly. Kvi dently in doubt about the object, he turned and filowly crept down the wall to the lloor, ran nim bly across to where a table stood, each leg thereof Standing in a battered tin dish, half filled with dirty water. Around the rim of each dish moved a clore file of small black ants, stopping often and turning their antenme in the direction of the im mersed table-legs. The liatrd swallowed a score or two of them, sprung over the rim of one of the dishes, and was soon upon the table, making great havoc among the liies, which hail settled ill a Cloud upon a tin cup containing some brown sugar. Outside, and near the cabin, could be heard the cheering call of a mountain quail. A movement of the blankets in the upper berth, and a head appeared over the side, looking down to the sleeper below the head exhibiting brown curly hair, a pair of blue eyes, a bronzed cheek, and a full silken beard, with a mustache that curled away from the mouth in a way that would at once lead one to think its owner jiosseseed a large fund of wit and jollity. The foregoing liz arf retreated in haste from the table with tin shoes, at the first movement of the curly brown head. The owner of the head drew one brawny arm from beneath tiie blankets, and securing a long splinter of pine from the "shake" roof above him, cautiously reached down and tickled slightly the tip of an ear that peeped out of the shock of gray hair. And the silken mustache curled more fiuinorouslv than ever as the sleewr moved un easily in his bunk and murmured in a pitting voice, "Oo-oo-oo !" The tormentor desisted for a moment. An audible snore coming up from be low, he reached down and again annoyed his slumbering companion by tickling the ear which Showed itself so temptingly there. "Y-e-e-a-a-s !" The tormentor rolled over in his bunk, and gave a roar, a whoop, a howl even, of laughter. He humped his head against the low .roof aoove him, and kicked against the foot-board, rattling down a shower of pine needles through the cracks in the bottom of his bunk upon the sleeper below. He Anally ended by bounding to the floor, and then rushed out into the broad sunlight and gave one long and loud yell Umt made the pines and ra vines echo far and wide. The fit over, ten minutes later he entered the cabin very sedately, and found his comMiiiioii upon his knees before the fire-place, blowing vig orously at the few live sparks among the dead embers. "Good morning, Uncle .Luke," from "Blue oyee." "Good morning, John," from "Gray-head," pulling away at the fire, and not turning to his companion. "How do you find yourself, Uncle?" "Had, ill, worse! My Oo-oo-oo !" clapping his lutnd to his back. "My oo-oo-oo ! rhetimatix js getting the best o' me, John !" filling a campkettTe with water and hanging it over the Are. "Drink some wormwood, Uncle !" arranging tho tin plates and tin cups upon the small table with tin shoes. "I've tried that !" filling a stew jmui with cold beans from yesterday's cooking. "And manza nita, Hiul man-root, ami wild blaekbeny-root, and the 'root of all evil.' " "You've been swallowing gold-dust ?" "No ; whisk v !" with a grim smile. "Tea's getting low, Uncle Luke !" putting a Small pinch into a black tea-pot and hanging it aver the now rowing fire. "Beans, too !" "Flour, very little!" looking into a small bar rel in a corner. "Pork's petered !" "Pretty near the bed-rock in every shaft- oh?" And the brown mustache began to curl again. "Come to beans, John!" Hid Uncle Luke. "For what wo nrfeaJMUit to partake, may thb Lord make us thankful." "A waste of words, Uncle Luke." "How so r the aranr northwest, Thursday", xoyember 4, isso. "You've said Hint three times a day for the past ton vears." "Y-e-e-a-a-s?" "I'd ask you to spoil that word, only I know I couldn't survive it. The way you speak it is all I can bear." And a wave of laughter seemed rip pling over his face. "Now you have prayed tlw:s, three times a day, for ten years or more. Thirteen words, is it, eacli time? Very good; that is thirty-nine words each day, and" performing the multiplication on his fingers "two hundred and seventy-three words a week, one thousand and ninety-two each month, thirteen thousand one hundred and four in a year, and in ten years one hundred and thirtv-one thousand and forty !" "Y-e-e-a-a-s? Well?" "Q. E. D." "What's that, John?" "Demonstrates, proves. Don't you see it?" "I don't see that you have proved anything." "Don't you think all those words wasted ?" "No, sir!" quietly removing the pan of steam ing brains from the table and placing them on the lloor behind him. The young man had at this moment finished his first plate. Bonus being the only dish that graced the table with tin shoes, he mechanically Iassed his plate for more. "Hullo ! where are the beans, Uncle?" The deep gray eyes looked out from beneath the shaggy brows upon the humorous face op posite, with a stern expression. "Scollings are heard' as well as prayers, young man. The Lord has removed them." The brown mustache curled again, the blue eyes twinkled, a grand swell of laughter shook the stalwart frame, but he controlled himself with an effort. 