Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1888-11-21

slipped from him, and lies q few Yards
away. His antagonist is, apparently. a
man of unusual strength, for his utmost
efforts are powerless to throw off that
vice-like grip. So he falls back with a
gasp that sounds so like death groan
that Silas, having been SO long out of
the business, forgets the feints which
have SO often been tried on him before.
and In his great greed to secure the gold !,
releases his victim and turns his best
energies to the unstrapping of the lat
ter's belt.
His fingers are about to close eagerly
upon the coveted treasure when Joe
suddenly rises like huge misty shad-
ow beside, and taking him up as if he
were child carr led him forward to the
end of the pass aud pitched him into a
gentle stream that flows TRANQUILITY
through the valley.
"He'll not be the worse for bath, y
says Joe as he fastens his belt around
him and goes down the path to the
bank.
Through the dim light he sees form
lying quite still among the weeds by the
riverside.
"Can't the poor devil swim, I won
der, or is he lying quiet for the next fell
low?"
So saying he strikes match which
throws lurid glare upon the scene, and
discloses a deep cash in the robber's
head, caused by the sharp rock on
which he fell.
Joe draws him from the water and
lays him on his coat, while he chafes his
hands-which are so cold !! and feels for
the pulses-which are so still
dead, guess" mutters Joe without
much pity, for he cannot forget how
nearly he had lost the savings of years.
"I'll just take a good look at him before
[ CO."
He lights another match, and this time
holds it close to the dead mans face.
1t burns out. In feverish haste he
strikes another-what he could not be-
long, low cry of agony he throws him
self across his fathers breast.
The hours pass, and still Joe lies there
in dull stupor.
Morning dawns, and troop Of horse
men come galloping through the valley.
They halt beside Joe, and the leader
dismounts and pulls the young fellow
up roughly.
Murder, eh ?'' he says laconically.
Joe stares at him moment in dull,
dazed way, then throws himself on the
ground with wild, hopeless cry which
the majority of the horsemen regard in
the nature of a confession, and are for
hanging him then and there
"Better scheme m that, boys Well
string him up to tn Black Eagle, since
he's killed him as owned it," cries the
leader with sense of poetical Justice
which is rare in those wild parts.
So the body of old Silas is borne ten
derly along by his former patrons, and
Joe, with moose around his neck, fol-
lows the heels Of the leaders horse.
Confused as are his sensations and
ideas Joe knows he is going to his
death. He feels strange pain in his
breast, his breath comes in short gasps,
he cannot use the words his thoughts
are framing O, if he could only utter
one word-could deny-could explain
reason with those sullen-b proved horse
men But no. His parched lips will
not open, his energies are powerless to
enforce by even a gesture an Interrupt
ton of this scene.
And they are grouped at last around
the tavern, and the ropes end is flung
over the neck Of the huge bird Of prev
that hangs above the doorway-and still
Joe's lips are dumb He raises his
poor, dim eyes piteously to the faces of
those grim, silent men who close in
around him, but he reads only stern
determination in their steadfast gaze.
The morning is dark and cloudy, and
a mist is rising from the valley, but
never before has his old home appeared
in more favorable colors to joe
To him it is invested with the charm
which memory gives. Oni its old, gabled
roof the sunlight of the past is shining;
over its worn threshold handsome lad
steps lightly.
He does not know that the door has
been opened, and his sisters loving
arms are wound around his neck. He
feels her kisses on his cheek, but to him
they are like soft winds from other
chimes.
He does not hear the explanations
the sobs-the hastily uttered regrets of
the grim horsemen, nor does he know
that they have laid him tenderly on the
grass with his head on Helen's breast.
He is only conscious of a sense of per-
feet rest and happiness, such as he had
never felt before. A gentle languor
steals softly over him and wraps him in
a sweet though death-like embrace. A
smile comes on his pale face and he
murmurs:
How beautiful the sunset is ;" and
then he falls asleep.
And in the doorway young Willoughby
is standing, sobbing as if his heart
would break.