New Ulm weekly review. [volume] (New Ulm, Minn.) 1878-1892, 1891-11-11

tie lizards that darted into the
patches Of shade seemed to mock him,
and his wistful gaze could be torn
from the canteen only when it was
absolutely necessary for him to see his
way clear. .# 4
What is his thirst to mine?'' he
moaned, as for the fourth time he UNI
corked the canteen. 1sHe is living in
the shade, and his brow is famed by
kindly hands, while II am burn
ing"
Then the swollen, purple face Of
Bunster rose up before him, and he
showed the cork into the mouth ofthe
canteen with a spasmodic effort that
seemed almost superhuman. Again
he toiled on-slowly now, for his
strength seemed almost spent.
x X ~&x
It was dreary waiting at the camp
for the return Of the water-bearer.
Yost gazed for hours over the white
ground in the direction OF the canon,
and, at last, he grlmly gave up Zach
Rawllns as lost man, though he did
not say SO to his less experienced
friends of the camp,
mo chance fur 'em when their feet
slip on the rocks over them air cliffs,
or when a rattlesnake nips 'em 'bove
the boot-top. He's gone fur sartin',"
muttered the guide. "Well have to
bury the big UNI afore nightfall- fur
he's most gone then put back fur
the stage-station afore we all drop.
It's just hell-this desert life, an I've
got my fill on it," .--
Then the ghost a. man, with tatters
OF clothes hanging from his form, dart
ed into view around the rocks. Yost
cursed the oncomer for q fool for run
ming so h ard under the burning sun.
His legs seemed unsteady, for he reel
ed ashe ran. 1t was tully a minute
before the guide or any of them could
realize that the advancing form was
that OF Rawlins, and in that minute
the scare-crow figure had reached the
couch where Big Bunster lay, and, I'M
corking the canteen, had showed the
| neck of it into the nearly unconscious
mans mouth.
''Drink, old man! It's water-good
pure water Drink hearty, and God
bless you!" came in thin sepulchral
tones from between the blackened lips
OF the ghostly one. "Drink, drinkn'
And the water-bearer fell beside his
comrade. Great throbs shook his
frame. His breath failed. His eyes
became glazed and his dust-covered
head, which had hours before lost it's
covering, sank down upon the sand.
But in the rigid clasp of death his
hand had held the canteen to his COM
rade's lips.
"Knocked out by the sum-" was
Yost's comment; ''but he brought
back a full canteen. Wal, I've seed
lots on 'em, but I never seed one with
his grit"
They buried him by the rocks and
wrote his name on a stake thrust in
the sand at his head And Bunster,
who was coming out Of deaths shadow,
looked on and mourned.
That very evening came jingling
along the trail train of burros, led
by a thick-set Mexican. There was
plenty Of good water in his casks and
plenty of good food in his packs, and
the travellers ate and drank and went
their way toward Flagstaff in the
Mexican company And the sound of
the thinking bells on the burros' necks
echoed from the rock Under which
Zach Rawlins lay and Knocked his
dull, cold ear.
give seed lots on 'em," repeated
Yost, as he told the tale to the Mexi-
can-"I've seed lots on 'em, but
never seed one with his grit!"-Frank
b. Willard, in San Francisco Argonaut.