Arizona republican., 1892-01-09

and the noble red man snored on.
 Dubs tried on the cartridge belt and became an Indian, all but the indispens- able knife, and he concluded to borrow that from the sleeper, whose fingers had lost their grip on the buckhorn handle,
 Its bigger'n mommie's butcher knife. ain't it, Gay?' the young savage asked. as he grasped the handle of the devilish looking blade, "Now you 'tand over were and I'll get hind wis wock. Ven you tum along, an m jump out and kill you"
 Gay demurred.
 "Oh, it's on'y make b'leve. Vese kind O lnJuns don't kill nobody" and he stuck contemptuous finger toward the innocent Coyote. "lt's on'y 'Paches at kills, an vey's none wound here, mom- mic says. I'm 'Pache, so you better look out"
 It was dubious sport for Gay, and when it came to the killing part she screamed lustily.
 You've woked him up an boiled it all, said Dubs in tone of accusation. "Now he'll want his knife"
 Sure enough, the Coyote That, Bites did shake his brown legs and arms quite wig orously, but the last two big swallows of mescal held him down. So, after turning over and burying his hatchetlike face in the sand, he lay quiet again.
 When he had thus turned over, was brought into view the rife, which had been concealed by his dirty blanket. Dubs eyed the weapon with covetous eyes, He could not withstand the temp tation of feeling it all over, stand it up on its butt and trying to shoulder it, but this last feat he could hardly accom- plish. Just what it was that kept his fingers off the hammer and trigger, and prevented sound that would surely have brought the Coyote to his feet with yell, am sure cannot tell, but Dubs played with that fascinating weapon for nearly an hour, while Gay poured sand over the cartridges, hiding nearly all of them from view.
 By this time the suns rays were on the long slant, and the children were very hungry. By this time, too, the Apache was growing restless, for the mescal had nearly lost its grip upon him. A train laundering by, or, much less, a swift" brushing against his black foot, a spider dropping on his leg, or even a big fly buzzing at his ear-any of these would have set his demon force into play again.
 But the children could not wait for such demonstrations as these, though why it did not occur to Dubs that tho Coyotes ear needed tickling with a grease wood twig, the Lord only knows. The wind was up, and the wires were murmuring louder than ever. The wee ones had sported in the black shadows long enough-had played with the fangs of the deadly serpent until they were tired and their stomachs were empty. So they set off on trot for home.
 Just as they turned the bend and came in sight of the low roof of the station, a "dust devil" swept by the rocks where lay the Coyote-That-Bites. He jumped to his feet, grasped his empty sheath, gave mad whoop, and stared about in feverish rage. There was his knife, half covered by the sand, and there was his rife, far from his side. Here was the cartridge belt, empty, and all about him in the sand were countless little foot prints.
 A bewildered look stole over his face, but it passed away when his eyes rested on the empty demijohn. The expression that replaced it was one of demoniacal ferocity, and the lust of slaughter lay heavily upon him. But the cartridges where were they? He saw Gays mound of sand, and kicking it, gave a grunt of delight to see the brazen capsules that were scattered right and left by his foot.
 He picked them all up, grunting over each one. Filling the belt and grasping his rife, he started off in the direction in which the small footprints led. Like a bloodhound, he chased along the track. His eyes scanned the plain at every turn, and his breath was hot and strong. But when he turned the big curve and saw the station, he knew that he was late too late-and he gave grunt of disgust, and was off like the wind over side trail that led toward the sunset.
 In the low roofed station house the mother crooned to tired little Gay, lying so soft and limp in her arms. She looked out over the desert, saw the sun touching the tips of the solemn giant cacti with purple dots, saw the prickly pear shrubs holding their grotesque arms above the great sweep of sand that ran down to the low horizon, and felt the inspiration of the scene, as she had often felt 1t before For the desert has beauty that is all its own. She knew that other women in the great cities and in the cool, green valleys might pity her in that desolate spot, but she felt that she needed not their pity. Dubs came and leaned his head against her arm, where she sat, and little Gay nestled down with tired sign. Yes, there was much, she thought. for which to be thankful.
 And in truth there was.-Frank B.