Staunton vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1860-1896, 1891-04-03
sTAUNToN, VIRGINIA, APRIL 3, 1891

he was placing himself III better position
for defense. Cautiously raising himself
lie glanced over the bowlder in the direc-
zion whence the last shots came. Crack!
crack! crack! the bullets whiz surliIy
around him.
Bang!sbang bang! goes the rife.
A new feeling takes possession of him.
His nerves tighten like steel, and he pumps
empty shells out of the rifles chamber and
cartridges in with fierce speed. KILL
kill! Let him take one Of those bowling
murdefers with him, and he doesn't care
how soon after death Games. But what is
the matter with his aim? He has not yet
killed one, not even wounded one that he
knows of. He refills the magazine of his
rifle In nervous, feverish haste, and then
peeps through the crevices of the powders
to see If there is an enemy in sight. None.
They are there, though. They are waiting
and he is dying. How hot it is! He is
burning up with thirst and heat How
"it' hurts. He has got SO that he thinks
of bis wound only as sit" as if it were
some terrible monster that he could mot
ESCAPE.
The blood-small as the quantity-that
flows from his wound has formed a pool,
SlOUoSNA olAd CotiSo IL duIS W LIS ilo-
comfort by it's sickness. He thinks how
strange that ones own blood should annoy
one SO, and then wonders where so many
flies could have come from, as he raises a
swarm by the movement of his body. He
looks across to where the burro has fallen
with the canteen, and sees that the vessel
has been jammed by coming in contact
with the bowlder, and that the precious
fluid has nearly all run out. How much
he would give to have what little water re-
mains! He feels almost tempted to try to
reach it, but no; that would mean throw
ing his life away without chance for re-
venge Revenge? He will have it. Thirst
is nothing. death is nothing Eow if he can
only Kill, Hill
If he could only kill them all, how happy
he would die!
He looks over the bowlder Nothing in
sight but powders, lava, cacti, sand and
gazette grass. '"They are there, though"
He almost laughs in sarcasm as he catches
himself scanning the horizon to see if any
relief were in sight. Relief? For days he
and the man that lay dead there had trav-
eled without finding q trail made by shod
horse-without'f finding trail of any kind.
How childish to expect any help! Better
brace up and die like man.
He looked at the body of the dead man.
How hideous the face looked with its swol-
len lips, open mouth, staring eyes! How
black it had grown! What vast quantity
of blood had come from the wound in the
head. His eye catches movement in the
tuft of grass to his left. Bang! bang! goes
his rifle. Nothing there" he thinks, as
he crouches closer to the ground to escape
the shots that come in return.
So the hours go by, but he hardly marks
their flight. The sun is getting lower in
the west, and the white heat of day gives
way to the yellowish purple haze that in
Apache land is always the forerunner of
night. How when he was first hit he had
longed for night! How little he cared for it
now! He could feel himself growing weak
er. His Winchester was heavier than any
he had ever before lifted. Even ''it," that
terrible thing that chained him there,
panied him less, but the thirst grew horri-
BILE. Anyhow night would give him a
chance to reach the canteen. At times he
felt almost drowsy, but fought off the
feeling He was merely waiting for the
end. He thought it strange that he could
face it SO complacently. He hardly cared
now how soon it came. Would he shoot
all his cartridges away before it reached
him? He would not waste them though.
If he could only reach Toms gun and re-
volver and destroy them it would make
those that killed him angry. It was for
these things, worth perhaps $50, that lie
and Tom had been murdered.
He was beginning to think of himself as
already dead. At least how easy to ruin
Toms rifle. 1t was only two or three
PAGES away. He took his revolver and
fired at it, aiming to hit it just in front
and below the hammer, its most vulnera-
BILE part. Instead, tho bullet hits the
ground, and richocheting enters the breast
of the dead man. He shudders as the
body stirs from the force Of the shot, al
though he knows that life has been gone
for hours. Everything is plain to him
now why his other shots had not taken
effect. He was unneryed. How could a
man with a hole through his body hope to
hit anything. He had heard Of men shot
through the heart killing their assailants,
and had often wondered if lie could do it.
Could Tom have done it? How far off
and yet how short seemed the years that
he and Tom had been together How
little there had been in them that seemed
worth now recalling! Crack! asingle shot
off to the right, and he fires where he sees
the smoke curling upward. Fires again
Nothing. He counts his cartridges and is
astonished that he has fired SO many. He
must have lost some No, there are the
empty shells.
Another shot off to the right One to the
front. He fires at both. He feels that he
is growing nervous, and brings all his re-
naming powers into play to secure better
control of himself. He will put away the
idea of death, of his wound, of everything
but revenge Only one, and he will be sat
isfied, and for the first time in years he
prays, prays without words, though, that
he may kill but one.
The sun is sinking lower; it has almost
reached the far off western mountain tops
It would soon be night, and then what
would !!thay" do? Steal up under cover
of the darkness and shoot him from behind
some bowlder before he would be aware of
it. He would keep close lookout, and
perhaps he might after all "get" one of
them.
Crack! crack to the right and left, and
he gianoes il both DIRECTIONS firing at each,
and then right over him takes place ter
rible explosion. and he feels as if something
heavy and blunt had struck him in the
back. He half raises himself, just enough
to turn his face upward. Another explo-
sion, another heavy, blunt blow, and
through the smoke from a revolver he sees
a dark young face. with black. glittering
eyes, white teeth, across which the lips are
tightly draWn-the face and the form Of
one almost boy-and then he falls back
while dark hand and arm snatches his
gun from his half clinging grasp. He hears
wild shouting, and through his glazing eyes
sees dark forms scrambling for his arms
for Toms. They are even quarreling in
their eagerness to tear the pack from the
dead burro, and then instinctively he sees
one raise something in the air. and
when it tails there is no longer anything
human in the face or the head of the man
who has spent the afternoon in fight.
Nothing but q bloody pulp of skull, hair,
brains, broken teeth, crushed into mis-
shapen mass by the bowlder cast upon it by
an Apachp
Another Afternoon, years AFTER tall
sergeant and lis detail Of cavalry escorting
through the canyon party locating a road,
looks down on the wbitened bones of two
men and q burro scattered by coyotes and
bleachcd by the winds and rains, and as
he, witA the toe of big boot, pushes to one
side the ribs OF one of the skeletons his