Rock Island daily Argus. (Rock Island, Ill.) 1886-1893, 1891-04-17
TWO AFTERNOONS.


everything brown aud barren. EVERY
where bowlders of lava immense in size
and sometimes split in twain, as if in rapid
COOLING from the intense heat which gave
them birth. Here and there between the
gray green of the giant cacti, raising their
thorny forms fifty and sixty feet in the air,
assuming with their strangely formed
limbs the shapes of immense crosses or
trunks or trees from which all leaves and
smaller branches have been torn Between
the olack and brown of the sunburnt lava
an occasional tuft of tall, almost colorless
grass. Over all stiffness that to one I'M
accustomed to the land would seem strange
and oppressive. Not bird to break il
with Its song. Even the lizards sought out
what shade they could, making with their
green, red and variegated coats almost the
only dash of color to relieve the monotonv
OF the all prevailing brown and black lava
tnat each moment grew more oppressive to
look at under the glow of the fierce heat.
save these, not living thing was in
sight except where off to the west a bur
zard hoated high in the air, and two men.
with burro lazily following, passing
down the canyon.
Prospectors and their outfit.
opened shirts, showing red, hairy
breasts, while their loosely buckled belts.
heavy with long, bright cartridges, whose
furnished surfaces, made doubly bright
from the rays of the hot sun, seemed
strangely out of place in such quietude.
Neither spoke. Each walked along as if
alone, looking for the float that might
indicate the presence of some mineral
ledge higher up, more from habit than
from hope, as the formation" gave but
little indication of treasure
how hot the sum- The burro, patient
eyed, forgot his old trick of nipping the
tops OF the long gazette grass, and contented
himself with keeping closely in the trail of
the two men, whose worldly possessions of
blankets, cooking utensils and tools, capped
with an enormous canteen of water he so
patiently bore. Not a breath of air stir
ring, only the quivering heat that made
the eyes burn and ache The men shifted
their rifles constantly from one hand to an
other, as If to avoid getting blisters from
the places where they touched the highly
heated metallic parts of their guns
Crack! crack! crack
Not fifty yards ahead, from behind doz-
en- powders leap out as many jets of fire,
while the snowy white puffs of smoke float
up few feet and disappear in the culver
ing air.
One of the men stops for an almost i'm
perceptible instant, as if to brace himself.
His hands rise to the level of his chest, as if
to bring his rifle to his shoulder, and then
down he falls headlong to the ground in a
limp mass. Dead! Shot through the head.
Not culver, not motion; without a
sound, were it not for that made by his
falling rife
As he falls his companion staggers back
a pace or two, catches himself, and then.
half crouching, half falling, drops behind
one of the many powders. 'sHitr' he
thinks to himself, ''but, thank God! not
fatally, only scratch" Life seems a new
thing; tc live, new joy.
Only a scratch. "Where?" He hardly
has time to think as he places his gun
across the bowlder and fires at figure.
naked, dark, clothed only in a breech clout
and with red scarf wound around the
head. He notes almost unconsciously how
pronounced its color is against the dark
face and darker hair of its wearer. "a
miss" he mentally remarks as the figure
disappears. But better luck next time
he thinks as he pushes down the lever of
his gun and throws out the empty shell.
replacing it with a cartridge Short
range" he should have hit. 1t can't be
that he was losing his old cunning: that
his aim was bad. NO. he fired in haste
and was ratified Another shot and he
Will show them are the thoughts that
fash through his mind as he peers cautious
ly ahead to discover his enemies,
None in sight.
For the first time he feels pain. Half
half fire; how it tears as ne
raises his shirt and looks at a little blue
hole hardly larger than pea near the right
side in the short ribs. only q scratch. or
it would bleed worse. Did it go throughY'
he asks himself, as he passes his hand uo
his back to find if there be an orifice of
exit. "No." That is bad, for there is no
surgeon TO be had to cut the missile out.
Pshaw, what matters it? Other men have
lived with bullets in them-why could not
he? Night would soon come, and then
with darkness he would go. He was not
losing blood sufficient to weaken him much,
and by morning he would be far away.
After all it would only be a close call, some
thing to tell about. But poor Tom, he
was gone" and as he looked at the lifeless
form of his partner he could hardly keep
back the tears.
Crack! crack! go couple of shots off to
his left, and he sees the dust flying up
from near his feet. He tries to draw his
limbs up TO get them in a safer position.
Tries again. and the cold sweat breaks
from him. He cannot move theml
They are dead-paralyzedl
Something like sob breaks from him.
1t is all over. In the first flush of possible
escape he had not thought of the spine
being injured. He knew it now. The game
was played. A few hours longer at the
best. Tomorrow and the next day. and
the days and the years to come would find
him there. The end was only question of
a short time. Yet he had only thought it
q scratch.
With his arms he drags himself into n
safer position. This done, he unbuckles
his belt, and as he lays it before him to
have it handy he thinks of the time away
back on the Platte when he had first put
one on. How proud he then felt, as a strip
ling boy, of the outfit How bright the
future had looked! And now it was all to
end. After all, life to him had been hard
one. 1t had brought to him few of the
treasures for which he had longed. For an
instant he thought why not take the six
shooter and end it all?''