The Bossier banner., 1891-09-10
BURIED ALIVE.
A Murderous Trick of the Indians so So
cure White Victims.


cure White Victims.
A man was riding over the wild
stretch of prairie land-riding gallop-
ing mustang whose fiery nostrils were
distended with fear or excitement, and
which swerved neither to the right nor
left as it ran. The rider was young
and active and alert for some danger
that seemed to menace him; and as he
rode his rifle swung at his saddle-bow,
and the handle of dirk-knife shone at
his belt. He was riding for life-not
for himself but for his comrades, who
were engaged in deadly feud with
hostile Indians, with the chance of be-
ing cruelty murdered by excess of num-
bers
The man riding at full speed was the
avenger of his people He had vowed
to kill every red man he met on this
enforced journey and if outnumbered
to sell his own life dearly.
Suddenly his horse swerved from its
long, swinging lope, and had he not
been good horseman he would have
bitten the dust. As it was, he swayed
in his saddle and as the instructive fear
of the brute communicated itself to the
rider, he reached for his pistols, and in
a moment was ready for the foe,
But no foe was in sight. His eyes
swept the horizon and saw nothing that
looked like human life. A small grove
of scrub oaks was on his right, but he
| could see the horizon through the scat
tered trunks. A jack-rabbit or a
| s,,,o orDt,11 l. ;e
vigilant eve.
But it was something nearer than the
trees that his wild Mexican mare was
looking with blood-shot eyes, while she
| stopped stock still at the risk of throw
ing her rider over her head, and tremb-
ling as if she scented danger in the air.
The man who bestrode her was no
coward and he had will as untamed as
her own. he struck her over the head
with the butt end of his riding whip
and she reared with him and nearly lost
her balance, but advanced not one inch
beyond the point where she had swerved
and then refused to stir.
Her rider raised his whip again, but
before he could strike, a buzzard sailed
| slowly over his head, darkening the sun
and casting its baleful shadow on the
ground.
Then he saw it-a grave-a long shall
low grave at his horses feet, the sage
brush spread lightly over it, and packed
with sticks and earth, and flattened
down to resemble nothing but the
prairie itself Had not the keen in
stinct of the Mexican mare warned her
of danger he would never have noticed
the slight abrasion of the earth, even
with his keen vision.
What he did not see was pair OF
treacherous eyes full of hate and re-
venge looking at him from the clods OF
earth and the thin covering of sage
brush. The mare saw them and snorted
in terror, the buzzard saw them as il
poised lazily overhead, but the man
who bent over them saw nothing but a
grave at his feet.
Poor beggarr' he said gently as he
flung himself from his horse; another
victim of the cursed redskins, no doubt,
for this is white mans grave. God
rest your soul, friend, and give me
strength to avenge you"
His head was barred, his eyes lifted tc
the pure sky above him. They had
looked their last on the beautiful world
and on his fellow-man.
The buzzard had aEghted at little
distance and was waiting-waiting
Bish! bish! bish!
1t was the report of a Winchestel
rifle, repeated to make sure of its deadly
aim, and the traveller fell prone on hi
face. the bride of his horse dropping
away from his broken arm.
And sitting up in his grave, where h
had been buried alive, the painted
brave, still grasping his smoking rifle
sent another shot after the gallopinl
mustang, and then shaking himsel
clear of the grave earth sought tn,
scalping knife at his belt
And the buzzard that had been wait
ing so long was not deprived OF its feas
gained for it by this ruse and stratagen
of war.-Mrs. NJ. L. Rayne, in Detroi
Free Press.