[Dan De Quille, Little Tum Tum of Barton's Bar, from the San Francisco Call, October 6, 1895]

 

THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, OCTOBER 6, 1895.                            13

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LITTLE TUM TUM OF BARTON'S BAR

BY

DAN DE QUILLE

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CHAPTER I.

THE LITTLE GIRL'S HAUNTS AND PRANKS.

            Little "Tum Tum" was the pet and prodigy of Barton's Bar. Almost daily after she was old enough to walk about the camp something was heard of her pranks. Barefoot, bare-headed and with her yellow hair streaming on the breeze she went and came as she pleased. In her flying golden hair she darted hither and thither, a living ray of sunshine. It was currently reported and firmly believed in the little California mining camp which was the child's home that the first words she ever uttered were, "Tum tum."

            Her favorite place of resort, as soon as she was old enough to be out of the house, was a rustic bench that stood under an oak beside the trail that led down the Stanislaus River in front of her father's cottage. Seated there, with her rag doll in her arms, she smiled and cried out "Hello!" to every person that passed. The miners halted, laughed and said, "Hello! little one!"

            "I am not little one, I'm Tum Tum, the wild one," the child would demurely explain.

            Soon the laughing little yellow-haired girl was known to the miners all up and down the river as little "Tum Tum."

            There were several other children in the family of John Dale, the father of little "Tum Tum," and these, with her many household duties, demanded such a large share of the mother's attention that little Ellen, the "wild child," was permitted to run about pretty much at will. She early displayed such independence of character and such ability to take care of herself that her disposition to ramble about the camp and the neighboring hills gave very little uneasiness at her home.

            When about eight years of age her capacity for the exhibition of "wildness" had wonderfully increased. Sometimes she was to be seen dancing on a big flat-topped rock that stood out in the river with a garland of flowers on her head, and at others astonished the passing miners by calling out to them from the top of some spreading oak. It caused no surprise when with a "hello!" she made her appearance, candle in hand, in the mine where her father and his partners were wielding their picks and sledges far out under the bar. She was her father's pet, and whenever it came into her head to pay him a visit, she would go to the mouth of the tunnel, light a candle and march into the mine as fearlessly as did the miners themselves.

            In warm, bright weather a favorite resort of the child was a high plateau far above the river and far back from the trail, along which the occupants of the scattered cabins forming the outskirts of the little town were wont to pass. Although this plateau was composed principally of solid rock, yet there were in many places little patches of soil that produced a great variety of plants and flowers. She made the flowers, plants and butterflies her companions, and was seldom seen at play with other children. Her wild dances and other pranks were all of her own invention and performed alone. They seemed to be indulged in as something needful after hours of solitary musing and crooning.

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CHAPTER II.

A STRANGE MEETING.

            One day in early spring little "Tum Tum" was up on her favorite rocky plateau and in a secluded spot was seated on the sunny side of a huge cathedral-like block of granite that had tumbled down the steep slope of the mountain that towered high above. Her back rested against a large spreading cedar tree, the trunk of which, old and gnarled, grew as close against the rock as though it were a part of it. Her wealth of golden hair strayed down her neck and shoulders in many an accidental wisp and curl, while rings of it danced about her forehead and eyes. She had collected a lapful of flowers, which she was engaged in weaving into a wreath, meanwhile humming a song in a low tone. Birds were singing in the  branches of the old cedar over her head and squirrels were playing about the top of the rock, all quite heedless of her presence. Though nearly half a mile from the row of houses along the river the child felt as much at home as if she had been in the little sitting-room of her father's cottage.

            As she was thus seated a tall, stoop-shouldered old man with a long, bushy gray beard suddenly appeared before her. He was a man she remembered to have seen a few times at a distance, but to whom she had never spoken. Not in the least surprised or alarmed, she raised her eyes from her work and calmly said:

            "Hello, sir!"

