Custer weekly chronicle. [volume] (Custer City, S.D.) 1890-1931, 1890-06-14
to his call, and, in advance Of the tand, tao

to his call, aid, in advance Of the land, $ o
woIHe presented themselves.
They were both f~mjes-both bad stream
lng locks OF tangled hair, which were hide
ously suggestive of Medusa's snaky ~tresses;
bit one OF the furics was young, and would
have been handsome II her face had not
been smsared and spltt red with blood, and
blackened by gunpowder. She wore the
costume or q 0ibdndtere, and bad once been
smart; but the gold-laco on her jacket hun
IN shreds, the blue cloth was stained viii
hood n mirc, She carried a gun, whlcl
In her exhaustioit she handed TO Scrizier,
signing 10 him 10 reload it for her. She had
hardly breath enough left for speech.
1.-THE priests" she mnrmured hoarsely, as
Ser. zler gave her back the loaded gun; ''are
they to be fnlshed-at once?'
"At once" he answered .'there Is no time
for ceremony with those scoundreis. TIey
have had their day, and have made fools Of
you all long enough, with their mummerles
-men, women, and children"
They have never fooled me-" answered
the woman II am a Voltairian."
"Ah, &c bon Voltaire; If he had lasted till
our time we should have shown him some
pretty ~farces," said Serizier, turning away
from her to give his orders.
While he ranged his men along the avenue
and talked apart with Bobeche the gaoler.
the woman In the ptUdndiere dress stood
leaning on her gun, looking along the road,
through dim smoke-c'ouds and dust and fire.
1t was four o'clock In the warm May aft
ernoon-May on the edge Of June. The
western horizon of Paris was hidden behind
the smoke of iheendiafy fires; the ground
trembled with the force of the cannonade.
The woman wiped the sweat and mire from
her face with the sleeve Of her jacket, and
looked across the scene OF ruin and desola-
ton with fiery eyes,. She looked yonder to-
wards the towers Of Notre Dame, towards
the Quail des Augustines, and the labyrinth
of little streets behind those old roofs.
Not much chance of welded bliss for
those two now" she said 10 herself. Their
honeymoon was short; but her misery shall
be long. She and her sister are shut in
their lodgings, expecting 10 be burnt alive
every hour and he Is in prison-what prison,
1 wonder?'
The woman was Suzon Michel, and the
man Of whom she was thinking as she stood
at ease by her guli. waiting 70 do her part,
as a strong-minded woman and a patriot, in
the slaughter of the priests, was CASTOR
Mortemar.
Since his arrest she had been able to learn
nothing about him. She had been told by
her friends the CommuHards that he had
been arrested on account Of something he
had written in his paper. More than this
they would not or could not tellher. There
were SO many prisons In Paris, all teeming
with life, like beehives; there were such in
Vulnerable arrests. People hardly cared to
inquire why their neighbors were carried of,
or whittier. Human feelings, friendship,
brotherly love were apt to become deadened
in that pandemonium.
Since the week Of fighting and fires began,
Suzon bad been In the thick Of all the strife,
She had carried her can of petroleum as
brayely rs any OF those bearded rufians
who pretended 10 make lightof her services.
She had helped in the fires, she had helped
In the carnage, like the very spirit of evil.
1t was not arson, it was not murder. 1t was
only justice, an eye for an eye.
They are killing our brothers and friends
yonder," said the assassins, as they shot
down new victims.
Mercy at such a time would be cowardice.
Only a craven would hold his hand when
there was such a grand chance of avenging
the wrongs of nobody In particular.
tn Do contfnusd1