Claiborne guardian. [volume] (Homer, La.) 1877-188?, 1879-12-31
HAS that ar woman gonei"


time. A great change came over
his face; the hard burrows of dissi
patton and crime were transformed
to the pitiable lines of sorrow. Not
noticing the dram proffered by the
bar.keeper, he FASTENED to the hotel
and made bis way 10 the bedside of
the dying woman. Abruptly he
questioned:
"Was yer follering himSn
me, Joe; / wss hunting him."
"Snrer
80 help me God.r
The poor, white face, scared and
deep scanned by excuses and sin,
grew radiant with gladness as Joe
kneeled down and kissed her.
With seal Of forgiveness, with
the pressure of his lips but half re.
turned, she sank back dead.
Through the service at the sim.
pie burial the following day, Joe
stood with uncovered head, but his
bronBed and immovable features
betrayed 10 emotion, nor vouch.
safed any clew to the mystery that
enshrouded the coffined Outcast and
himself.
The evening OF the funeral the
Wolf called on me at my room.
Seating himself, without preface,
he said:
"As man of sense an no COW.
ard, yer can look at q brave mans
agony in the right way. The past
I've hidden for twenty years, fur I
amt the kind to carry my heart on
my sleeve fur DAVIS to pick at. But
thars feeling as though I'd choke
il | didn't talk TO some one. The
woman buried to-day war my wife.
Here's some letters the wimin folks
found on her aud give to me. Yer
look them over while chin, fur I'm
slow on the read. We war married
in the States, when abe war sixteen
an just come of age. A bit after
it l got the gold fever an went to
CalitOrny. In a couple of years l
made quite pile, and went home
fur her. She war changed, an 1t
warn't long before ! heard the stor.
les, an found the truth, that she
had gone wrong. He war a fine.
haired chap, who had come into
town while | war away. war
likely Young Teller then, but the
blow turued me into q devil. l
went fur him, but he heard of it
an Slid out for Californy. follered
him, 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 of
revenge. I've never found him.
During these years I've heard of
her once in while, an how she war
drinking and going to the dogs.
I'd allus meant to see her when I'd
settled with him. His name war
Bill Armstrong;
The letters taken from the dead
which l had been locking
over, were mostly answers to in.
quiries regarding the whereabouts
Of her husband. An unfinished
letter of her own to some friend in
the East, and dated a few days pre-.
viOus 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 bis
feet, freed from the burden Of his
curse. Strangely enough, another
letter gave information of Bill Arm.
strong, and stated that he was liv.
ing near Boise City, iD Idaho.
These two l read to the desperate
man who sat before me, his burning
Eyes cleaning with pain and his
lips mute with anguish. When ]
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 I have related
were wildly recalled to my mind
during my present visit to Battle |
Mountain, by casually overhearing
an account Of Q fatal shooting AT.
fair between Bill Armstrong, a min.
ing Spectator, and Joe. the Wolf,
1t Boise City, in 1873. The details
Of the rencontre, l give In the
words Of the narrator, who was an
EYE witness:
"JOe met Armstrong on the
street, and with the single exclama.
ION I'm A 1U;as. hueh., odr crY,ol