            The old man, who had been standing with a hand upon his brow, muttering to himself, seemed not to have observed the child before she thus greeted him, so closely was she tucked in against the rock beside the trunk of the big cedar. At the sound of her voice he started violently, dropped his hand and stared at her with starting eves, his face expressive of mingled surprise and displeasure.

            The tall, big-bearded old man was one who was mining at Barton's Bar when little "Tum Tum" was born, but this was the first time she had ever spoken to him or been so near to him, and until that moment he was probably ignorant of the existence of such a child.

            Old Ben Huber—"Ben Surly," as he was called by the miners of the camp—had been working on the bar almost from the time of its discovery. He was a man without "chick or child," lived alone and was very uncommunicative and unsociable. He had a tunnel that was run under the flat back of where his cabin stood, and in this he always worked alone. While some said that old Ben Surly might have a "good thing" in his drift claim, the general opinion was that he was poor, as he seldom sold any "dust," wore only the roughest and cheapest of clothes, and his cabin door—like most of those on the bar in the early days— half the time stood ajar, and often might have been seen wide open. Nobody in the camp gave more than a passing thought to Old Man Huber, or "Uber," as they generally pronounced his name, when they gave him any other than that of ''Ben Surly," and he seemed as much as possible to shun the society of his kind.

            After musingly and amazedly staring at the wild-looking little creature before him for some moments, as if wondering whether she were human or some kind of sprite that had its dwelling in the big rock, the old man turned to depart. He had hardly done so, however, before the child called alter him in a half-abused, half-coaxing tone, "Don't be afraid of me!"

            Halting, facing about and smiling in a more kindly way than any one on the bar had ever before seen him smile, Ben Surly said: "Afraid of you, child! No, not afraid, but astonished. But are you not afraid to be out alone so far up the big mountain?"

            "No," said the child. "I go everywhere and am never afraid."

            "But you don't often come here?" said the old man, eying the little one sharply.

            "Oh, yes, I do," cried the child. "I come to this very spot, and the birds come into the tree and sing to me, and the little squirrels play and chirp for me on the rock."

            "What is your name, little one?" asked the old man, beginning to regard the child with some degree of interest.

            "My mother calls me 'Tomboy' but all the other folks call me 'Tum Tum.'"

            "Well, 'Tum Tum,' where do you live?" asked old Ben, smiling.

            "Up the river at the next bend, in the little house by the spring."

            "Ah, yes. Then I know your father—John Dale." And Ben Surly muttered half to himself, "An honest man—an honest man, I believe. Well, child, here is something for you." And the old man threw at the little girl's feet a big bright silver dollar, and then walked away.

            "Oh, oh! I didn't say 'thank you,' sir!" cried the child, regretfully, she had picked up and examined the coin.

            Then she ran round the corner of the great rock, and tossing back her hair looked wistfully after old Ben Surly.  As the tall, bent, old miner passed slowly down over the plateau toward the river the little yellow-haired girl ran dodging from rock to rock above at the edge of the descent, keeping him in view. Stooping low and moving as nimbly as a mountain squirrel, she watched old Ben till she had seen him enter his cabin. Then she seated herself under a bush and began arranging anew the flowers she carried in her apron, glancing from time to time at the old man's cabin until she had seen him leave it and enter his tunnel.

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CHAPTER III.

"SURLY BEN" SURPRISED.

            That evening when old Ben entered his cabin to prepare his supper he saw on his table in an old fruit-can a neatly arranged bouquet of wildflowers.

            "Bless me!" cried he in astonishment, as with widely opened eyes he gazed at the unwonted sight. "Wonderful ! What is the meaning of it? Hum. ha—is it the trick of some would-be joker?"

            Old Ben stood staring and scowling at the flowers for a time in great perplexity, then light seemed suddenly to come to his mind and a smile lighted up his face.

            "That child must have done this," said he.

            "Yes, it is the work of the little one that calls herself 'Tum Tum.' She was playing with flowers."

