u know--I'm so damned skeptic!"

Last spring, according to the Boise, Idaho, papers, "Governor" Balderson
and two other old soldiers celebrated Memorial Day in Roosevelt. They
got a muslin flag as big as the flap of a shirt, from heaven knows
where, and in the streets of Roosevelt they hoisted this flag on the
highest pine pole in all the Salmon River Mountains. There were
elaborate ceremonies, and to the miners and gamblers and keepers of
wildcat mines in the mountains assembled, "Governor" Balderson told
eloquently of the Battle of Look Out Mountain. And Colonel Morrison who
read the account smiled appreciatively and pointed out to us the exact
stage in the proceedings where Balderson demanded to know who carried
the flag. There was long and tumultuous applause at the climax.

We also read in the Boise papers that at the fall election in Roosevelt
they made Balderson justice of the peace, which, as Colonel Morrison
explained, was a purely honorary office in a community where every man
is his own court and constable and jury and judge; but the Colonel said
that Balderson was proud of official distinction, and probably levied
mild tribute from the people who indulged in riotous living, by
compelling them to buy drink-checks redeemable only at his department
store.

It was from the Boise papers that we had the final word from Balderson.
A message came to Roosevelt this spring that an outfit, thirty miles
away at the head of Profile Creek, was sick and starving. It was a
dangerous trip to the rescue, for snowslides were booming on every
southern hillside. Death would literally play tag with the man who dared
to hit the trail for Profile. Balderson did not hesitate a moment, but
filled his pack with provisions, put a marked deck and some loaded dice
in his pocket, and waved Roosevelt a cheery good-by as he struck out
over the three logs that bridge Mule Creek. He was bundled to the chin
in warm coats, and on his way met Hot Foot Higgins coming in from
Profile. Balderson seems to have given Higgins his warmest coat before
the snow-slide hit them. It killed them both. Hot Foot died instantly,
but Balderson must have lived many hours, for the snow about his body
was melted and in his pocket they found Hot Foot's watch.

They buried him near the trail where they found him, and, stuck in a
candle-box, over the heap of stones above him, flutters lonesomely in
the desolation of the mountain-side the little muslin rag that was