The Washington critic., 1889-01-09

shawl or suthn,' a dodgin' shots from
one of them cutthroats revolver.
81 know that woman now. I'd oughter
knowod her afore," yels Oily, black in \
the face. "One hundred dollars to the
man that prevents her reachln' Pine
Gulch afore / dop'
Ell II want Bateses wife. who was it2
Mebbe $. Simpsons, an he wouldn't bc
no loss. THAT mares mine, an il she's
hurt there Il bc trouble. We amt 6ghtin
wmmen in these mountains, Mister
Weeks" says /.
He growcd white as DEATH never takin'
no heed of me. see him give n twenty
five dollar roll to Ben White Gest outer
Larlmie pen), an promise him seventy
five of he kept tho mare from gittin' TO
the Gulch. The next knowed, Ben rid by
on that deep chested gray of his, that
can't be beat fur endurance in the
Rockies. He's got a stiddy, mind-his-
own-business gallop that gifts there. My
sorrel's all fire an nerve, but I'd bet on
the gray. Oily an one of the gang set
out arter 'em, an l hired broncho an
follerd.
Wild Wal. / guess The road was
hid under the cluse-packed, frozen snow.
Big slices of it he'd washed away, boulders
he'd rolled down, an arter mile it was
down grade an steep.
''lf your horse is injured l will pay for
him, says Oily, as | rid up alongside,
You will, with your carcasc," says.
That made ill-fcelin', an he spoke no
more. Once in while shot would
ring out an so laundering down the
ca mons, Gurus mufled an dead in the
snow, an come back like ghost; but
the sorrel want harmed, an as we cir
cled down the zigzag trail, as funny a
merry-go-round as you ever sec, | could
look down on her far below. an' see that
devil rider of her'n knowed her business
--scttin' low in the saddle, an hanGn'
on IA mans saddle. too). | see, though,
the gray was steady gainin' an the odds
bein' so agin her raised my ugly, 30 L
started that onery brute he'd. He was
| think, Injun pony, fur the mint l
yelled he give a jump an sent real
estate miles behind him, as it were
Yellin' like Comanche parsed the
two an begun gainin' on the gray.
When l neared him an see puff of
smoke comm from Ben's hand, an
heerd report, riz up an let him have
three shots from my old bulldog, an
then was neck an neck with the gray,
my pony gettin new speed by the
fightin', for that probably was his biz
ness. Ben was tryin' to get drop on
me, an me on him, an we was jest
tlyin'. l lated, Gurus like, inward.
"Ef it should be one of them red-hcadcd
wives of Bateses," thought.
Fur down, like child's toy. see the
camp, an black spot that might be the
gang, bettin' on the most startlin' hoss
race they ever set eyes on; but the Injun
pony got winded an was. shet out, an
the bettin' was on the sorrel an gray,
with the gray the favorite. Sudden the
woods hid the camp, an lyin' before us
was shinin' stretch of level road, an
there we three met, Oily, that rough an
me, an went on fur behind. / see the
gray close up on the sorrel, an my mare
with shiver go down on her knees, an
her rider lie in the road like dead. Then
quick, as if he riz outer the earth. see
big man reach the gray's head, Ben
White 90 rollin' over in the snow, an the
gray with flynn bride and rein an empty
saddle runnin' wild down the trail. 1
know'd that stride an that big feller, an
marveled what sent hoodoo jest
where he was most wanted, but reckon d
he'd seen the race from below an had
come up to be in at the finish.
"There's James Wade," says to Oily,
Gin the nick of time." But Oily, with
| queer look, turned his horse, an him
| an the rough went back. an I've never
seen Weeks pa sence, fur all he was 80
entertainin'.
'"What DEVILS work is this?" Chey-
enue says, liftin' the woman. l see my
mare was gittin' up on her knees. an
patted her as / dismounted. The gal
opened her big, black eyes, an harm.
sum creetur she was even there, pale an
hurt. One arm sorter hung queer as
Cheyenne raised her.
"Cheyenne-don't- 't-sell- minel"
she cries, an faints dead away.
"My Godv" he groanod; "its Hatty."
tain as tender as she were baby, an
laid her in Marm's bed, an Doc. come
to see If she was bad hurt, as she were,
havin' her arm broke, which he done
up, she never givin' groan, only settin'
her teeth hard. In the mornin' she was
as clipper as could be; told us when
Cheyenne was agin her teachin' Injuns
see larnt typewritin', an was wurkin in
Weeks office, where she heerd him tell
his partner S. Simpson he'd been in Col
Grader all Summer lookin' fur mine
| Che bein' chock full of the science of
fndin' 'em, though not many minin' en-
gineers is millionaires, queer ernuff),
an he'd discovered Cheyenne, an that he
was tunnelin' inter O mountin' when
right under his feet was rs rich ore
as S. Simpson ever he'd seen; an that
he'd sell out fur five hundred dollars,
bein' down on his luck, while tile mine
might be worth millions.
Oily wouldn't trust S. Simpson with
the five hundred, but come out to buy
the mine himself. Hatty couldn't send
word, there bein' no telegraph to the
Gulch, an had to come to outwit him,
which she done, accordin' to my story
above, fur S. Simpson departed sudden,
an we never see no more of him.
"I was raised on farm" says Hatty,
with a giggle (she amt over that at alb,
"an' could ride. The broncho was a
devil to go, Cap'n. But how mean l was
to think you were in with Weeks to cheat
Cheyenne"
"Arter them hints give ye in the
barn p says sorrerful.
"Well, was half crazy with cold an
hunger, wadin' those crils, an hadn't nc
food sence | left Denver, where my
money gave out; just ernuif to git tc
Leadville."
"All that fur me-" says Cheyenne
hiding his face in his folded arms on the
table, Il amt worth it, an l was so
mean about those"
"Teachin Injuns ?" she giggles. 81
learnt type-writin' instead an saved
your fortune, for they said the mine is
rich.
That eyenin' I see Marin with a lockel