The Kimball graphic. (Kimball, Brule County, Dakota [S.D.]) 1883-1905, 1890-06-13
10 his call, a,d, in advance of the band, two

10 his call, afd, i'll advance of the land, two
women presented themselves.
They were both fulieS-both had stream
ing locks of tangled hair, which were hide
oNsly suggestive of Medusa's snaky t~resses;
hut one of the furies was young and would
iave been handsome if her face had not
been smear2d and spattered with blood, and
h'ackened by gunpowder. She wore the
costume of a UtCrT,dicrc, and had once been
smart; but the gold-lace on her jacket hui ?
- shreds, the blue cloth was stained wild.
hood and mirc. She carried a gun, which,
III her exhaustion, she handed to Seriziel,
signing to him to reload it for her. She had
hardly breath enough left for speech.
The priests" she murmured hoarseiy, as
Ser,zler gave her back the loaded gun; ARE
they to be tinished-at oncem
A once" he answered: there is no time
for ceremony with those s%coundreis. T,iey
have had their day, and have made fools of
You all long enough, with their mummeries
men, women. and children"
They have never fooled me-" answered
the woman; 81 am a Noltairian."
"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 rangedhiS men along the avenue
and talked apart with Bobeche the gaoler,
the woman in the piuandiere dress stood
leaning on her gun, looking along the road,
through dim smokc-clouds and dust andfire
1t was four o'clock in the warm May aft
crnoon-May On the edge of June. The
western horizon of Paris vas hidden behind
the smoke of incendiary fires; the ground
tremhled 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 Quai des Augustines, and the labyrinth
of little streets behind those old roofs.
Not much chance of welded bliss for
those two now" she said to herself. Their
honeymoon was short; but her misery shall
be long. She and her sister are shut in
their lodgings. expecting to be burnt alive
every hour; and he sin prison-what prison,
l wonder?H
The woman was Suzon Michel, and tho
man of whom she was thinking as she stood
at ease by her gun, waiting to do her part,
as a strong-minded wonan and a patriot, IN
the slaughter of the priests, was Castor
Mortemar.
oilCe his arrest size nau Deen aDle 10 learn
nothing about him. She had been told by
her friends the Communards that he had
been arrested on accoun 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,
b~ro.herly love were apt to becometeadened
i'll that pandemonium.
Since the week of lighting and fires began,
Suzon had been in the thick of all the strife.
She had carried her can of petroleum as
bravely as any of those bearded ~ruf1ians
who pretended to make lightcf 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 q time would be cowardicc.
Only a craven would hold his hand when
there was such a grand chance of ayenging
the wrongs of nobody in particular.
To b C6ntinMed1