be glad to learn from her. We've got flour enough to last a fortnight,
so we needn't be afraid of running out of water pancakes at least. You
don't grow fat on 'em, but, on the other hand, there is no gout lurking
in a water pancake as I make it."
"No, Jack, that's so," I said, feelingly.
"We've got enough bacon for several meals, a can of chicken, and two
cans of beans. Also a loaf of bread and a pound of crackers. Then
there's three cans of fruit, a dozen potatoes, six eggs, a quart of
milk, and half a pound of pressed figs. After that we'll paw with the
pony."
"I wonder if we couldn't get some game?" inquired Ollie.
"Snow-birds, maybe," said Jack. "Or perhaps an owl. I've heard b'iled
owl spoken of."
After all, the prospect was not so bad. Besides, it was so early in the
season that it did not seem at all likely that we would be snow-bound a
week. Still, we knew little about the mountain climate.
We got on our overcoats and went out and gave the horses their
breakfast. Old Blacky was still cross, but Jack contented himself by
calling him a few names. We also got up what wood we could and piled it
against the wagon, for use in case our kerosene became exhausted, though
we decided to cook in the wagon for the present. The snow was seven or
eight inches deep, and still falling rapidly. After breakfast we took
the pony down to a little open flat and turned her loose. The old
instinct of her wild days came back to her, and she began to paw away
the snow and gnaw at the scanty grass beneath.
"Perhaps," I said, "she can be induced to paw for the others."
After giving the other horses a little hay, we returned to the wagon,
where we staid most of the day. I'm afraid we were a little frightened
by the prospect. Of course, we knew that if it came to the worst we
could leave the wagon and make our way back along the trail on foot,
but we did not want to do that. But as for getting the wagon back along
the narrow road, now blotted out by the snow, we knew it would be
foolish to attempt it. It was not very cold in the wagon, and Jack
played the banjo, and we were fairly cheerful. The snow kept coming down
all day, and by night it was a foot deep. The pony came in from the flat
as it began to grow dark, and we gave the horses their supper and left
them in the shelter of the rocks. Then we brushed the snow off the top
of the cover, as we had done several times before, and went in to spend
the evening by the light of the lantern. When bedtime came, Jack looked
up and said:
"The cover doesn't seem to sag down. It must have stopped snowing."
We looked out, and found that it was so. We could even see the stars;
and, better yet, it did not seem to be growing colder. We went to bed
feeling encouraged.
The next morning the sun peeped in at us through the long trunks of the
pines, and Ollie soon discovered that the wind was from the south.
"Unless it turns cold again, this will fix the snow," said Jack.
He was right, and it soon began to thaw. By noon the little stream in
the gulch was a torrent, and before night patches of bare ground began
to appear. We decided not to attempt to leave camp that day, but the
next morning saw us headed back along the tortuous road. In two hours we
were again on the main trail. Just as we turned in, Eugene Brooks came
along, having also been delayed by the snow, though the fall down the
trail had not been nearly so great. 'Gene laughed at us, and told us
that we had been following a trail to some lead-mines, which had been
abandoned several months before.
[Illustration: THE DEADWOOD TREASURE COACH.]
Half a mile farther on we came to the Thunder Butte Creek which we had
sought. The water was almost blood-red, which 'Gene told us came from
the gold stamp-mills on its upper course. If the water had been gray it
would have indicated silver-mining. Just beyond we met the Deadwood
Treasure Coach. It was an ordinary four-horse stage, without passengers,
but carrying two guards, each with a very short double-barrelled
shot-gun resting across his lap. The stage was operated by the express
company, and was bringing out the gold bricks from the mines near
Deadwood.
"I suppose," said Ollie, musingly, "if anybody tried to rob the coach,
those fellows would shoot with their guns?"
"Oh no," replied Jack. "Oh no; they carry those guns to fan themselves
with on hot days." But Ollie did not seem to be misled by this
astonishing information.
As we went on, the road grew constantly more mountainous. Sometimes the
trail ran along ledges, and sometimes near roaring streams and
waterfalls, and the great pine-trees were everywhere. We passed two
grizzly old placer-miners working just off the trail, and stopped and
watched them "pan out" a few shovelfuls of dirt. They were rewarded by
two or three specks of gold, and seemed satisfied. 'Gene told us
afterward that one of them was an old California '49er, who had used the
same pan in every State and Territory of the West.
