The Iola register. [volume] (Iola, Allen County, Kansas) 1875-1902, 1891-11-13

dashed wildly on. Soon he came to .
place where the ascent was almost per-
pendicular, and where the heat was SO
sitting as almost to close his nostrils.
The way up was lined with cactus
scrubs, whose spines pierced his hands
like red-hot needles when he grasped
at something by which to haul himself
up. The little 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.
''What is his thirst to mine?" he
moaned, as for a fourth time he I'M
corked the canteen. "He is lying in
the shade, and his brow is famed by
kindly hands, while IL am burning. I"
Then the swollen, purple face of
Bunster rose up before him, and he
showed the cork into the mouth of the
canteen with spasmodic effort that
seemed almost superhuman. Again he
toiled on-slowly now, for his strength
seemed almost spent.
It was dreary waiting up at the camp
for the return of the water-bearer.
Yost gazed for hours over the white
ground in the direction of the canyon,
and, at last, he grimly gave up Zach
Rawlins as a lost man, though he did
not say SO to his less experienced
friends of the camp.
"No chance fur err when their feet
slip on the rocks owl them air cliffs or
when rattlesnake nips 'em 'bcve the
boot-top. He's gone fur sartin'," mutt
tered the guide. "We'll have to bury
the big 'un afore nightfall-fur he's
most gone-an' then put back fur the
stage-station afore we all drop. It's
just hell-this desert life, an I've bout
got my fill on it,
Then the ghost of a man, with tatters
of clothing hanging from his form,
darted into view around the rocks.
Yost cursed the on-comer for fool for
running SO hard under the burning sun.
His legs seemed very unsteady, for he
reelcd as he ran. 1t was fully min
ute before the guide or any of them
could realize that the advancing form
was that of Rawlins, and in that min
ute the scsre-crow figure had reached
the couch where Big Bunster lay, and,
uncorlring the canteen, had showed the
neck Of 1t into the nearly unconscious
mans mouth.
Drink, old mani It's water-good,
pure water! Drink hearty, and God
bless .youw came in thin, sepulchral
tones from between the blackened lips
of the ghostly one. Drink, drink"
And the watcr-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 ago lost its COW
ering. sank down upon the sand. But
in the rigid clasp of death his hand held
the canteen to his comrades lips
knocked out by the sun, was Yost's
comment; but he brought back full
canteen. Wal, I've seed lots on 'em,
but never seed one with his gritr'
They buried him by the rocks and
wrote his name on a stake, thrust into
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
q thick-set Mexican. There was plenty
OF good water in his casks and plenty
of good food in his packs, and the trav-
elers ate and drank and went their
way toward Flagstaff in the Mexican's
company. And the sound o. the tink-
ling bells on the burros' neclSs echoed
from the rock under which Zach Raw
Inns lay and Knocked his dull, cold ear.
1--WE seed lots on EN-" repeated
Yost, as he told the tale to the Next
cau-''I've seed lots on 'em. but never
seed one with his grit!'-Frank B. Mil
lard, in San Francisco Argonaut.