1890 A s h la n d , Wis., March 10.—

A tall old man passed through here with the body of his younger brother, who had been brutally and mysteriously murdered in a Northern Wisconsin lumber camp. As the old man sat on the coffin in the baggage car he told the story. The name on the box was “ Henry Guelph, Lanark County.” The dead man was but twenty years old.

Contrary to his mother’s wishes he had wandered off, and the first word received from him was sent by the postmaster at Bay City, Mich., who wrote that a young man had been shot down from behind one night sixty miles north of there. The only means of identification was a letter from the young man’s mother, written some two months before his death.

The brother took the first train, and on getting up in Northern Michigan found that the only way to reach the lumbering camp was by walking sixty miles through the timber. There was two feet of snow on the ground, the way practically pathless, and most of the time a fierce storm was in progress. A t the end of the third day he reached the lumber camp and found his brother’s remains were frozen.

“We thought they could hang to the body a week or two, so some of his friends would come,” explained one of the men. “We ain’t certain, but we have our suspicions as to who did the shooting, and we think there were a purty young Chippewa Squaw mixed up on it.” More than that the brother could not learn, he secured an ox team and got the body to a railway station, and took it home to be buried beside his father.