The Wichita daily eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1890-1906, 1893-02-22

THE DESERTS SILENT CITY.

and our faces TO the west. There are
six Of us, but two are blinded and must
be led along. Our guide is one of
them, else we should not have gone
wrong.
Over sterile plains, over wastes of
sand, over miles of thicket and scrub
and broken ground, and now the after
noon is waning. The last food was
eaten thirty hours ago-the last few
drops of water went to moisten the
crumbs 1t is pitiful sight to watch
men who thirst They stagger as they
walk They clutch at space with their
fingers They are dead to each
other, saying never word
from hour to hour. They
reem to stare into vacancy as they walk,
and the smile which fits over the face
now and then is the laugh of an IDIOT
And there is feeling of selfshness in
zach breast never known before-never
90 be known again. They watch each
other like wild beasts. 1t is the fear
that one may discover a great lake or
river Of pure cold water and drain it to
the last drop before the others come up.
It Is sand here-a soil on which never
spear of grass will take root. 1t bis
ters our feet anew as we toll on. Some
times the great rattlesnakes will crawl
grudgingly away at sight of US. but
oftener we must turn aside and make
new path 1t is q plain of horror and
desolation- Even the atmosphere above
il is given over 10 the vulture alone
What hope have we? Why not lie down
and die?
Since noon every eve has been fas-
tened on a green spot miles away.
There are trees there-water, shelter,
perhaps people and food. To the right
and left we can see green mountains.
We raised no shout at sight of this
haven. Thirst had benumbed and
silenced US. Our tongues were sticks
our lips cracked and bleeding. Flooding,
staggering, stumbling, we press for
ward, and as the sun is within a hands
breadth Of the horizon line we find
grass under our feet, trees around us,
and before US city-aye a city in the
valley! We stand and stare. We are
dumb, but we are not mistaken. We
are at the end of long street. and it
is lined with log and board and stone
bouses-a hundred of them.
At our left bubbles up a great spring
30 form a river fifty miles away. There
Is no haste. An hour ago we would
have sold our hopes of Heaven for a gill
of water. Now we have lost our thirst.
1t is only after we dip our hands in the
cold water and molsten lips and tongue
that frenzy seizes US and we can not
drink enough The guide asks what
we see around us, and when told of the
streets and houses he whispers:
1T is Death Valley, and we have
come TO the Silent City"
While the others kindle a FIRE to
roast the rabbits so easily secured two
Of us advance until we are at the begin
ming Of the street On the first build
ing there is a faded sign Of Hotel"
There are No doors in the frames,
no window sasheS in the OPEN
irss, and q part of the roof
has fallen in We look into the
rosm where men once drank and cursed
and shed each others blood. A rattle
snake lies in the center of the floor and
lizard frisks along the moldering
shelves.
We go slowly up the street, pausing
TO look into a doorway here and there.
There is grass from side to side of the
street now. Years ago the feet of
h orses and mules and wheels of wagons
cut the earth to dust Desperate men
rode up and down here and performed
desperate deeds This building.
which needs but a stronger puff
of wind to bring it to earth,
was a saloon; the next a grocery;
the next an clearinghouse: the next
a hotel Here and there a weather
beaten sign still holds out, and before
one of them we pause for a few min
Utes. 1t swings on rusty hinges before
. nut which might still shelter a way
1arer and reads: Undertaken" This
man buried the dead when the city
teemed with life. Time has buried the
city itself.
Here and there, as we wander on, a
door creaks on its hinges in the even
ing breeze. CTeak. creak, creak! It is
thirty years since time buried the city,
and yet the doors creak on. At inter.
walls decay has left pane of glass in its
sash. 1t catches the rays of the set
ting sun and throws a reflection
on the faces of the Indians
camped twenty miles away. They
are awed and speak in whis-
pers. They know of the Silent City,
but they never approach it They be-
lieve it was accursed. Serpents wrig-
gle of the rotting door sills as we ad-
vance, and now and then a wolf rushes
out of a building in a frightened way
and makes off with dragging tail
We come 10 the end of the street at
last Here is the graveyard. Once
there were headboards- Nothing is
now left TO mark them. Each grave is
sunken; into each cavity the wolf has
dug with ghoulish instinct. On dead
and leafiess tree IN the center of the
plot sits a great owl blinking at the
last rays of sunset There are days
when the vulture drops down here and
walks about in search Of food. but he
finds nothing. II IS quarter of a
century since the bones were picked
clean OF meat
AS the twilight comes and the shad-
ows fade into darln ess we make our
way back along the street Of desolatio
and death 1t is as silent rs the grave
The silence makes us fearful. and we
hasten our steps Now and then we
look back 10 see if we are pursued. We
think of the spirits Of the dead gather
ing IN the Silent City as night comes
down, and chills creep over Us and our
limbs grow weak. And when we sit
a. N, rarnr fire and sna alt OF what W..