Cottonwood report. [volume] (Cottonwood, Idaho) 1893-1901, 1893-09-22

would never be the same again. 8 ~ q y
Week after week Archie Henders3O lbs
i'm the luxury of invalidismand idle
baskine in the warmth of sunshine ano9er
fond woman's love- The bearskin portiefs
of that humble hut fell like wall of dark
ness when the faithful girl briefly lett mp,
in his convalescence, to seek for game or
some luxury to tempt his palate TO restotz
| ing strength. He had read the secret IN
her beautiful eyes, and his own heart had
gone out to her in return.
Then came the weeks of feeble effort TO
walk with the crude crutches she obtained
| for him The solicitous aid of her pllant,
graceful form guided his wavering steps.
| Seated upon the shore of that ripping
river he at last told her all she had longed
| to know. He was unmarried; ne nad
never before known woman's love. be
| meath the glorious light of the harvest
moon he told her tales of far OIL LANDS,
| where the people of his race lived in power,
| refinement and luxury. He was man OF
| education and social rank, and he found
pleasure in picturing to this bright, eager
| intellect the wildly contrasting scenes OF
highest civilization.
! The fear came to her that he, who knew
| 40 much. who must be so loved in that
| OUler anu DFlSuGtI WOlibi SOuiA hS'Nh ~
content with life in that wild country,
with only the poor recompense of her love.
| All, how did he answer her-how has man
ever answered the confding love of wom-
an? She was only too willing to believe he
uttered the truth in the protestations of
undying love he made. He would take her
far away from the hateful, debasing asso-
Citations that surrounded her. Her bright
mind would quickly master the situation,
while her rare beauty would make her the
cynosure of all society.
The maturing of their affection was not
unobserved by the Indians of the rancheria.
| With all her proud reserve. there were
| chiefs among them who would have dared
a dozen deaths to gain her for wife.
They had nothing but hatred for the hand
some paleface who had won the love of
their beautiful queen.
| Weeks flew into months-a year had
gone by-and still the white man fingered
by the side of the lovely Indian girl. They
rode, hunted, read and swan together.
They lived outdoors through the mild win
terinto the fresh, bursting spring, and then,
when the plains and hills were clad in a
fragrant garb of endless flowers, their
young dreams of earthly love and life were
ended.
Among the bucks of the tribe who per-
sistently showed his admiration of Pancha,
was thriving half breed Indian, called
Concho. Like Pancha, he had some Rus
sian blood in his veins, but the Indian
greatly predominated, and his dark, pit
marked, brutal face was the only one that
aroused fear within her. He had once
openly threatened to kill Henderson, and
ever after, as often as it was possible to do
so, she kept close by his side when the saw
age was at home.
But there came a time when her step
was made heavier by loves lingerings and
the duty of supply from field and stream
fell entirely and alone upon Henderson.
His departures were accompanied always
by her last look of love, her last caution
against an ambushed foe.
At length the twilight of weary day
that marked his absence died into fu-
nereal blackness in the western sky, and
still her love, the husband of her heart and
soul, returned not. Then she dispatched,
with no stinted promises of reward, all of
the Indians she could command. Their
pine burr torches blazed ON every trail and
cleaned upon the stream. Then the In
dian death cry rang out in deadly echoes
against the mountain side. "He was
found-but deadr'
Slowly they bore his body to her hut,
and without word retired Indianlike, in
grim silence. When the bearskin had
fallen at the entrance of the hut and she
was alone with her beloved dead, she threw
herself upon her body in uncomfortable
grief. Deeply buried in his heart was the
keen flint arrowhead of the foe who had
sworn his DEATH The shaft was feathered
with the plume of a crow-the sign OF
Concho, the hated half breed
That night the pledge of her love for
Henderson, his son, was born unto her
anticipating life through her agony at the
death of that murdered and yet unburied
father.
Pancha permitted none but her now old
and nearly helpless mother and an In dian
girl to enter the hut for two days after the
death of Henderson and the birth of his
son. Her will was law among her people
and all was mute around the mourned
dead, beside whom she sat in darkness and
in silence.
Once only was her deep grief broken in
upon-When the confessed assassin was
brought to her for sentence. She refused
to look upon him or name the measure of
his punishment, so the Indians hanged
him to the tree from which he slew his un.
offending victim.
, Upon the rounding bank of the river. AT
its curve opposite the great cliff, she bade
them dig grave to bury her love. There
, were no wild lamentations, no tears
from her. With rigid features, ewes that
| had a far off look, voice mistaken bv he,
! bursting heart, she saw them pile the great
rocks upon his lonely grave
, That night she disappeared, but they
: who at break of day had sought her saw
) the first rays of the rising sun fall upon
, the figure of a woman seated upon the
: pinnacle overhanging the great precipitous
/ rock and grave. She was grooming over thu
? child, swaying to and fro upon the very
, edge of that wild chasm. AS the sun ross
above the edge of the horizon in all II.
3 gilded glory the woman greeted it with the
J wild death chant of her people. Then
above the murmuring stir of awakening
E nature, the soothing, happy sound of life
renewed, rang out the Indian death vel
r once again as the woman leaped from thai
, dizzy height with her child in her arms,
DIR. j. c. Tucker in Argonaut.
: Couldn't Understand.
How little we realize our daily bless
lnRs," said young matron who is ratbe,
| al 81