            The old man took up the flowers, inhaled their fragrance, then replaced them and sighed deeply as he sat down on a stool and covered his face with his hands. Suddenly he started up and muttered: "Hum, ha—perhaps a trick." Then he glanced suspiciously on all sides of the cabin, looked up toward the loft, and even peeped under his bed, as if suspecting that some hidden joker might be watching his movements. Satisfied that no one was secreted about the place, he said:

            "Yes, it must have been the little girl."

            Several times while preparing his frugal meal old Ben paused in his work and glanced at the flowers, the first that had ever been seen in his cabin, and finally said :           "Well! well! and she calls herself 'Tum Tum!' That's the Chinook for heart. After all there's some sense in the name, for the child evidently has a big heart, and a good one. It's queer, though, that she should have been seated just in that spot by the old cedar. She says she often goes there. I wonder if she has ever watched— ? No; it was merely a strange chance," said the old man as he checked himself and peered about his cabin. "It's a warm, sunny spot."

            When ready to place his supper on the table old Ben tenderly took up the flowers and placed them in the only window the cabin boasted, muttering as he did so:

            'Tum Tum,' heart—yes, a heart of gold!"

            Several times while seated at his supper the old man glanced at the flowers in the window, and once, after a long-drawn sigh, said :

            "The little one has the same eyes and the same golden hair."

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CHAPTER IV.

"TUM TUM" SURPRISED.

            After that evening—so often during the summer that it ceased to be a matter of surprise and became, indeed, a thing that he looked for and expected—old Ben Huber found on his table fresh bouquets, though he never saw the little "wild girl," as he called her, about his cabin. After the first evening he found the flowers in a pretty little vase, on observing which he cried out "Astonishing!" Then fell back a pace or two to admire the wonder.

            Though old Ben never saw the child about his place, so watchful and cunning was she, he sometimes met her on the trail that led up along the river to the two or three stores, and other places of business that the camp contained, and he never failed to say, with the best smile he I could command:

            "Ah, my little wild one, how are you today?"

            On one such occasion the child said:

            "They all call me 'Tum Tum.' what do they call you ?"

            "Well," said the old man, "they call me—well, suppose you call me Uncle Ben?"

            "Uncle Ben," said the child. "Oh, I shall remember that!" and thenceforward the man known to others as "Ben Surly" and "Surly Ben," was to her "Uncle Ben."

            When, however, the- old man asked about the flowers, the child archly said :

            "Why, it must have been some good fairy, Uncle Ben."

            "I believe so, indeed !"said Uncle Ben.

            When Christmas came that year a large and beautiful doll, in bridal array, with very many pretty and useful things, all packed in a handsome box addressed, "For Little Tum Tum," in some strange manner found its way to the cottage of John Dale.

            Both the father and the mother wondered where the box came from, as some of the articles it contained were very costly; but the child cried out at once:

            "Oh, I know! It's from my good Uncle Ben!"

            "Her good Uncle Ben!" exclaimed the mother. "Who is this Uncle Ben? I do declare, John, the child knows all kinds of people. She is getting to be too old to run wild as she does ! Whom do you call Uncle Ben, you great tomboy?'

            "Why, he's the old man that lives away down the river and works in a tunnel back of his little house. All the men call him 'Surly Ben'—I've heard them do it," said the child, "but he's not one bit cross!"

            ""What strange notions the child gets into her head !"said Mrs. Dale to her husband. "Old Ben 'Uber would be the last man on the bar to make her or any one else such a present. I guess he has enough to do to keep himself in bacon and beans !"

            "Poor enough, I believe," said John Dale, "but not a bad old fellow, except that he leads a sort of hermit life and seems to be a good deal soured against the whole human race. However, he may have met with some great disappointment in his younger days."

            "I suppose you mean to say that he may have been crossed in love," said Mrs. Dale, "but I don't believe the man was ever in love with any one but himself!"

            "Very well, mother, cook him up to suit yourself," said John Dale, and taking up his hat he struck out for his diggings.

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CHAPTER V.