'Pass on the beans, Uncle; I haven't half finished yet !" with a comicailv sober face now. "Prav, John !" "To you ?" "To the Lord. He alone ean answer prayer." "Nonsense, Uncle ; you removed the beans." "A humble instrument in His hands, young man !" speaking still more sternly. "Pray !" "I don't think Twill." "I am positively certain, John, that ire will never influence me to restore those beans, until you express yourself peniteittlv in prayer." "Never prayed in my life, Uncle Luke." " 'Never too late to mend.' Pray !" "Yoh will have to teach me." "I have been teaching you for years." "For what " He paused, but with a stroug effort composed himself, and commenced again : "For what we are about to partake, may the Lord make us thankful." Gravely were the lieans placed uxn the table again, and the meal was finished ia silence. When ended, Uncle Luke, seeking out from the mysterious recesses of his bunk certain articles of soiled clothing, a gray shirt, a pair of drawers, and some cotton handkerchief, took his way down to a spring in a ravine, a short distance be low the cabin. John came out, lit his pipe, ami stretched himself upon the dry leaves )eneath the glossy foliage of a live-oak, which overhung the cabin. They were a strange couple, these two men, partners together for so many years. Tho young man, as lie! ay upon the ground, began to review in a dreamy mood the past. Sometime, vears ago, lie had forgotten how long, he remembered lieing upon a steamer bound front the sultry, ma larious Isthmus to the port of San Francisco. He, a mere youth, had Imhmi a victim to the fever that lurks in the depths of the tropical forests. While thus siek, ami a stranger among the crowded pas sengers, one among the number hail taken pity upon him, and nursed him to health ami strength a rough man, of uncouth features, ragged beard, and a huge shock of gray hair covering his head Uncle Luke, who Avas" scrubbing away at that dirty shirt down there by the spring. His real name? well, he had actually forgotten it, if he ever had known ; lie had always railed him Uncle Luke. Their fortunes had been one for ten long years; poor fortunes at best, prospecting in the placer-mines. He had never thoroughly understood his part ner. His secret belief was that Uncle Luke, al though the soul of honor in all his dealings, a man whose word was truth itself, was, nevertheless, something of a hypocrite. He always had a faint suspicion, that when Uncle Luke was in his stern est mood, it was only a cloak to hide the mirth within him, that his piety was more of a burlesque than otherwise, and that, if he would act his real nature, lie would often indulge in freaks as mad as his own, play jokes as absurd as his, and laugh as uproariously. Uncle Luke, scrubbing away at the soiled shirt down in the ravine, was also reflecting on the past, and on his young comanion. Forgotten, too, was John's name, although he believed when he first met him on the crowded steamer that he was called Lauchlin there was an old valise in the cabin now, somewhere, marked "J. L." He ran over in his mind all their wanderings through canon and ravine, the days and years of weary tramping and toil, the promise of good fortune here and the bitter disappointment there, and the steady whitening of Ills head, and the growing jiains in his limbs as the years crept on. He loved John not with the love of fatiier for son, not as a brother loves brother, but with an affec tion he could not fully analyze. Hut lie, too, was doubtful if he really understood hisyoung imrtner. He believed his upronrigws mirth, his Jokes, and whimsical tricks, were often screens to cover heart-aches and sore disapK)intmeiits. So diverse in temperaments and tastes, each was to the other a mystery, and each was happy in the other. The warm June day imssed away. The wash ing was finished, thecnbin put in "order, the few periodicals on the shelves of a rude cupboard over the window had been looked through by Jjiiuch l in, and Uncle Luke hud read from a pocket Bible, guiltless of cover, several chanters from the Prophecies of Isaiah. The jays had ceased chat tering in the cedars, the turtle-doves