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Updated: June 23, 2025
The claim was in sight of Nome, and as Folsom finished his last day's labor he heard bells ringing and whistles blowing and discovered that the town was ablaze. He hurried in to find that an entire block in the business center of the city had been destroyed and with it Guth's little store, including all its contents. He found the Jew in tears. "What a misfortune!" wailed the merchant.
Folsom had told of the large sum he had loaned Burleigh and the conditions attached, and between them a dispatch, concisely setting forth their suspicions, was sent the General at Cheyenne, with orders to "rush," as they were determined if possible to head off the fugitive at that point.
"Have you any idea, colonel," he began the moment the officers reached him, "where Major Burleigh can be? He left the depot somewhere about three o'clock this morning with that Captain Newhall. He hasn't returned and can't be found. Your sergeant-major was waylaid and robbed some time after midnight, and John Folsom was picked up senseless in the alley back of his house two hours ago.
Folsom, as quartermaster, had a sort of scow with a large sail, with which to discharge the cargoes of ships, that could not come within a mile of the shore.
Robert, who met him now as a neighbor for the first time, tried to talk with him, but failed, and turned himself gladly to Mrs. Folsom, who delighted him with her vigorous phrases. "Oh, we're a-movin', though you wouldn't think it. This town is filled with a lot of old skinflints. Close ain't no name for 'em. Jest ask Folsom thar about 'em. He's been buildin' their houses for 'em.
Attracted by the scream and the sound of scuffle, a man came hurrying toward them from the front. "Halt! Who are you?" challenged Folsom, covering him with his revolver. "Don't shoot. I'm Ned Lannion just in from the ranch. Have you heard anything of Hal, sir?" "Of Hal?" gasped Folsom, dropping his pistol in dismay. "In God's name, what's wrong?" "God only knows, sir. Mrs. Hal's nigh crazy.
"Ugly, of course they are; got some imaginary grievances and talk big about the warpath. Why, what show would those fellows have with their old squirrel rifles and gas-pipe Springfields against our new breech-loaders? They know it as well as we do. It's all a bluff, Mrs. Folsom. You mark my words," said he, and really the boy believed it.
You never told me his name. It ain't it ain't " "Yes, it is, Cap," interrupted Wade. "It's the old boy that spoiled your handsome mug long ago." "Hell-Bent Wade!" gasped Folsom, in terrible accents. He shook all over. An ashen paleness crept into his face. Instinctively his right hand jerked toward his gun; then, as in his former motion, froze in the very act. "Careful, Cap!" warned Wade.
The members of this committee were Francis Dana, General Reed, Nathaniel Folsom, Charles Carroll, and Governeur Morris. On their arrival at Valley Forge Washington submitted to them a memoir, filling fifty folio pages, exhibiting the existing state of the army, the deficiencies and disorders, and their causes, and suggesting such reforms as he deemed necessary.
Folsom, who had been heaving at the handle-bars all the way up the Dexter Creek hill, halted his dogs at the crest and dropped upon the sled, only too glad of a breathing spell. His forehead was wet with sweat; when it began to freeze in his eyebrows he removed his mittens and wiped away the drops, then watched them congeal upon his fingers.
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