A VOICE FROM THE DEPTHS.

            That winter Uncle Ben seldom saw the little girl; but once, soon after Christmas, he found a huge slice of nice cake on his table, and again he cried "Astonishing!" In the spring, however, the bouquets again began to appear, much to the old man's delight. He began to believe that after all he was really fond of flowers.

            One day the little girl was stealing out of the old man's cabin, after having deposited a fresh bouquet, when a voice calling out, "Hello! help! help!" caused her to halt. "Where does that queer cry come from, I wonder?" said the child, and she stood and listened. Again she heard a faint and seemingly far-away cry of— "Help!"

            She looked up and down the river and up the hill above the cabin, but could see no one. While she was running about and wondering where the voice came from, it again reached her ears.

            "Why, it must be Uncle Ben, and he's in his tunnel?" and she flew to the mouth of the tunnel, but a few yards distant, and listened.

            "Help!" came a cry, in a voice she recognized as that of Uncle Ben.

            "Yes, Uncle Ben; lam here! I'm coming!" cried she. "Wait till I get a candle," and into the cabin she ran for a candle and matches.

            Lighting her candle just within the mouth of the tunnel she swiftly advanced into the long, dark drift. She had not proceeded very far, however, before the well-known voice of Uncle Ben was heard, as he cried out in surprise: "Why, is that you, little one? Bless you, my child! Why, I have but to cry out and my good fairy instantly appears."

            "Oh, Uncle Ben, you're lying on the ground!" cried the girl. "What is the matter?"

            "Don't be alarmed, child; it is nothing. I hurt my leg so that I could not walk. I crawled out this far, and, getting tired, I set up a cry to bring some one to help me to my cabin. But how came you here, child? I thought my voice might reach some one passing along the trail, but never dreamed of your hearing the call. Where were you, little one?"

            "Well, Uncle Ben, you see I'd just been into your house and left the flowers—"

            "Ah? Then, at last you acknowledge that you are the good fairy that brings the flowers? But I knew it, child—I knew it, all the time. And now you come to find and help Uncle Ben when he can no longer help himself. You are, indeed, my good guardian fairy!"

            "But—oh, Uncle Ben! what can I do to help you? Can I carry you out to the cabin ? Can you walk if you lean on me!"

            "No, child, no. Go and tell your father where I am, and tell him that I am afraid my leg is broken. But don't let that, frighten you, little one, and don't run too fast. I shall be very comfortable here until your father comes. A broken leg is nothing— nothing at all. It will be well in a week."

            Little "Tum Tum" darted out of the tunnel and flew, rather than ran, along the trail up the river. She called to every one she met or saw to go to the assistance of "Uncle Ben."

            ""Who?" asked nearly every person. 'Surly Ben,' you call him, cried she, as she ran. "But he is good, and he is hurt in his tunnel. Run to him!"

            Lighting a candle, she dashed into her father's mine, and soon he and his partners were out and hastening down the river.

            The miners who hurried to old Ben's assistance soon had him out of the tunnel and laid upon the cot in the cabin, when one was sent for the nearest doctor. in a few words the injured man explained to the miners about him—all now full of sympathy and kindness— that a blast which he had placed in a large bowlder had exploded prematurely, hurling a large, jagged fragment against his right thigh and hip. For a time he had lain stunned and unconscious, but on recovering his senses he had crawled out along the tunnel as far as he had strength to move, for pain and loss of blood had made him very weak.

            The physician found the old man's thigh and hip so badly shattered and lacerated that he at once pronounced the case hopeless. He declared that it would be worse than useless to subject the injured man to the pain and shock that would be attendant upon the amputation of the shattered limb. In a manner as considerate as possible the doctor told the old man that he could live but four or five days at most, and that he would do well to arrange his worldly affairs without, delay.

            That evening little "Tum Tum" and her father visited the old man, for he had said to John Dale: "I want to have her here in my poor cabin at least once before I die."

            The face of the sufferer brightened and he seemed to forget his pain as soon as the child appeared before him.

