Dodge City times. [volume] (Dodge City, Kan.) 1876-1892, 1878-03-23

hooking moon that CLEANS out now and
then, lodging viciously after this gray
old ghost Of woman fitting below
There is white object there ahead oil
her-something tall and queer, with 8
round white head The vagrant swerve:
minute out of her way, surveying il
furtivcly. Then she puts forth hel
claw-like hand and clutches greedily
Rebecca's sweet, dainty loaf
Aha! what good providence is here
All! can it be that Fate should come,
for once in a way, with sweetness and
luxury in her hand for an old pauper,
and night and darkness to devonr it in
Bewildered with pleasure, old Betsey
hugs the dainty under her faded shawl.
There is crash then, as if the heav-
ems were falling; a shout that curdles
her thieyish blood; a rough hand is laid
upon her with vise-like grasp. Law and
justice seem to have come down bodily
upon the marauder; but it is only old
Ware, who has been watching from his
window. His hand is raised to strike
the thief-the thief with vagrant and
vagabond written all over her; in her
vulpine eyes, her long blue nose, her
skinny, claw-like hand. The woman
shriIsks back, covering, against the gate
post, with wheezy cough; the old
shawl falls away from her face. Out
comes the moon, and sails along with a
sinister ray pointing right down on the
shiyering, crouching figure and on the
countenance that tor one instant up
turns toward the assailant
"My Cod" cries Timothy. And
that is all. His hand fails at his side,
he turns and walks back to the house,
leaving the wretch to her plumber.
The wretch is mere animal, after all
"a hunted animal, it is true, with all
the greed and cunning of such. She
make her way somewhere with her prize
1t doesn't much matter where. But
there comes up storm at midnight, a
binding, blOod-chilling storm, that
might make the veriest tramp thankful
for shelter. Old Ware, sitting notion
less in his upper chamber, hears the
rafters shake overhead. He listens:
perhaps he is afraid the old house will
come down over his head. The wind
raves and shrieks about window and
doorway. He gets up by-and-by, and
lifting the dripping sash, looks out into
the road. He sees nothing; no boys
will rob his melon patch tonight, and
no beggar come whining to his gate
Affair of, where the road circles toward
the south land, old Betsey has crawled
into the shelter of a way-side barn. No,
there is nothing to be seen anywhere
about. Timothy shuts the window with
a shudder, and crawls to bed.
A week after this, Eebeeca, sweet and
tintless as a snow-drop, stops at the
gate once more.
"Old Betsey, my poor old vagrant,
left us last night, neighbour" she says.
90 The blankets and pillows thee sent
were very great charity, but she need
eth our charity no mOre.''
"No more?" repeated old Ware, va
cantly.
"She died last night,n answers Re-
becca, and her lip trembles little.
There is no reply. Rebecca does not
break the long, long pause. She is used
to the old mans moods. Finally, she
sets her face TO the road again it is get
ting late.
Rebecca," says the old man, abrupt
ly, placing his bOny hand upon hers,
+" Rebecca, you-you needn't put her in
Potter's Field. She mightn't rest easy,
you know
81 have no such superstitions,
FRIEND" said Rebecca, smiling sweetly.
" 1t can make very little difference to
her now where she rests, poor nameless
wanderer."
''She had name once" said Tim
Othy, standing erect, with a strange
flush on his face. "A bright and beau
tiful woman once was my wife, Eliza
zeth Ware"
A long and weary winter has passed;
a summer has frightened and faded:
the autumn twilight is settling softly on
bloom and barrenness. as old Ware