Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1892-02-14


We drank and were grateful, almost 10
the point of pity. Had we been out
avengers, like Armstrong, my friend and
could well nigh have felt mercy here
and turned back pardoning. But rescue
was more imperative than vengeance.
Our business tortured us, as with the
fanged scourge of Tisiphone, while we
dallied. We grudged these moments OF
refreshment. Before night fell down the
west, and night was soon to be climbing
up the east, we must overtake-and
then?"
wiped the dust aud spume away from
Fulano's nostrils and breathed him mo-
ment. Then let him drain deep, de-
licious drafts from the stirrup cup. He
whinnied thanks and undying fealty-
my noble comrade! He drank like
reveler. When mounted again, he gave
jubilant curvet and bound. Ny weight
was feather TO him. All those leagues
of our hard, hot gallop were nothing.
The brown Sierra here was close at
hand. It's glittering, icy SUBMITS, above
the dark and sheeny walls, far above the
black phalanxes of clambering pines,
stopped forward and hung over US as we
rode.
We were now at the foot OF the range,
where itdipped suddenly down upon the
plain. The gap, our goal all day, opened
before US, grand and terrible. Some
giant force had clutched the mountains
and riven them narrowly apart. The
wild defile gaped and then wound away
and closed, lost between its mighty
walls, thousand feet high, and bear
ing two brother pyramids Of purple
cliffs aloft far above the snow line. A
fearful portal into scene of the throes
and agonies of earth! and my excited
eyes seemed TO read, gilded over its
entrance, in the dead gold Of that hazy
October sunshine, words from Dante's
inscription:
Per me 81 va ira la perduta genie:
Lasciate ogni speranza vol, en- entrate!
"Here we are" said Brent, speaking
hardly above his breath. This is Lug
gernel alley, at last, thank God! In an
hour, II the horses hold out, we shall be
at the springs, that is II we can go
through the breakneck gorge at the
same pace. My horse began TO finch a
will set him up. How are yours?"
"Fulano asserts that he has not begun
to show himself yet. l may have to
carry you en- croupe before we are
DONE"
Armstrong said nothing, but pointed
impatiently down the defie. The gaunt
white horse moved on quicker al this
gesture. He seemed tireleSs machine,
not flesh and blood-a being like his
master, living and acting by the force OF
a purpose alone.
Our chief led the way into the canyon.
Terrible riding 1t wasl A pavement
of slippery, Sheeny rock; great beds OF
loose stones; barricades of mighty bowl
ders. where cliff had fallen an con ago,
before the days of the roadmaker race;
cTevICes where an unwary foot might
catch; wide riffs where shaky horse
might fall, or a timid, horseman drag
him down.
Hin arroyo, the channel OF dry tor
rent, followed the pass. II had made its
way as water does, not straightway, but
by that potent feminine method of pass
ing under the frowning front OF an OBJ
stacle, and leaving the dull rock staring
there, while the wild creature 1t would
have held is gliding away down the val
ley. The ziGzag channel BAIL, us; we
must leap it without check wherever it
crossed our path. Every second now
was worth a century. Here was the
sign of horses, passed but now. We
could not choose ground. We must take
our leaps on that cruel rock wherever
they offered.
Poor Pumps!
He had carried his master so nobly!
There were so few miles to do! He had
chased so well; he merited to be in at
the death.
Brent lifted him at leap across the
arroyo.
Poor Pumps!
His hind feet slipped on the time
smoothed rock. He fell short. He
plunged down dozen feet among the
rough powders Of, the torrent bed.
Brent was out OF the saddle almost be-
fore he struck, raising him.
No, he would never rise again. Both
his forelegs were broken at the knee.
He rested there, kneeling on the rocks
where he fell.
Brent groaued. The horse screamed
horribly, horribly-there is no more
agonized southland the scream went
echoing high up the cliffs where the red
sunlight rested.
1t costs a loving master much to
butcher his brave and trusty horse, the
half of his knightly self; but it costs
him more TO hear him shrek in such
misery. Brent drew his pistol to put
poor Pumps out of pain.
Armstrong sprang down and caught
his hand.
"Stop!" he said in a hoarse whisper.
He had hardly spoken since we started.
NV nerves were so strained that this
mere ghost of sound rang through me
like death yell, a grisly cry OF merci-
less aud exultant vengeance. / seemed
to hear its echoes, rising up and swell
ing la blood of thick uproar, until they
burst over the summit of the pass and
were wasted in the cranines OF the
towering mountain TANKS above.
Stop" whispered Armstrong. "No
shooting. They'll hear. The knife"
He held out his knife to my friend.
Brent hesitated one heart beat. Could
he stain his hand with his faithful
servants blood.
Pumps screamed again.
Armstrong snatched the knife and
drew it across the throat Of the crippled
horse.
Poor Pumps! He sank and died with
out a moan. Noble martyr in the old,
heroic cause.
Icaught the knife from Armstrong.
cut the throng of my girth. The heavy
California saddle, with its macheers and
roll of blankets, fell to the ground. |
cnt of NV snnrs They bad never vet