            At first the little girl wept for her old friend, but he soon succeeded in comforting and reassuring her. He was not content till she was seated on a chair beside his cat, where he could hold her hand in his while he talked. He then joked with her about the way in which she had played the "good fairy" by stealing into his cabin with her floral offerings, and became as merry as though he had been unhurt and in the best of health. When visited by a pang so severe that he could not control his features he turned his face aside from the child till it had passed.

            The next day little "Tum Tum" appeared early at Uncle Ben's cabin with a fresh bouquet and remained prattling at his bedside for several hours. During most of this time the old miner who was in attendance in the capacity of nurse — old Zeke Bundy —remained out in front of the cabin, marching up and down the trail, and occasionally taking his pipe out of his mouth to mutter some passing thought. After shaking his head for some time the old fellow broke out with: "Never seed the beat on't! Old Ben Surly's got a heart into him arter all. He couldn't think more o' that wild, gallopin' young un if he was her mother. As for her, he's her 'Uncle Ben'—her 'dear Uncle Ben!' How did she ever find him out? Must be a case of two cranks— the wolf and the wild gurl!"

            To a miner of the bar, who came down the trail and proposed to go into the cabin and see old Ben, the patrolling nurse curtly said: "Hold on! you can't go in there now. Old Ben's fixin' to pass in his chips. John Dale's little gurl—the wild un—'s at his bedside. He "giv' me a hint that he had somethin' particular to say to her—good advices, I s'pose— before he dies. Pore old Ben! His time's sot. He's got ter go. Too bad; too bad. Jist as his heart was beginnin' to mellerl" And the old fellow struck a match and relighted his pipe.

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CHAPTER VI.

SURLY BEN MAKES A WILL.

            The following day a lawyer, who had been sent for by old Ben to draw up his will, arrived from Sonora, the nearest large town. John Dale and two or three of his neighbors were present by request as his witnesses. Little Tum Tum was at the bedside of the old man when the lawyer arrived, for she had come early with a bouquet gathered while the dew was still on the flowers.

            When it was noised about Barton's Bar that old "Ben Surly" had sent to Sonora for a lawyer and was "goin' to make a reg'lar out-and-out will," the tongues of the men and women of that place found occupation.

            "What has the old fellow got to will away, anyhow?" said one.

            "Nothing," answered a man of the bar, "nothing but his mine, and I guess that'll never make anybody very rich."

            "It may be," said some, "that the old man has a little sack of dust stuck away in some crack of his cabin or some chink in his tunnel." As the lawyer, seated at the one table of the cabin, progressed in his work of filling out the will, he presently asked for the names of the legatees.

            "There is but one name to be mentioned," said old Ben. "That is Ellen Dale, the daughter of John Dale, here present, and known to all in this place as little 'Tum tum.'"

            On hearing these words, John Dale and his neighbors looked at one another in surprise. When the lawyer asked about the property to be disposed of old Ben said :

            "Well, as to the mine, that is already arranged. I have made a bill of sale of it to John Dale, but you may put down that to Ellen Dale, his daughter, I give $20,000."

            "What!" cried the lawyer, dropping his pen, turning about in his seat and facing the old man. "Twenty thousand dollars, did you say?"

            "That was what I said," calmly replied the old man. Then taking a folded paper from under his pillow, he gave it to little Ellen Dale, saying: "Here, child, hand that to the gentleman. You see there, posted up,'' said he, addressing the lawyer, "just even 1250 ounces of gold, which, at $16 an ounce, makes exactly $20,000; but, as our Barton's Bar dust generally a little overruns $16, I think you had better set down to her 1250 ounces of gold."

            The lawyer complied, then said:

            "But, my friend, where is this gold? Where are we to look for it?"

            "The child knows where it is," said old Ben. "She'll find it."

            This announcement created a profound sensation among those present, as may be imagined, and no one was more astonished than John Dale.

            "Do you know where all this gold is?" said the lawyer, turning to the little girl.

