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

empty shells out of the rifles chamber and
cartridges in with a fierce speed. KILL
| XIII! Let him take one of those bowling
nlurderers with him, and he doesn't care
now soon after death comes But what is
the matter with his aim? He has not vet
killed one, not even wounded one that he
knows OF. He refills the magazine of his
| rlhe IN nervous, feverish haste, and then
peeps through the crevices of the powders
TO see II there is an enemy in sight. None.
Iney are there, though. They are waiting
and he Is dying How hot it isl He is
burning up with thirst and heat. How
| ~ hurts. He has got so that he thinks
OF his wound only as 'it," as if it were
some terrible monster that he could not
| escape.
The blood-small as the quantity-that
| nows from his wound has formed pool,
clotted and coagulated. 1t adds to his dis
| comfort by its 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
mas been jammed by coming in contact
with the bowlder, and that the precious
huld 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 now if he can
only kill, kill.
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"
lie 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 tray
eled without finding trail made by a shod
horse-wlthout finding a trail of any kind.
How childish to expect any helpl Better
brace up and die like a man.
He looked at the body of the dead man.
How hideous the face looked with its swol
len lips, open mouth, staring evesl How
black it had grown! What vast quantity
of blood had come from the wound in the
head! His eye catches a movement in the
tuft of grass to his left. Bang! bangi 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 il,
nowl He could feel himself growing weak
er. His Winchester was heavier than any
he had ever before lifted. Even st" that
terrible thing that chained him there
inn Int ha
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 1t was for
these things, worth perhaps $50, that he
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-
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 unnerved. How could a
man with 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, single 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.
1t would soon be night, and then what
would they 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 a close lookout, and
perhaps he might after all get" one of
them.
Crack! crack! to the right and left, and
he glances in both directions, firing at each;
and then right over him takes place a 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 revolver he sees
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-lnd then he falls back
while dark hand and arm snatches his