The morning call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1878-1895, 1891-02-01
GEMS In VERSE.
Written for THE SUNDAY CALL.
"LITTLE KIT"

TEMPERANCE sToRY.s
sgt was an autumn evening,
Cold, but the red sun sinking
IL Behind the spectral mountains on the desert
of Idaho
Frightened the dreary landscape
AS a blazing log Will color
The faces of those who watch 1t with its mean
descent glow.
It wasn't much of a village,
Only some scattered houses,
Blackened by age and the tempests Of the desolate
sage-brush land.
The people were such as live
In the sterile crossword country,
As rough and rude that region, with Its rugged
mountains grand.
In front of 1.-The Ark saloon"
Facing that gorgeous sunset.
Sat group of miners and hunters, slaves to the
curse OF drink,
Beside them, with hair as black
AS the lava blocks stood meekly,
With tears her long dark lashes child, but she
did not shrink.
Hardy she was, but so poor
Was the wretched garb that clothed her
That she shivered and shook when the wind gusts
played with her ragged gown.
ave come for you, pap" said she.
Laying her thin hand gently
On the knee OF burly hunter, ito bring you away
from town"
She stood there awhile unnoiced.
For fierce dispute wasing
As to whether big Ike" her father. was marks
man of worth or
The red sun sinking behind
The SHOWS of the Triple Peaks"
Which rose Ike cathedral spires, made the tears in
her brown eyes glow.
"Here's Kit, boys" cried Ike at last.
And he looked at the small child fondly;
"I'll leave 1t to Kit as to who is the best to
shoulder gun.
Who's the best man you know on, Kit
Speak Kit" but the girl said sadly:
" Nam wants you TO come home uow,' and she
looked toward the setting sun.
81 hear you, and pap VIII come.
But who's the best shot you knows on ?"
Pap" was the ready answer. And who never
misses his game ?"
Pap, came the meek reply.
land whose little Kit be you now?"
Pap'si but come home now, come" Poor child!
she could not reclaim.
While the drunken group looked on
AT the child with stupid gaze.
Ike spoke with a Boosting voice: " FL show ye what
can do"
Then he to his holster went
And forth with a look of triumph,
As poor little Kit stood trembling his revolvers
drew.
"Now wont we, my Kit ?" he said
Seeing the child stood silent.
Wont WEI" The black curls shook yes" but
twas of fear.
Exit knows her Old pap she does,
And since none OF them chaps believes
Well show them what we can do, Kit; yes, all of
them fellows here"
Ike took from the Ieathern bag,
That was tucked in his belt for safety,
Two coins. and held them up, laughins-they were
pieces OF yellow gold.
NOW Kit. little 'un, take them.
Take both OF them sinners this way,
Walk N
straight-like, hold"
And so little Kit went out
And stood In the dust Ot the roadway.
golden coin clutched tight in each little
burnt hand.
Hoist up the sinners, sO
And be you ready. Kit?
Stand straight-like, my gal, stand straight" came
the fathers proud command.
Above her tangled tresses
The coins thar she held flashed brightly;
Not a tremor she made Ike leveIed his pistols to
take his aim.
Then flushed with drunkards bravadO,
He cried. As he pulled the triggers,
You'll See!" And out OF the barrels poured forth
the two sheets OF flame
The smoke from the weapons turned red,
Then cleared in the crimson sunset
But, oh, what sight they saw The child OF the
marksman lay
Dead in the black lava dust,
Her little white face uplifted.
Somewhere meath the long, thick ringets, bullet
had powed Its way.
Look, Ike, you've killed that chiidr'
Gasped OF the men, In terror,
As he reeled to the spot, where little Kit lying
50 still and white
The marEsman's pistols dropped.
Ashen and wan his features
Grew, he the lite-blood of his child and he
shook with fright.
Men and women drew near,
with bIanched and plying faces;
Ike in their midst stood dumb. He was sober. The
low.
The peaks of the mountain range
Were shaded with sea-sheII coIors.
The sky at zenith glored the amethysts royal
glow.
For moment only he stood;
His face fierce and rigid.
Boys" he finally faltered, mo shot
could bel"
He paused But I'll beat that recordi
Hands of hands of TIL show ye."
And the frantic marksman fired as he shouted
Hands off; yen sect"
= There in the sage-brush country,
Two graves. forsaken, they'll show you,
In one sleeps 'Blg Ike" the hunter, with never
stone to tell;
In the other lies poor little Kit.
Where the yellow grass is tnickest.
They buried her there in her worn- out shoes and
tattered dress-as she fell.
Alameda, Cal, jan "a. 1891. ANELEH.
sFrom &c. j. S." in Chicago Herald.
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