It was a little after noon when we drove in to Deadwood--the last point
outward bound at which the Rattletrap expected to touch. It was a larger
town than Rapid City, and was wedged in a little gulch between two
mountains, with the White Wood Creek rushing along and threatening to
wash away the main street. We noticed that the only way of reaching many
of the houses on the mountain-side was by climbing long flights of
stairs. We drove on, and camped near a mill on the upper edge of town.
In the afternoon we wandered about town, and, among other places,
visited the many Chinese stores. We also clambered up the mountain-sides
to the two cemeteries, which we could see far above the town. It seemed
to us that on rather too many of the head-stones (which were in nearly
every case boards, by-the-way) it was stated that the person whose grave
it marked was "assassinated by" so-and-so, giving the name of the
assassin; but these were of the old days, when no doubt there were a
good many folks in Deadwood who left the town just as well off after
they had been assassinated. "Killed by Indians" was also the record on
some of the boards. Ollie was greatly interested in the Chinese graves,
with dishes of rice and chicken on them, and colored papers covered with
curious characters--prayers, I suppose. We climbed on up to the White
Rocks, almost, at the top of the highest peak overlooking Deadwood, and
had a good view of the town and gulch below, and of the great Bear Butte
standing out alone and bold miles to the east. We were tired, and glad
to go to bed as soon as we got back to the wagon.
The next day we decided to visit Lead City (pronounced not like the
metal, but like the verb to lead). Here were most of the big gold-mines,
including the great Homestake Mine. It was only two or three miles, and
we drove over early. It was a strange town, perched on the side of a
mountain, and consisted of small openings in the ground, which were the
mines, and immense shedlike buildings, which contained the ore-reducing
works. The noise of the stamp-mills filled the whole town, and seemed to
drown out and cover up everything else. We soon found that there was no
hope of our getting into the mines.
"They'd think you were spies for the other mines, or something of that
sort," said a man to us. "Nobody can get down. Nobody knows where they
are digging, and they don't mean that anybody shall. They may be digging
under their own property exclusively, and they may not. For all I know,
they may be taking gold that belongs to me a thousand feet, more or
less, under my back yard."
"If I had a back yard here," said Jack, after we had passed on, "I'd put
my ear to the ground once in a while and listen, and if I heard anybody
burrowing under it I'd--well--I'd yell scat at 'em."
We found no difficulty in getting in the stamp-mills, and a man kindly
told us much about them.
"The Homestake Mills make up the largest gold-reducing plant in the
world," said the man. "Where do you suppose the largest single
stamp-mill in the world is?"
We guessed California.
"No," he said. "It's in Alaska--the Treadwell Mill."
We decided that the stamp-mills were the noisiest place we were ever in.
There were hundreds of great steel bars, three or four inches in
diameter and a dozen feet long, pounding up and down at the same time on
the ore and reducing it to powder. It was mixed with water, and ran away
as thin red mud, the gold being caught by quicksilver. The openings of
the shafts and tunnels were in or near the mills, and there were the
smallest cars and locomotives which we had ever seen, going about
everywhere on narrow tracks, carrying the ore. Ollie walked up to one of
the locomotives and looked down at it, and said:
"Why, it seems just like a Shetland-pony colt. I believe I could almost
lift it."
The engineer sat on a little seat on the back end, and seemed bigger
than his engine. As we looked at them we constantly expected to see them
tip up in front from the weight of the engineer. There was also a larger
railroad, though still a narrow gauge, winding away for twenty miles
along the tops of the hills, which was used principally for bringing
wood for the engines and timbers for propping up the mines.
[Illustration: "WHAT A BASEBALL PITCHER THAT MAN WOULD MAKE!"]
We were walking along a connecting shed, and happened to look out a
window, when we saw a four-foot stick of cord-wood shoot up fifty feet
from some place behind us, and after sailing over a wide curve, like a
"fly-ball," alight on a great pile of similar sticks on the lower
ground, which was much higher than an ordinary house, and must have
contained thousands of cords.
"Good gracious!" exclaimed Jack. "Wish I could throw a stick of wood
like that fellow."
Another and another shot after the first one in quick succession.