            "Yes, sir; I can find it," said the child quietly.

            "Are you quite sure you can find it?" asked the lawyer, not very well satisfied that he was to have no chance to finger the gold.

            "Yes, sir," answered the child.

            "She will find it at the proper time," said old Ben. "There will be no trouble about that, for she knows as well as I do myself where it is."

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CHAPTER VII.

JOHN DALE SURPRISED.

            After the name of John Dale as sole executor had been written in by the lawyer, with the usual legal and technical flourishes, the will was signed by the old man.

            "What!" cried John Dale, when the will was read over at the request of one of the witnesses. "What is that? Benjamin Huber Herbert?"

            "It is the name given by the man himself." said the lawyer.

            "It is my name in full and my true name," said the old man. "Of course, I've gone by shorter names and by nicknames here on the Pacific Coast, but that doesn't matter now."

            "Are you Benjamin Huber Herbert, formerly of Quincy, Ill.?" cried John Dale excitedly.

            "I once lived there," calmly answered the old man.

            "And you married Ellen Tracy, who was killed by Jack Pratt, a discarded suitor, on the day of your marriage," cried John Dale, arising and advancing to the cot, "and you fled after killing—"

            "Hush, John Dale!" cried the old man. "How came you to know that one dark spot in my life?"

            "How came I to know it? Why, my wife is the youngest sister of that unfortunate Ellen Tracy; and that child at your bedside bears her name!"

            "This is wonderful—wonderful!" cried the old man. "And I living here all these years in ignorance of what I would have given worlds to have known ! Ah! Ellen, Nellie, my child, after all, I am really your Uncle Ben! Child, those eyes of yours always haunted me!"

            Then, partly rising on his couch and turning to the father, the old man said :

            "As for that other matter, John Dale, it was in fair fight! The murderer did not deserve it; but, on my deathbed, I say he was given an equal chance, and it was a fair fight— though there were no witnesses to it but the old trees of the forest in which I found him. But let no more now be said of that."

            "Although I never saw you in that country, and was not then a member of the Tracy family, I believe you, Ben Herbert," said John Dale, "'and at a proper time I shall explain all to those now present, and also to others who should know about it. I do not blame you. Ben Herbert —I should have done the same."

            "John Dale, it was done in the heat of my wrath and thirst for vengeance. I have keenly suffered for taking the law into my own hands—suffer still—but I was right. I did not fly through fear of the law. A sudden half-mad feeling of abhorrence of all my kind came upon me. I had taken my revenge, and was satisfied as far as possible in that respect. I could not endure, however, the thought of the great trouble being brought up and the whole story of it being gone over in the long drag of the usual legal proceedings. What then was the world to me—its ways and its laws? All I desired was to be alone with my great sorrow. The mines and the mountain wilds of California offered me a safe retreat, and I came to them. For heaven's sake let no more now be said! Ellen, my child, run out and see how high the sun is—no, stay! Never mind the sun, my dear."

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CHAPTER VIII.

LITTLE NELL LEADS THE WAY TO HER LEGACY.

            That evening Ben Herbert was carried on a stretcher to the cottage of John Dale, where two days later he breathed his last. His last hours were made comfortable, and he died clasping the hand of the child he had loved so well, and whom during the last day of his life he constantly called "Nellie." At his request his grave was made in a beautiful spot in a little lap of land on a bench overlooking the river. There he was laid, alone in death as in life.

            After the funeral, Mrs. Dale spoke to the child about the gold. Could she remember where it was? "It is not yet three days," said the sobbing little one; "he told me to go there three days after—after he was buried."

            At the end of three days she said she was ready to show the way to the gold, but not a word would she say in regard to its whereabouts.

            "I am to go to it, and my father is to go with me," is all she would say.

            As the little girl led the way her father and the two friends that were with him, carrying picks, shovels and sacks, were surprised to see her suddenly leave the river trail and strike up to the high plateau above. They had expected to see her keep down the trail toward the old man's cabin.