no longer were mourning, and the martial cries of (ho quail were hushed. They two sat together in the twi light, in two rustic chairs under the thick boughs of the live-oak. Uncle Luke nodded. Lauchlin smiled and picked up a pine-needle. The old man nodded again, and then his head sunk upon his breast, and he muttered something in his sleep. Tho young man, on the point of tickling the sleeper's nose, jmused ; he had beard a word spoken that had for him a strange interest, which word was the name of "Mary." John Lauchlin had never known anything of the history of his partner. He did not know even the name of his native State. Ten years had they trumped together through the mines had run a tunnel tit Table Mountain, sunk a shaft at Shaw'Sl Flat, prospected for quartz at Downieville, and hydraulicked at Red Gulch. And through all these years not a word had the old man lisped of his past life ; not a word except in his sleep, for he often talked in his slumbers, and Lauchlin had at such times overheard the name of "Mary." His curiosity was excited to know who Mary was whether mother, wife, or daughter; but the words were incoherent and disconnected. The old man awoke with a snort, and sat bolt upright in his chair. "You did not sleep long," said his companion. "Oo-oo-oo! Hheuniatiz again. Bad place to sleep, John. You oughtn't to let me." "You have not slept five minutes." "Five years would be a short time iif which to pass through all I dreamed." "Pleasant dreams?" "Y-e-e-a-a-s !" musingly to himself. "T saw her, the sweet lass and so beautiful, so lovely, and so good ! Eh ?" "I did not speak, Uncle." "I forgot. I thought I heard you. T thought " Then to himself again : "The years are long, and 'tis coining night fast, but it's all right. Things will be bright by and by. Poor Mary ! Eh ?" 'T did not speak." 'T thought you did, John. Tt is getting dark and chilly. I hail liest go in" slowly rising from his chair. "Old joints getting stiller all the time. This night air is bad for me. I've had a strange dream, and it has unsettled me a bit. You can stay longer if you like, John, but I think I'll turn in now." And he disnpjiearcd within the cabin. John Lauchlin sat for a long time alone under the oak. It was a propitious time for quiet sol emn musing, and the distant death-wail of an In dian band, performing the funeral rites of their tribe in the valley below, echoed sadly through the canon. It was dark at last, and as the crickets chirped in tho hollow trees, and the owls hooted in the thick tree-tojs, and the desolate cry of the mountain panrher echoed through the fore&t, he, too, went in to his rest. It was broad daylight when John Lauchlin awoke on the following morning. He missed the heavy breathing and complainings of li is partner in the bunk below. He descended from his berth to find that his companion was not there. Have lizards, ants and flies, he was the only living being in the cabin. He was not surprised at that, as he thought it might be that his imrtner had arisen early and was doing some light work about the claim. I le kindled the fire and prepared their simple breakfast. The food was placed on the table with tin shoes, and then, standing in the open door of the cabin, he shouted in his clear rfugimc cheery voice: "Beans !" No answer was returned only the multitudi nous reechoes from the hillsides and trees of "Beans! Brum! Beans!" It served to arouse the humor within him, and he indulged in a burt of laughter. As be took a seat at the little table with tin shoes, his eye caught sight of a note, folded and lying upon his till plate. It was addressed on the outside to "John." He opened it, and read the following, written hi a stifrand cramped hand : Vntxm John : You must not think hard of me for thin. It Is beat that Irw, and got awity without any trouble. You will come to imi it h I do in nun-. You will call me mad and crazy, but I -iinnt help that. After my dream lust night under the oak, I aw plainly that nothing would ever eome to us ao long u we remained together. It has been no ordered that wo in nut part. in't mtv thr old claim ! There I something for uh yet, and I am going to find it. In my drenni I saw lh very rt. and when I chance upon It, nx I know I shall mkiiht or Infer, then, John, our fortune is made. It may not do me any rood ; but it will yon, and perhapKoncoihiT In whom I have an interwu. I shall rt turn ; wh-n, 1 cannot Tell. Iu a month, n year, ten yearn God only know. lo!cT i.kavktiikoi.i claim ! (Jo'nl-hy, John. I. B. Did the brown mustache curl when the note was finished? One could not have seen his face, for his head was bowed upon