Sometimes there were two almost together, and we noticed the bigger and
heavier the stick the higher and farther it was shot. We saw some almost
a foot in diameter soaring like straws before the wind.
"What a baseball-pitcher that man would make!" went on Jack,
enthusiastically. "Think of his arm! Look at that big one go--it must
weigh two hundred pounds!"
"Let's get out of this shed and investigate the mystery," I said.
Outside it was all clear. The narrow-gauge wood railroad ended on the
edge of the steep hill overlooking the mills. Down this was a long
wooden chute, or flume, like a big trough, which for the last thirty or
forty feet at its lower end curved upward. Men were unloading wood from
a train at the upper end. Each stick shot down the flume like lightning,
up the short incline at the end, and soared away like a bird to the pile
beyond and below the shed. A little stream of water trickled constantly
down the chute to keep the friction of the logs from setting it on fire.
"That's the most interesting thing here," said Jack. "I'd like to send
the Blacksmith's Pet down the thing and see what he would do. Bet a
cooky he'd kick the wood-pile all over the town after he alighted."
We spent nearly the whole day in wandering about the stamp-mills. The
great steam-engines which operated them were some of the largest we had
ever seen.
"And think," observed Jack, "of the fact that all of this heavy
machinery, including the big engines and the locomotives and cars, and,
in fact, everything, was brought overland on wagons, probably most of it
nearly three hundred miles. No wonder people got to driving such teams
as Henderson's."
Toward night we returned to Deadwood by the way of Central City. Here
were more great mines and mills, but they did not seem to be so
prosperous, and part of the town was deserted, and consisted of nothing
but empty houses. Just as the sun set we drove in through the Golden
Gate, and cast anchor at our old camp near the mill.
The next morning was wintry again, with snowflakes floating in the air.
The ground was frozen, and the wind seemed to come through the wagon
cover with rather more freedom than we enjoyed.
"It's time we began the return voyage," said Jack. "We're a long way
from home, and we won't get there any too soon if we go as fast as we
can and take the shortest cut." So we started that afternoon.
The shortest cut was to return to Rapid City, and then instead of going
south into Nebraska, to go straight east, through the Sioux Indian
Reservation, crossing the Missouri at Pierre, and then on across the
settled country of eastern Dakota to Prairie Flower, over against the
Minnesota line.
We followed the same road between Deadwood and Rapid City, with the
exception that we turned out in one place, and went around by Fort
Meade. Here we found a beautiful camping-place the first night near a
little stream, and great overhanging rocks, and not far from Bear Butte.
We reached Rapid late the next night, which was Saturday, and stopped at
the old camp near the mill-race. Here we staid over Sunday, but Monday
noon saw us under sail again. As we went through the town we stopped at
the freighter's camp, and told 'Gene Brooks good-by, and then drove away
across the wide rolling plain to the east.
'Gene had warned us that we had a lonesome road before us to Pierre, one
hundred and seventy miles, nearly all of it across the reservation.
[Illustration: A STATION IN THE SIOUX COUNTRY.]
"You'll follow the old freight trail all the way," he said, "but you may
not see three teams the whole distance, because since the railroad got
nearer it isn't used. You'll find an old stage station about every
fifteen or seventeen miles, with probably one man in charge. You may see
a horse-thief or two, or something of that sort. S'ciety ain't what it
ought to be 'round a reservation gen'rally."
Just before the sun sank behind the mountains, which lay like low black
clouds to the west, we came to a little ranch standing alone on the
prairie. The door was open, and it seemed to be deserted, though there
was a rude bed inside. There was a good well of water, and we decided to
camp near it for the night, especially as the grass was good. There was
no other house in sight. Bedtime arrived, and no one came to the ranch.
"I think I'll just sleep in that house to-night," said Jack, "and see
how it seems. I'll leave the door open, so as not to have _too_ much
luxury at first."
I must have been asleep three or four hours, when I was awakened by the
loud barking of a dog. I started up, and began to unfasten the front end
of the cover. As I put my head out, Jack called, excitedly:
"Some men were trying to get the pony. They'd have done it, too, if
Snoozer hadn't barked and scared them away."
I was out of the wagon by this time, and found the pony trembling at the
end of her picket-line as near the wagon as she could get. Snoozer kept
barking as if he couldn't stop.
