The weekly Union times. [volume] (Union C.H., South Carolina) 1871-1894, 1883-07-13

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persisted in his abuse, aud had followed
McCa5e to the door of the latter's room iu
a mepacing manner, when McLabe turned
on him and gave him terrible blow on the
nose with his fist, which knocked him to
the foor. Syberg arose bleeding and
rushed out of the room. In a few minutes he
returned with pistol in his hand. McCabe
saw him coming, however, and Jumping
into his room slammed the door and got
behind it, so as to keep Syborg out.
Syberg gave the door a couple of shoves,
and finding that he could not make il yield
he drew back, aimed his pistol at the door,
and deliberately fred five shots through it.
He then ran to the entrance of the depot,
and stopped to see what had been the effect
Of his shots. In second McCahe opened
the door of his room and staggered out,
bleeding profusely from wounds in his
abdomen-eacb Of the five shots having
taken effect. In his hand he held cooked
revolver.
Boys" he sasped, "1'm shot; III be
dead man inside of five minutes, but Pm
going to kill the man who shot me-
Syberg seemed to fully comprehend the
situation then for the first time, and he
started from the door out into tho open air.
McCabe caught sight of him as no went
out the door, and apparently endowed with
superhuman strength Ne started on a run
after his fleeing assailant. He ran about
five hundred feet swiftly, and was within
ten yards of the fleeing man, when he pull
ed up short, took deliberate aim and fired
The ball struck Syberg in the back of the
head and came out of his mouth, breaking
his jawbone. The moment he was struck
Syberg staggered forward and fell bleeding
to the ground. McCabo rushed to him,
grab bed him by the hair, turned him face
up, and then, with the glaring CLASSY eye
balls of the dying man gazing into his own
pale face, on which the seal of death had
already set, he placed the muzzle of his
pistol against the marble forehead and blew
the whole top of Syberg's head off. Then
pointing the pistol to the breast of his fall
len, and by this time dead assailant, he
fired the remaining thre, charges of his
pistol into the body. The last shot had
been fired-McCal C stood for one momen,
upon the horrible scenc-ts terrible reality
appeared to fill his mind for the moment
he started back-hs useless weapon fell
from his hand-his senses reelcd-hc stag
gered few steps--the death mist gathered
over his eyes-he rceled and then, just us ,he
Mortified spectators came rushing to the
scene, he fell, and to the friend who knclt
by his side, he whispered in his dying
breath: "I'm sorry, Jim, for this--l
didn't-want to do it-I didn't want to kill
him-I -P-the gasps grew greater
the whispered words were hard to catch
Il couldn't help it, Jim-'twas he shot me,
and had to do it telegraph to the folks at
home, Jim-it's hard to die this way, Jim,
and I'm very sorry it happened y and the
whisper, low though it was, ceascd-the
head Tell back-the CLASSY eyes took on the
cold fixed stare of death-the avcnger had
followed his poor insane assailant ON his
journey over the mysterious river into the
dark in'pcnetrable beyond,
Mr.. Syberg, when sober, was deemed one
of the best-natured fellows on tn, road
kind, civil, obliging in every way and
thoroughly competent, he was everywhere
esteemed. He was originally from Little
Rock, Ark, where his father, who is civil
engineer, now resides.
Mr. McCabe was at one time resident
of Pennsylvania, but prior to coming to
Mexico he lived in a town near Rochester,
N. Y. He was sober, industrious young
man, and was much esteemed.