his hand, and his elbow rested on the table. But something very like tears fell with a faint tick-tick upon the inverted tin plate, and his broad chest rose and fell in something like sobs. John Lauchlin was alone in the world. Each morning, as the birds awoke the cheerful echoes of the forest with their songs, did the lonely man listen for the sound of the coming footsteps he knew so well. Kvcry evening, as the sun sunk liehind the purple summits of the Coast ltaugc, did lie gaze longingly down the mountain sloe for the familiar form which never appeared. He went twice a week down to the small mining camp. Heed's Flat, some miles away, to make in quiries, and to visit the post office and see if there were letters from Uncle Luke. No one knew aught of him, and a letter to John Ijiuchlin never came. Life grew monotonous, and the humorous face became almost misanthropic in expression. It was the opinion of many that Uncle Luke was the victim of a hallucination that he must have been partially insane. John lauchlin did not think so; or, if he did entertain any such belief, he was careful not to express it. But as time jwsscd on he grew more grave, more lonely and sad, and had it not Iieen for his partner's repeated command, "Don't leave the old claim," he would gladly have gone elsewhere, hoping that time and uhange of scene would restore to him a measure of his old cheerfulness. It was a hot day in September, when thfcrecanie into Heed's Flat a small pack-train of mules. There was nothing remarkable in this, for all the goods obtained iu that olseure place were, of ne cessity, brought in that inconvenient manner. What was particularly remarkable about this particular train was, that the owner of the mules, Tom Jeggs, had neglected to bring from Sonora an article he had repeatedly promised to bring, and which neglect was the cause of much uneasi ness in the minds of at least two of the inhabitants of Heed's Flat. Those two were Gottlieb Meleh and his wife Katrina. The article which Tom had been heartless enough to forget was nothing less than u baby's cradle.. Gottlieb was proprietor of the only restaurant at the Flat. He had, by in dustry and strict attention to his business, ac quired enough to send money to Katrina, who came all the way from beyond the Bhine, across oceans and continents, to join her lover in his mountain home. She had been Mrs. Meleh for nearly a year, and both she and Gottlieb weret particularly anxious that lorn Jeggs should at tend to the order given him (which had been standing for three mouths), and bring from Sononi the above-mentioned anil IiiglUy desirable piece of family furniture. Now.it must be known that the neglect to bring the long-looked-for cradle on this trip was not the fault of Tom Jeggs. He did pack the article in question upon his strongest and most reliable mule, so he informed Gottlieb; but as he was leaving town, and just as he was passing the .American Hotel, wno annum come uia fv'c mm but Jackson. the howl-keeper, aim ton " T must. Je",rs said he would not, but Jackson swore he should. Jeggs said he bclicv&l ho avus engineer of that train, and started up his mules, when out from tno noici came running a young lady, saying "she was the passenger,! that she must get to Beed's Flat as soon as possible," and begs he will please be so good as to takeier, Avith tears in her eyes. And Jeggs said he could not stand that, and so stopped at the hotelund took off the cradle, Avhich he left in Jackson's care, and the young lady was placed upon the mule, and in less than half an hour avouUI be in cnmp,fOning in Avith the rear section of the train, iqiOhalfce of oner of hia muleteers. And Tom JectrS tfUlwer ex pressed himself, by stating it as his Qgij "she could jest knock the spots onji male in the mountings." ' W l?nil' Klnr did not boast of a JlOtOI. JLH&fflMy' public houses were the store, SaIofnyiTO SJPKiU- rant. Ann ivatnna jieicn avus wivvmj& in (hi ion r. was. inereiore. a immuiam. . Phcon- lecture where the exm-ctcd young uduy be domiciled, if slie concluded tosiaA' jmixiHHhiJisuj. ... .... i . x t . - 4 It was generally conceded that thqgfljiTy . ble place in wlucli she eotini 0 Jftof tamed was the restaurant oi iioiuii It was not strange that the 'ywfiytif woman should hail with iov the atlvSH iSlffnA of her own sex in that lonely plac not beheld a woman for more than Had an antrel of liirlit rode into th&v on that hot September day, it is noWJkKh many rougu iaces, wun iiiikcimju imicatm beards, Avould have raised alio'OvDOjr jveered from out deep races, as therodui last band or Jeggs' mules toiled siowiy j mountain trail and wound