"Did they shoot at you, Jack?" I asked.
"No, I guess not. I think they just blazed away for fun. They went off
toward the reservation. Some of 'Gene's poor s'ciety, I suppose."
It took half an hour to get the frightened pony and indignant dog
quieted; and perhaps it was longer than that before we again got to
sleep.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
FAIR PLAY.
BY MARGARET E. SANGSTER.
There are two little words that are dear as his honor
To the every-day boy whom we meet at our school.
He may walk round the street with a chip on his shoulder,
But if you join battle, fair play is the rule.
All he asks of a comrade, a foe, or a neighbor,
This every-day fellow, whom you and I know.
Is that friendship be loyal, and battle be open,
And fair play be practised with friend or with foe.
And so be it comrade, or foe, or near neighbor
In the march or the fight, or the heat of the game,
Whatever the stress of the fun or the labor,
He calls for fair play, and he renders the same.
Only cowards and braggarts would seize an advantage
That was not allowed in the rules of the game.
Our boy is as brave as the knight in the tourney;
He asks but fair play, and he renders the same.
CAPTAIN JACK AND THE BLUE-FISH.
It was dreadfully hot on the sea-shore, and the boys couldn't find much
fun in digging in the sand, so they sauntered slowly down the scorching
beach to the old wreck, intending to sit upon its shady side and try to
keep cool. It was deserted when they arrived, and they had a pretty good
time by themselves for about an hour, when who should turn up but old
Captain Jack, pulling away as usual upon his pipe! They could always
tell without much trouble when the Captain was approaching, he used such
very strong tobacco, and blew the smoke on ahead of him in great clouds,
which announced his coming some fifteen or twenty seconds before he
arrived.
"Hullo!" said he, as he sat down alongside of the boys. "You here? I
sort of thought you'd be up at the hotel sitting in a bath-tub full of
ice-water a sizzling day like this."
"It is pretty hot, isn't it?" said Tommie. "The thermometer's at
eighty-nine up in the hotel office."
"I don't doubt it," said Captain Jack. "But that don't signify much.
Everything's high at the hotel. They charged me a quarter for ten cents'
worth o' smokin'-tobaccy last week--so I ain't surprised that the
mercury's riz to pretty high heights there. What takes me all of a heap
is the heat out there on the ocean. It's fearful. I 'ain't seen anything
like it since '69, and even then it warn't half as hot."
The boys giggled, and Captain Jack went on. "I been out blue-fishin' all
the morning, and I tell you if it's a-sizzlin' in here it's simply
a-sozzlin' out there. The boat's all covered with blisters, and her
name, where I painted it last week, has just regularly peeled right off;
and worst of all, I've teetotally forgot what the name was, so I've got
to christen her clean over again."
"She was called the _Polly Ann_, wasn't she?" asked Bob.
"That used to be her name," said the Captain; "but it hasn't been this
summer. It was something like _Amber-Jack_ or _Sarah Toodles_ this year,
and I can't remember which. Fact was, she leaked so last summer when she
was known as the _Polly Ann_ that people wouldn't hire her to go fishin'
in; so, seeing as how I couldn't afford to buy a new boat, I gave her a
new name, so's the fishin' folks wouldn't know she was the old _Polly
Ann_; and now this here heat has gone and het her name right off, and I
can't remember what it was. Kind of hard luck, I think."
"Very," said the boys. "But why don't you call her the _Sarah Toodles_
anyhow?"
"I'm afeered to. The summer before last she had some such name as that,
and she leaked then, bad as ever, and it may be some folks will remember
it. I guess I'll call her _Fido_. _Fido_'s as good a name for a boat as
a dog, and it'll give funny fellers a chance to speak of my bark bein'
on the seas, and say she's a regular old sea-dog."
"Good idea," said Bob. "Did you catch any fish this morning?"
"Yes," said the Captain, sadly, "but the heat ruined 'em all. It's a
shame the way the Weather Bureau lets loose all these hot waves, ruinin'
honest men's business--peelin' the names off their boats and spilin'
their fish."
"How did it spoil the fish, Captain?" queried Tommie.
