The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1892-11-02
ON THE TOANO GRADE.

r. S. jenkins in the Toronto Glebe.
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ON THE TOANO GRADE.
Dark and dumb and cold as death
itself lay the dry mesa. 1t was late at
night. The coyotes had ceased to
howl. The owls no longer gave forth
their dismal boots. No breath stirred
the leaves of the dry greasewood and
sage. The cold stars shone out as they
only shine through the rare, clear air
of the desert. The slim horn of a cold
moon, dropping down over the far
away buttes, glinted the wheel-worn
edges of two steel rails that ran away
into the blackness on either side of the
spot. Near the railroad track stood a
ghostly telegraph pole, and its wires
also ran away into the blackness. If
there were any sounds at all in the
air they came from these wires. But
they must have been mere whisper
ings, for the man who lay awake un-
der them heard them not.
The man was frfghtfully, strainedly
awake But by his side, and under
the same blanket, lay another who
was sound asleep.
1t is best for supersensitive man
to sleep, and sleep soundly, if he must
needs lie out on the desert under the
stars. 1t is an awful thing for such a
one to be cursed by sleeplessness at
such a time and in such place.
The horrible stiffness, the dumbness
of nature weighed upon the wakeful
man, who lay there upon his back
looking up at the myriad eyes that
peeped through the dark roof of the
world. He felt the oppressiveness OF
it all as keenly as he felt the mum bing
of the chill night air.
He turned on his unyielding bed OF
sand, and heard the crackle of a sage
twig under his body. A pistol shot
would have sounded no louder to his
overwrought ear. Why did the sound
not awaken the sleeper at his side? Il
only he would awake, or even turn
But, poor, tired man, he had tramped
many long mile over the burning
plain, through alkali-dust, and by sage
and cactus wastes. Let him sleep.
The sleepless one raised his hand tC
his face, on which the skin was tightly
drawn. How hot the unwinking eye
of heaven had biazed upon him through
the day. 1t seemed to have scared hi
cheek and forehead.
"God! If I had but one glass of run
one glass!" he groaned, half aloud
And then he went over his life, anC
made himself to see clearly why h
had become so dependent upon fiery
fluid for his piece of mind. 1t was thr
thirst-the cursed thirst - that haC
built itself up within him out of the
very elements with which he had
thought to appease it. And the conse-
quence of that thirst! His mind ran
back to his home. How she must hate
him-that patient wife, who had borne
with him so long! Did she? Was il
hate that blazed from her eyes when
they had that final quarrel, and he had
| left her, never to return? He coulC
| not bring himself to think that it was
He was so frightfully alone-so mucl
in need of being in some ones kindly
| thoughts that
The man at his side did turn at last
But he settled down at cnce to peace
full slumber. He had not awakened
| If he only would awake, his CHEEKY
Irish banter would make the night les
| hideous for time, perhaps; but le
him sleep. He should not trespass OF
his good nature by arousing him. Al
| though only an acquaintance of a day
he had, in his genial Celtic way, beer
more than kind. He had given mos
unworthy man food from his slim store
/ and now he was sharing with him hi
poor, thin blanket. An unworthy MAJ
yes, most unworthy. Had he no
left his wife to shift for herself? HaC
| he not wholly deserted her? Yes, bu
she no longer loved him. He had beer
such drag upon her-such burden
She was better off without him-fa
better. The immoving tide of thi
| heavy thought bore down on him NOR
than all the oppressiveness of the nigh
| silence Of the desert, more than tina
| fearful thirst. 1t was better that sh
| should live without him-far better
He was unworthy. How cut off h
seemed from the whole world! Th
little warmth he felt from the man
body lying by his side made its i'm
press on his mind.
And she had leaned on him. Per
haps she did still, in way. For Nigh
| she not be looking for him to com
back? 1t was not likely that she eve
dreamed he was 4 thousand mile
| away. What were q thousand miles
after all? He had not been long il
passing them over. 1t would not tax
long to retrace them.
With these thoughts tingling in hi
brain, he could no longer lie there. ii
must be up and in motion.
So he arose and lamely made hi
| way to the railroad track, leaving hi
friend of a day to sleep it out alone
He stepped between the rails and halt
ed there, facing the telegraph pole
To the right, was the way of the fire
man, without wife or home. To tn
left, the way led back to her.
81 have almost killed her by IN
recklessness, he thought; "why shoul
1 90 back to complete the job?"
He glanced over his right shoulder
"But that may mean the same thing
She is alone and helpless. Still to g
back means-God" he sobbed; "wh
can't I be a man?"
His eyes sought the stars.
Eyes, l can be-"
He took off his hat and raised hig
his hand. Then he spoke, while yC
looking up, and the still night a
| heard his words:
81 swear that hereafter will hol
my desire for drink in check, and thi
l will strive to make myself worthy
. the good woman who bears my nam
So help me God. Amen"
Then down the track he strobe fierc
ly, clinching his hands as he swur
them at his sides.
Two hours later he stepped upon tt
platform of the station at Toan
There he stopped to rest. 1t was st
dark, and no one was about to look
L t1.n q