, 1883-10-13

may mean an ambush-a race for life
capture and torture.
"Yi! vi! yiw
The level-seeming prairie is broker
two miles away by a dry ravint
deeper than a mans height. T i,
curves and bends and leads on fOul
miles. S,rambling out of its depths
and each one sounding his war,
whoop as he mounts his, pony, are
a score Of Indians.
For twO'days the hunter has swept
the horizon in vain. He was alone
on the great ocean. Night had beer
tranquil and full Of sound sleep.
Here, now, rising like spectres from
the earth before him, is a band Of
blOod-thirsty demons raving for his
life. The sight stuns him for a few
seconds. Then, with a growl Of cha.
grin and defiance, he filings the sad,
die upon his horse, picks up his rifle
and while yet the Indians are a mile
and half away, he mounts and
heads for the east.
A race for life has begun.
The hunters horse strikes into a
long, steady gallop, which would
keep him along side of train of cars.
There is chorus Of yells from the
redskins as they make the first rush.
Then the silence of the prairie is brok-
en- only by the thud! thud! Of horses
feet. The very silence is Ominous,
and speaks Of a determination to run
the victim down.
. Steady, now ! The hunters horse
devours mile after mile of the green
prairie, now at the crest Of a swell
now almost hidden in a dip-now for
an instant out of sight of those who
follow. They gain a little. The
hunter plans that they shall. Every
yard they gain requires an extra
speed that will take ten minutes of
the race after high noon. At 10
o'clock they have gained half mile.
Then the pace is even, and neither
loses or gains.
There is something terribly grim
in following a man to his death. Not
a shout-not a call-nOt a riflc-shOt.
Thud! thud thud! over level and
ridge and always to the east. The
sun mounts higher and higher, and
now and then the hunter glances
back with faint hope that the pur-
suit has been abandoned. No! He
might as well expect a wolf to quit
the pursuit of a wounded deer leav-
ing its life-blOod to stain the grass at
every rod.
1t is high noon.
The pursuit began over sixty miles
away, but the breeze brings to the
hunters ears that same mOnotOny OF
hoof-beats, and he glances back to
see the same dark line strung out at
his heels. 1t has become a question
Of endurance. If he can tire them
out he will escape. lie shuts his
teeth anew, reaches forward to caress
his horse
He is down! A burrow caught a
foot as the horse speed onward and
man and animal roll to the ground.
The race is finished. The poor beast
whinnies an apology for his fall as he
founders about with a broken leg,
and the exultant shouts Of the red
skins hardly reach the hunters ears
before he is down along side the
crippled horse and his rife aimed at
the approaching foe.
1t is another bright, peaceful day.
Here are the same pure air, the same
blue sky, the same panorama Of grass
and flowers and dimly outlined
mountains.
A band Of hunters are crossing the
prairie at a steady gallop, instead of
single man riding for his life. A
vulture rises up with a hoarse scream
"A second-a third, and the odor of
decay reaches the nostrils Of riders
and horses. The band halts, rides to
the left, and presently all look down
upon sight which tells It's own
story. The swollen carcass Of a horse,
the scalped and disfigured body Of a
hunter - trampled grass spots of
blood-broken arrows-the earth up
torn by hOofs.
One with stOuter heart than the
rest dismOunts and picks up a dozen
flattened bullets and a score Of ar
rows. The he circles round the spot
and gathers up the empty shells
thrown out by the hunters Win
chester. Bullets, arrows and shells
are deposited in heap by the corpse,
and the man points out One-three-
five-seven spots on the prairie
where the trampled grass and stains
of blood show the fall of horse or
man. Then in a voice in which sOr-
row and pride were mingled he
whispers
"PoOr Tom But he died game 2"
Detroit Free Press.
Captain John Ericsson.