155 AT THE PAINTED WOODS. 
W.H.H. Mercer, the senior member, and successor 
to the old Baker regime— had his ups and downs like 
the rest of the first comers of the Upper Missouri Valley. 
A three years soldier with Hancock’s famous fighting 
brigade of the Potomac army; a member of the first 
board of Burleigh county (N. D.)commissioners away 
back in 1873; a county given his name, and owning 
the first wheat farm beyond the experimental stage on 
the Missouri Slope. With all of this enumeration his 
woodyard experience covered twenty long years. 
Out in a moonlit night under the shadow of the dark 
sides of Prophet’s Mountain—unattended save by a 
faithful horse—Mercer had laid down on a bed of buf- 
falo tufts—being suddenly taken by a mysterious mal- 
ady, and conscious of his helplessness—peering out 
among the stars ere his spirit soared out in the pathless 
expanse before him. That his ghost had meandered in 
its flight—his only daughter testifies. Sixty miles away 
with a girl companion, she was startled from a feverish 
sleep—and looking about—screamed to her companion: 
‘‘Look at that man sitting in the chair.’’ 
But her companion could see nothing but a vacant 
seat. 
‘«Why, don’t you see him—see him right there.’’ 
The next morning word was received of her father’s 
death. 
