The Press., 1883-11-01
THE SKELETONS STORY.

THE SKELETONS STORY.
 Ride closer
 l.. It is two miles ahead to the foothills two miles of parched turf and rocky space. To the right-the left-behind, is the roll ing prairie. This broad valley strikes the Sierra Nevadas and stops as if wall had been built across it.
 What is it on the grass A skull here -a rib there-bones scattered about as the wild beasts left them after the horrible feast. The clean-plcked skull grins and stares-every bone and scattered lock of hair has it's story of tragedy And what besides these relics? More bones-not scattered, but lying in heaps-a vertebre with ribs attached-a feshless skull bleach ing under the summer sun. Wolves Yes. Count the heaps of bones and you will find nearly score. Open boas are pick ed up at sea with neither life nor sign to betray their secret. Skeletons are found upon the prairie, but they tell plain story to those who halt beside them Let us listen
 Away off to the right you can see tree tops. Away off to the left you can see the same sight. The skeleton is in line be- tween the two points. He left one grove to ride to the other. To ride Certainly mile away is the skeleton of horse or ;. If he left the grove at noon he would have been within mile of this spot at dusk. It IS, therefore, plain that he did not leave until mid-afternoon, or possibly at dusk. Signs of Indians may have driven him from his trapping ground, or mayhap he had exhausted the game and was shifting to new fields.
 It is months since that ride, and the trail has been obliterated. Were it other wise, and you took it up from the spot where the skeleton horse now lies, you would find the last three or four miles made at tremendous pace.
 ''Step step step!'
 What is it? Darkness has gathered over mountain and prairie as the hunter jogs along over the broken ground. Over head the countless stars look down upon him-around him is the pail of night. There was the batter of footsteps on the dry grass. He. halts and peers around him, but the darkness is too deep for him to discover any cause for alarm.
 "Patter batter batter 7!
 There 1t is again It is not fifty yards from where he last halted. The steps are too light for those of an Indian. A grizzly would rush upon its victim with roar of defiance and anger. A panther would hurl himself through thirty feet of space with a scream to unnerve the hardest hunter.
 Evolves P whispers the hunter, as a howl suddenly breaks upon his ear.
 Wolves The gaunt, grizzly wolves of the t-hills-thin, and poor, and hungry, and savage-the legs tireless-the mouth full of teeth which can crack the shoulder bone of buffalo. He can see their dark forms fitting from point to point-the of proves that he is surrounded
 Now the race begins. There is no shel- ter until the grove is reached. Instinct guides the horse, and terror lashes him with such 8 whip, as human hand never yielded. Over space, through the gloom, almost as swift as an arrow sent by strong hand, but a dark line follows. A line of wolves spreads out to the right and left, and gallops after-tongues out-eyes fash ing-great flakes of foam flying back to blotch stone and grass and leave trail to be followed by the cowardly coyotes.
 Men ride thus only when life is the stake. A horse puts forth such speed only when terror follows close behind and causes every nerve to tighten like wire drawn until the scratch of finger makes it chord with vail of despair. A pigeon could not skim this valley with such swift ness, and yet the wings of fate are broad, and long and tireless The line is there aye! it is gaining Inch by inch it creeps up, and the It d eye takes on more savage gleam as the hunter cries out to his horse and opens fire from his revolvers. A wolf Ills on the right-a second on the left Does the wind cease blowing because it meets forest? The fall of one man in a mad mob simply increases the determina- tlon of the rest.
 With 8 cry so full of the despair that wells up from the heart of the strong man when he gives up his struggle for life that the hunter almost believes companion rides beside him, the horse staggers-re- coyers-plunges forward--falls to the earth. It was glorious struggle, but he has lost.
 The wings of the dark line obique to the center-there is 8 confused heap of .snarling, fighting, maddened beasts, and the line rushes forward again. Saddle, bridle and blankets are in shreds--the horse skeleton. And now the chase is after the hunter. He has half mile the start, and as he runs the veins stand out, the muscles tighten, and he wonders at his own speed. Behind him are the gaunt bodies and the tireless legs Closer, closer, and now he is going to face fate as brave man should. He has halted. In an in- stant circle is formed about him-a circle of red eyes, foaming mouths and yellow fangs which are to meet in his flesh.
 There is an interval-a breathing spell. He looks up at the stars-out upon the night. It is his last hour, but there is no quaking-no crying out to the night to send him aid. As the wolves rest flash blinds their eyes-a seconds third-and 8 fourth, and they give way before the man they had looked upon as their certain prey. But it is only for a moment. He ing his remaining bullets among them he seizes his long rife by the barrel and braces to meet the shock. Even a savage would have admired the heroic fight he made for life. He sounds the war-cry and