howling to the moon, from the shoulder of Deadman's Hill.
CHAPTER TEN
THE cavalry arrived next morning at daybreak, in charge of young Captain Farnsworth, spick and span and "spiffy;" not far removed, mentally, from West Point, and showing it by his actions. Weatherford gave him the details:
Yes; he would round up the darned Siwashes—sure, he would. In about ten seconds, too.
He proceeded to do so, though not in ten seconds. At two o'clock in the afternoon he called past the camp to report.
"There weren't any Indians, to speak of, after all," he smiled, "less than a dozen bucks, all told—same number of squaws, thirty or forty naked children, and about a hundred dogs.
"But, say!" he explained, to Weatherford. "Those Indians haven't been doing anything. They're perfectly harmless quiet as mice; haven't made a move in twenty years—so Alderson says. We found 'em over back of Deadman's Hill, cooking their breakfast—frying fish over a little old smoky campfire, too lazy even to stand up. I'll run 'em over to the Fort for a couple of days' discipline, however," he added, "and then turn 'em loose again. You don't need to worry about 'em, though; they're perfectly harmless."
"Don't you ever think it!" said Weatherford grimly. "They pulled a perfectly good stampede on us, last night —run off all our horses; took us till half an hour ago to get 'em back. By the way," he added, looking suddenly at the officer, "You didn't happen to see anything of Charley Eaglefeather, did you? He's an educated Indian—one of the S. P. & S. crew. He's clean gone, and we don't have an idea where to find him."
The Captain hadn't seen Charley Eaglefeather, however. Neither did the S. P. & S. crew ever see him again. For he had vanished as completely as if the earth had swallowed him up, leaving no trail behind.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
WELL, the storm brought the snow upon its heels within the next twenty-four hours.
Forty-eight hours later came a longdistance telephone from Perkins, ordering us down to the Grant's Pass District, in Southern Oregon, where it doesn't snow in September, nor in October either, for the matter of that. The next spring the war came; and I forgot all about how to build railroads, and didn't get back for two years.
They finished the Clearwater stub-line, though, in the meanwhile. I know; I rode over it one day last week. That's how I came to tell you this story. I was en route to the new coal fields. I'm working for the Government, now, and the Department figured this new Clearwater coal might be good enough for the Navy. So they sent me up to investigate.
I got off the train at Waverly, a place once better known as Deadman's Hill. Call it sentiment if you like, I don't object. I simply wanted to look the place over again.
The smoke of an Indian village attracted my attention, over against the foothills on the bank of the Little Chewelah. So I went in that direction.
An Indian, fat and squalid and greasy was squatting over a little smoky campfire at the creck's edge, frying fish.
"How, George?" I said.
"How," he replied.
And then, still squatting, he twisted to look at me over his shoulder.
"Why! Charley Eaglefeather!" I gasped, all but collapsing in my amazement. "Of all things! How on earth did you get here?"
Still squatting there, he gazed at me for a moment over his shoulder, silently, inscrutably, yet with great dignity, like an eagle in a cage; or like a king that has lost his throne, yet is still a king.
"Hieu Clatawah!" he said, finally, "Halo Cumtux!"
Then he returned again to his fish-frying.
Sisters Prefer Death to Charity
WITH their ancestral home heavily mortgaged, and every article of furniture sold bit by bit to buy food, two sisters, Hilda and Monna Coe, 40 and 37 years old respectively, of Carthage, Mo., chose death by starvation in preference to the charity proffered by well-meaning neighbors. For weeks, their only sustenance was the roots and berries which they gathered along the roadside. When authorities visited them to inquire after their condition, the sisters, with dignity, assured the officers that they were all right and desired to be let alone.
Several nights later, the neighbors were horrified to hear screams and groans issuing from the rambling old structure. Officers hastened to the house, and in response to their summons, Monna dragged herself to the door and, half-delirious, begged them to leave. It was necessary for a doctor to give her a hypodermic injection to still her eerie cries. Not an article of furniture remained in the entire house, and the body of Hilda was found lying on a sheet in the corner. Her wasted skeleton testified to the cause of death, which had occurred twenty-four hours previous as decomposition had already begun. Monna was taken to the county hospital, with little hope for her recovery.
Female Buddha Slain
EFFORTS to eject "reds" from Mongolia has cost the life of the "Female Buddha," wife of 'the "Living Buddha," and for several years a prominent figure in the conspiracy of Mongolian princes and chieftains against soviet forces, according to an official dispatch received in Peking recently from Urga, Mongolia.
Both Buddhas, members of the Khalkha tribes of outer Mongolia, have been a source of constant torment to the "reds" of late, having succeeded in uncovering several plots by which the soviet forces have hoped to overrun Mongolia. Of the two the "Female Buddha," has been the most active.
First, cherishing dreams of Mongolian independence, she sought the help of Russian white guard forces, which resulted in the entry into Urga at the head of "white" forces of "Mad Baron" Ungern, which gave the soviets an excuse for the occupation of Mongolia.
As a result of the occupation both Buddhas were imprisoned in their Urga Palace, the "Female," dying shortly after from poison which it is believed was administered to her by court officials bribed by soviet officials.
