Iron County register. [volume] (Ironton, Iron County, Mo.) 1867-1965, 1885-05-07

eyes, he surely saw something movA
Frenchman or Englishman, he might
still take some part in the battle by
saving life, to make up for having
taken none.
So thither he led his horse, as gently
as before. And if he had been Mortified
before, it was as nothing to his horror
now.
He saw a woman, veritable woman,
of the sex whom he had loved only too
well, crawling about on her hands and
knees among the cOrpses and-robbing
them.
Nor was the ghoul hideous hag,
such as might be supposed. She was a
strapping Spanish peasant, comely
enough in a coarse way. She had not
seen him approach; she was far too
deeply engaged. Where do these vult-
ures hide in peace? For peace can
never give them anything foul enough
to do.
Woman though she was, Dick was
sorely tempted to startle her from her
work with the butt of his carbine. But
even that was not enough to express
his loathing.
.sYou she-devilr' he cried.
She started and turned round. And
he saw that she carried long knife,
with a redeemed blade. He guessed
now why the field was without groan.
Il search for my son, said she.
"Your son! If you want him, you
must 90 to the mountains, where the
wolves are, unless there's a pack of you
here. / can't stay; but l can't 90 and
leave more murder, maybe, behind.
I've seen enough death; but there must
be one more. To think that all my
share in to-day's work is to shoot down
a she-wolf! But
..Bahr' said the woman, sullenly.
I'm only taking back my own"
"Your own?'
Eyes; from the French brigands.
Is a woman to be robbed, and not get
back her own?'
THAT is no Frenchman, poor devil!
That's an Englishman-"
Bah! what odds, red coat or blue?
And what are YOU here for yourself,
Portuguese vermin? That is nay corpse;
90 elsewhere, and leave me alone.
There's room for us all here, the saints
be praised"
He was so taken aback by such a
charge that he could find, on the in
slant, neither deed nor word. He
looked from her to the corpse she was
hanging over; a fine young man, with
a quiet, set face, and closed eyes, bare
headed, in red coat faced with blue,
his left hand on his heart, his right
under his head, and his broken musket
by his side.
The vrlture so evidently took an I'M
wounded Portuguese, out there by the
moonlight, for a bird of her own
feather, that she paid no further heed
to him. She pulled the young soldiers
hand away from his breast, and felt the
fingers. But even she started. From
the frightened lips came the faintest of
means as his fingers were clutched by
her claws. Nay. Dick could have
sworn the man struggled to rise.
And the vulture must have thought
so, too. Up went the hand that held
the knife, and poised over the heart;
down came Dick S carbine upon her
wrist, and sent the knife flying towards
the moon. She yelled loud enough to
wake the dead. as they say; certainly
to scare Dick Blackthorn, though he had
heard many a woman scream.
But it was a mans hand that clutched
his throat; man with another knife,
who had sprung up from among the
heap of slain.
dog OF a Portuguese" he screamed.
"Leave the woman alone. This corpse
is hers!'
Not Dicks carbine, but Dicks fist,
went into the scoundrefs face, between
the eyes. He dropped like stone.
No Portuguese could have gwen that
blow. The woman turned to run; but
Dick, catching her by the arm he mi ght
or might not have broken-not all his
chivalry could care whipped off his
belt and bound both wrists behind her
as tightly as there was need. I'm
hanged if can disgrace an honest bull
let on you," said he; "but now rob the
dead and kill the dying if you can. And
don't, the next time you come across an
Englishman in Portuguese coat, think
he's Portuguese, you Spanish devil.
There! if you can get out of that strap,
I'm done by woman again. No; not
by a woman, though. You're no more
a woman than that hound there is a
man.
He bent over the soldier whom he
had been just in time to save, if saved
he still were. Oh, for a thimble-
full of brandy, or even of Castilian
wine! The man was alive; though but
just alive. And yet what could be
done? 1t was strange, but he seemed
to know the face; but then the nj oon-
light plays queer tricks with features,
and the uniform was that which he
himself had worn for few days in the
course of his rolling. 1t must have
been some brother recruit, who had
been more faithful to the Kings shilling
than he. Well, was it not better after
all, to ole like this, like an English
soldier, than to live to be taken for a
Portuguese ghoul?
He saw something glittering in the
moonlight in the young soldier breast.
1t was ring that the vulture had torn
off Just before the carbine struck it and
the knife out of her hand-a plain gold
ring, with no ornament but the pOSy
round it,
'sLoce 1ciA find oat the aOay-"
That, too, struck familiar chord.
Dick had heard his own sister Patience
sing it in a song a hundred times. Poor
Young fellow! it was a wedding. ring.
too. No doubt some love or marriage
token, though on a mans hand. A
dead wife's, perhaps. Poor fellow. any
way! Dick replaced it on the finger
tenderly, almost reverently, and-yes,
surely, the pulse throbbed as flesh
touched gold. NO." swore Dick;
chang me if l can leave him there. He
might have been a comrade-ay; might
have been-might have been. That's
the way of the world. And love find
out that way? Love, indeed! Love be
-hangedr'
With hard work enough, Dick, ignor-
inp tho y1,Iture who sat Sullenly among