"Spoiled 'em for my trade," said the Captain, sadly. "I took two young
fellers out to catch 'em. They were fellers that thought there was
nothin' so good to eat in this world as broiled blue-fish, and I said I
knew where we could catch some beauties, so we struck a bargain and went
out. Inside of two hours we'd caught a dozen of the finest yo'd ever
seen, and we turned about to come in. 'It's been awful hot,' says one of
the fellers. 'Yes,' said the other; 'but we'll make up for our sufferin'
in the heat when we have a couple o' those blue-fish broiled and sit
down to eat 'em. It makes my mouth water,' says he. Then we came in and
landed. We took the fish ashore, and then we found out what had
happened."
The old man paused, and pulled mournfully away at his pipe for a full
minute.
"Go on," said Bob, softly. "What had happened?"
"_They was boiled when we caught 'em, the water was so hot_," moaned the
Captain. "And if there's anything spoils a blue-fish for broiling, it's
to have 'em boiled first!"
"It was too bad," said Tommie. "And wouldn't they take 'em?"
"No," said the Captain; "and I couldn't blame 'em. They only wanted to
keep me up to my bargain. I'd made it, and they meant I should stick to
it; and havin' promised 'em broilers, they wasn't under any obligations
to take boiled fish. The worst part of it is I've got 'em all on my
hands, and instead o' havin' the cash to buy tenderloin steaks and pie
and apple-sauce with, I'll have to eat boiled blue-fish instead for the
next ten days; and boiled blue-fish gives me the most depressed feelin's
you ever saw."
With which sorrowful statement the good old fellow rose up and walked
away, leaving the boys not only sorry for him, but sorry for themselves
as well; for when they realized how awfully hot it must be out upon the
sea to boil the fish in the water itself, somehow or other it seemed to
grow a great deal hotter there upon the beach.
FLAGS OF THE REVOLUTION.
BY WILLIAM HALE.
[Illustration]
It is a fact not generally known that the stars and stripes is the
oldest national emblem now in existence, and that the national flags of
all other countries bear more recent dates of official adoption.
There has been a great deal of discussion concerning the origin of our
flag. Although the thirteen stripes were in use before and during the
early part of the Revolution, the first and only legislative action for
the establishment of a national flag was in the shape of the following
resolution, which was passed on Saturday, June 14, 1777:
"_Resolved_, That the flag of the thirteen United States be
thirteen stripes, alternate red and white; that the union be
thirteen stars, white in a blue field, representing a new
constellation."
[Illustration]
No record of the discussions that preceded the adoption of this flag has
been kept, and although there have been many theories as to the origin
of the device, none of them has been entirely satisfactory.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
In the early years of the Revolution a number of emblems were in use,
which became famous. The standard displayed on the south-east bastion
of Fort Sullivan (or Moultrie, as it was afterward named) on the 28th of
June, 1776, by Colonel Moultrie, was a blue flag with a white crescent
in the upper left-hand corner, and the word "Liberty" in white letters
emblazoned upon it. This was the flare that fell outside the fort and
was secured by Sergeant Jasper, who leaped the parapet, walked the whole
length of the fort, seized the flag, fastened it to a sponge-staff, and
in sight of the whole British fleet, and in the midst of a perfect hail
of bullets, planted it firmly upon the bastion. The next day Governor
Rutledge visited the fort, and rewarded Jasper by giving him his own
sword. He offered him also a lieutenant's commission; but Jasper, who
could neither read nor write, modestly declined it.
The pine-tree flag, which was a favorite device with the officers of
American privateers, had a white field with a green pine-tree in the
middle, and the motto, "An Appeal to Heaven." This flag was officially
endorsed by the Massachusetts Council, which in April, 1776, passed a
series of resolutions providing for the regulation of the sea service,
among which was the following:
"_Resolved_, That the uniform of the officers be green and white,
and that they furnish themselves accordingly, and that the colors
be a white flag with a green pine-tree and the inscription 'An
Appeal to Heaven.'"
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
The device of a rattlesnake was popular among the colonists, and its
origin as an American emblem is a curious feature in our national
history. It has been stated that its use grew out of a humorous
suggestion made by a writer in Franklin's paper, the _Pennsylvania
Gazette_--that, in return for the wrongs which England was forcing upon
the colonists, a cargo of rattlesnakes should be sent to the
mother-country and "distributed in St. James's Park, Spring Garden, and
other places of pleasure."
[Illustration]