into thdrliw of Heed's Flat. The young lady passenger had having arrived, she was immedia charge by Tom Jeggs, avIio conduct to the presence of Mrs. katrina. Mc duced her as "Miss Bonnitield, irom fonora." mm And then Tom Jeggs felt it incumbent lilMnnttnr a-' to repair to the "Long Tom Saloon" anflfgranl all hands. He also declared most emphatica "that 'ere gal could iest knock the spots oft uvanv shemale in the mountings !" John Lauchlin was hard at work ground-sluicing. Water was not plenty, ami much labor was required to pick up the hard gra-el and pulverize it sufficiently for the water to wash it thoroughly. It was a warm morning. The thermometer most have stood at one hundred in the shade ; and down in the claim, with the sunlight reflected from the glaring hanks on either hand, it must have been intolerably hot. But that he was used to, and so toiled steadily on. So intently Avas he occupied, that he did not notice the approach of a person on horseback, winding slowly up the trail along the side of the cafion below. As the rider approached, it proved to lie Tom Jeges' passenger of the day previous. Miss Bonnitield. But Lauchlin saw her not until she reined up her horse on the bank near him, and, above the dash of water and the grind ing of boM-lders, he heard a faint voice callinghim: "Mr. Lauchlin !" As he clambered up the bank, it occurred to him that he was scarcely in a fit condition t ap pear lefore a lady. He wore a heavy pair of gum boots, reaching to the waist ; a gray shirt with many rents covered his arms and shouluent ami his brown hair was protected by a wide slouch hat, red with mud ami water. I lis face was splat tered with mud. and his Mowing brown beard was dull and full of grit. "Excuse me, sir Mr. Lauchlin for taking: you from your work,'' said Miss Bonnitield, "But I wish to make some inquiries of you. My natte i Bonnifieid." "Hide up to the cabin, Miss. It is too hoi lor you to stand here in the sun. I will turn ofj the water from the claim and be there directly." He was under the live-oak as soon as she, and assisted her to alight. "lie seated, Miss. Allow me to hitch vour horse at me tree nere. a hard rule up the mountain OH " noj n Hty its tins, ii you AVIlt allow iionmneid, I will go into the cabin a mc remove a little of this mud and completely cover me. and then wi inquiries you may wish to make.'Vj She smiled and bowed. In a tin turned in a more presentable cost tied his readiness to listen to hertflii u must think strange of here alone, Mr. lauchlin," she be in hopes you will be able to iri-e. tion I so anxiously desire. You ner here for some vears pa-t VL jiucnun admitted lie Had. "He is gone now, I underst a strange manner. What waei He started, and then stammc "I well reallv, Miss Boil obliged to make a most singul not Know his name !" Then she, in turn, looked stn The statement he had made at Mil as being the hciirht of absur of his efforts to control hiniselft;J oi uproarious laugnier. in a ra calm. "I'lenso excuse me. Miss BnmiimHo? a hal habit I have of laughing in the wrong pJaee. This is a serious matter to you, I see. I wMi I could give you the information you wish. But in truth I do not know the real name of my part ner, whose disappearance has liecn to me a source of mtteh unhappiuess, for we had never lteeii separated during a criod of ten years. He was always 'Uncle Luke' to me, and I Avas 'John' to him." Miss Bonnitield took oil' her dusty hat, for sbe avus very warm, and hung it on a limb of the oak. Her luxuriant hair in waA-y curls fell doAvn ami shaded her brown face. She made a pleasant pic ture, with the flecks of sunlight falling through the oak leaves upon her Avell-rounded form at least, John Lauenlin thought so. Presently she spoke again: I " 'Uncle Luke,' as you call him, is, as I h every reason to believe, my father. There is unhappy family history which I will not troul you to listen to, sir" she bowed bet head, aJHtJa. mint biusn rose to ner urown lace "but whih loved my mother with the natural affection o l.i r r ii. uaus;iuer, yet i ueneve my miner Avas guiltless all wrong. My mother is no longer living. I ji alone in the Avorld, and I naturallv havo a it desire to discover the Avhereabouts of my fathe; ne is liA iug. i nave oeen tea to believe thut t. man living at tins place is lie, and I lun'e JQad journey oi inousaims in JUiles to find Mn 1 uuiua AMoiMHiiu. At seems tQSmB- ve; probable that your partiioinLJuclo IilcliafiTn latner arc identical. And." shn hn.vrtofNTf voice trembling sllghtly,1t fs a sor- disunnoiiit ... wii 1 . V 1 w iuBf mill r n . "Como into the oalrti ilBaWTTP-li J imjnlMiaiTWfflas V