The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1879-11-06
Seating himself. without preface he

said:
'As man of sense and no coward
yer kin look at brave mans agon
in the right way. The past I've hid
den for twenty years, fur 1 amt th
kind to carry my heart on my sleev
fur davis to peck at. But there's
feeling as though I'd choke if didn
talk to some one. The woman burie,
to-day war my wife. Here's som
letters the wimin folks found on he
and give to me. Yer look them owe
while l chin, fur Pm slow on the read
We war married in the States whei
she war sixteen an just come of age
A bit after it got the gold fever ant
went to Californy. In couple o
years l made quite a pile, an wen
home fur her. She war changed, and
1t warn't long before l heard the
stories, and found the truth, that she
had gone wrong. He war fine haired
chap who had come into town while
war away. 1 war likely young fel.
Ter then, but the blow turned me into
q devil. went fur him, but he heard
Of it and slid out fur Californy. 1 fol-
Tered, and fur twenty years I've been
hunting him all over this coast. A
voice of hell has urged me on, and I've
killed men that the taste of blood
might keep fierce my hope tor re.
venge. I've never found him. Dur.
ing these years I've heard about her
once in while, aud how she war
drinking and going to the dogs. 1 al.
lus meant to see her when I'd settled
with him. His name was Bill Arm
strong
The letters taken from the dead wo-
man which 1 had been locking oyer,
were mostly answers to inquiries re-
garding the whereabouts of her hus-
band. An unfinished letter of her
own to some friend in the East, and
dated few days previous to her death
showed that to this poor, lost creature.
with the grasp of death upon her,
there had come back to her 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, mother let
tar gave information of Bill Arm
strong, and stated that he was living
near Boise City, in Idaho. These two
l read to the desperate man who sat
before me, his burning eyes cleaning
with pain and his lips mute with an
guish. When l ceased he grasped my
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 l have related
were Yividly recalled to my mind
during my present visit to Battle
Mountain by casually oyerhearing an
account of fatal shooting affray be.
tween Bill Armstrong, a mining spec
llator, and Joe, The Wolf, of Boise
City, in 1878. The details of the en-
counter l give in the words of the
narrator, who was an eyewitness.
'JOe met Armstrong on the street,
and with a single exclamation, Pm
Aggie's husbandv pulled and fired.
From some unaccountable reason he
missed. Armstrong returned the fire
Joe plump through the heart.
He fell on one knee, and for second
'wayed like reed before the storm.
Grand in his physical strength, in the
,ower of his hate, he recovered him
elf. As from his ashcn lips rang out
he old cry, 'Its fourteen inches be
ween my eyes, and smell like
volfP he fired, killing Armstrong in.
family, and ho fell on his face dead.
ThOughtfully, to-day, 1 sought the
,aupers' field and stood before the
ude pine headboard which bore the
lame of her who had destroyed three
ives. 1t was almost hidden by clumps |
# sage.brush, which, unsightly and
'allid green, were fitting growths of
ground.
The old story of shame and sorrow,
ommon in all the epochs of the world
o the grains of sand that drifted over
Ier lonely, uncared-for grave. Yet
arely Is the recompense for sin so
erribly meted ont as in the tragic end |
nd wayward, bitter hyes of Joe and
Aggie Garland.