Fayetteville observer. [volume] (Fayetteville, Tenn.) 1850-1966, 1879-10-23


as Joe kneeled down and kiss
ed her. With seal of forgive
ness, with the pressure of his
Hips half returned, she sank back
dead.
Through the service of the
simple burial the following day
Joe stood with uncovered head.
but his bronzcd and immovabIe
features betrayed no emotion,
nor vouchsafed any clew to the
mystery that inshrouded the
Icoflined outcast and himself.
The evening of the funeral
the Wolf called on me at my
lrooms. Seating himself with
out preface, he said:
GAS a man of sense an no
coward, yer kin look at a brave
mans agony in the right way.
The past I've hidden for twen-
ty years, fur / amt the kind to
carry my heart on my sleeve fur
DAVIS to peck at. But thar's a
feeling as though I'd choke if ]
didn't talk to some one. The
woman buried to-day war my
vile: Here's some letters the
wimin folks found on her an
give to me. Yer look them O.
yer while I chin, fur Pm slow
on the read. We war married
in the States when she was l6
an ! just come of age. A bit
after | got the gold fever and
went to Californy. In a couple
of years / made quite a pile, an
went home for her. She war
changed, am it warn't long be-
fore / heard the stories, an
found the truth that she had
gone wrong. He war fine
haired chap who had come into
town while / war away. / war
a likely young feller then, but
the blow turned me into devil.
/ went fur him, but he heard
of it an slid out fur Californy.
l follered, an fur twenty years
I've bin hunting him all over
this coast. a voice of hell has
urged me on, an I've killed
men that the taste of blood
might keep fierce my hope of
revenge. I've never found him.
During these years I've heard
about her once in while, an
how she war drinking and go
ing to the dogs. I'd allus
meant to see her when I'd set
tied with him. His name war
Bill Armstrong"
The letters taken from the
dead woman, which / had been
looking over, were mostly an.
swers to inquiries regarding the
whereabouts Of her husband.
An unfinished letter Of her own
to some friend in the East, and
dated a few days previous to
her death, showed that to this
poor, lost creature, with the
grasp of death upon her, there
had come back the glory of her
first and only pure love, and the
unconquerable desire to die at
his feet, freed from the burden
Of his curse. Strangely enough
another letter gave information
of Bill Armstrong, and stated
that he was living near Boise
City, Idaho. These two / read
to the desperate man who sat be-
fore ne, his burning eyes gleam-
ing with pain, and his lips mute
with anguish. When / ceased,
he grasped m y hand with,
"Thank yer, stranger" and left
the room. / watched him
mount his horse and ride out
into the black night. The Wolf
was again on the trail.
The circumstances | have re-
lated were wildly recalled 10
my miud during my present Wis
it TO Battle mountain by casual
ly overhearing an account of a
fatal shooting affair between
Bill Armstrong, a mining spec
ulator, and Joe the WoH, at
Boise City, in 1878. The de-
tails of the rencounter | give in
the words of the narrator, who
was an eye witness:
tsJoe met Armstrong on the
street, and, with the single ex-
clamation, Il am Aggic's hus-
bandi' pulled and fired. From
some unacconntable reason he
missed. Armstrong returned
the fire, shooting Joe plump
through the heart. He fell on
one knee, aud, for a second,
swayed like a reed before the
storm. Grand in his physical
strength, in the power of his
hate, he recovered himself. As
from his ashen lips rang out the
old cry, It's fourteen inches be-
tween my eyes, and ] smell like
a wolff he fired, killing Arm
strong instantly, and fell upon
his face, dead"
Thoughtfully, to-day, ] sought
the potier's-f field, aud stood be-
fore the rude pine head-board
which bore the name of her