            Straight across the plateau she went, keeping some yards in advance of her father and his companions. So far she led them from the direction in which they wished to go that the faces of the two assistants began to look very blank; but the countenance of John Dale remained serene. Presently the child disappeared behind an immense block of granite. When her father and friends reached the rock they found the child seated on the ground, tucked in against the granite mass, beside the trunk of an old cedar.

            "Well, is this the place?" asked the father.

            Arising, the girl said: "Dig just where I was sitting."

            The men set to work at the spot indicated. At a depth of about two feet they came upon a large, neatly squared slab of slate.

            "Here we have it!" cried the man who was wielding the shovel.

            Sure enough, there it was stowed away in several tin cans and glass pickle-jars of various sizes, as was seen on lifting the slab.

            A square hole had been cut in the firm rock which lay a foot beneath the soil, and in this had been deposited the gold.

            "No mistake about this. John Dale," said one of the men, as he began opening and handing out the cans and jars. "It's all good, clean, Barton's Bar dust."

            "It is, indeed !'' said John Dale, looking not at the dust, but gazing with glistening eyes upon the bright face of his little daughter. "It is, indeed !"

            "How did you know the place, child?" asked one of the men.

            "It was there the first time I ever spoke to Uncle Ben. I was sitting right on top of it—just as you saw me a bit ago—weaving some flowers, when Uncle Ben came round the corner of the rock. When he saw me he was so astonished that he almost dropped, so I looked up at him and said, 'Hello, sir:' When he got hurt he told me the gold was there."

*   *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

            Last spring I revisited Barton's Bar. I found many changes that saddened me, but I was clad to see that Uncle Ben's grave was beautifully kept. About it were fine evergreens and other trees, with rose bushes and a great variety of flowering plants and shrubs. Surrounding the grave and taking in almost a quarter of an acre of ground was an iron fence, and there was a fountain, supplied with water from a big spring above, with apparatus for irrigating the garden-like plat.

            As I stood by the iron fence old Zeke Bundy came up. He had a bad limp and looked much older than when I left the bar. As soon as I had made myself known to him he was at ease and his tongue was loosened.

            "Want to know about little 'Tum Tum,' eh? She's little 'Tum Tum' no more. She's a grand lady now. For nigh onto ten years she visited and tended this grave almost every day in summer. Then a Gov'ment survey come along and stopped at the bar—a whole pacel of these yere fellers what triangerlates with trioglodites, triggernometers, jiggernometers, and sichlike three-legged insterments.

            "Well, itwur a case o' love at fust sight, if ever there was one—no doubt on't. Less'n a year the young engineer feller came back to the bar. Ther' was a stavin' big weddin', then away they went to the triggernometer feller's town back East to set up housekeepin'.

            "Does she ever come back? Oh, yes; 'Tum tum' comes back. Almost every year they come to California, and allers comes here to stay a while with Father Dale. Her triggernometer husband ain't a bad feller. When he's here he's allers out hammerin' rocks. He found a quartz mine a piece above here that's tumble rich— jist tumble! He's got a nephew up thare now runnin' his mine.

            "Father Dale? Well, I think he's kinder peterin'— gittin' a little sorter ricketty. Ain't keepin' up like me. He don't purtend to work no more. That claim he got of old Ben was awful, awful rich. I do acterly believe Dale got 'bout a million out on't—and he hain't got it hid in no hole in the ground; it's all in some San Francisco bank.

            "Grave neatly kept? Bet yer life! I keep it myself—and it keeps me. Not a blessed thing else do I do but tend it. 'Tum Tum' puts up for my whole livin' and keepin' just to have me tend her Uncle Ben's grave. Even now, when she's got half a dozen beautiful young uns of her own, she's just the same 'bout the grave.

            "What's her husband's name? Why, it is Professor ——,"and old Zeke gave the name of a geologist and scientist who is known throughout America and Europe.

DAN DE QUILLE.