The McCook tribune. (McCook, Neb.) 1886-1936, 1893-06-16
Keyork looked at the Moravian crit

ically for a moment.
II told you that / would kill her
and l will, " said Israel Kafka, family
but distinctly.
''You will not kill her." answered
his companion. 81 will prevent you
from attempting it, and as o o as you
are well you will see the absurdity of
the idea"
Israel Kafka made an impatient
gesture, feeble, but sufficiently ex-
pressive. Then all at once his limbs
relaxed and his head fell forward ON
his breast. The Wanderer started to
his feet and moved him into a more
comfortable position. There were
n or two quickly drawn breaths and
the breathing ceased altogether. At
that moment Keyork returned, carry
ing a bottle and a glass.
N'1t is too late" said the Wanderer,
graye1y. Israel Kafka is dead"
II hate men who make statements
about things they do not understand"
keyork said v%iciously. looking up as he
spoke. but without any expression of
satisfaction. He is no more dead
than you are-the greater pity!"
The Wanderer drew a long breath
OF relief as he helped Keyork to make
the necessary arrangements.
How long will it last:?" he in
CURED.
How can l tell?" returned Keyork,
sharply. Have you lever heard of
a s%yncope? Do you know nothing
about a~nything?"
He had produced d bottle containing
some very strong salt and vas apply
ing it to the unconscious mans nos
trils. The Wanderer paid no atten-
ton to his irritable temper and stood
looking on. A long time passed and
yet the Moravian gave no further
signs of consciousness.
cit is clear be cannot stay here if
he is to be seriously ILL.," the Wander
err said.
"And it is equally clear that he can
not be taken away" retorted Keyork.
Now, Keyork Arabian had no in
terest in allowing Israel Kafka to die,
though the Wanderer half believed
that he had, though he could not
imagine what that interest might be.
The Wanderer bent down and saw
that the eyelids were %quivering and
that the face was less deathly livid
than before. Then the eyes opened
and stared dreamily at the glass roof.
land | will" said the faint, weak
voice, as though completing d SEN
tence.
II think not" observed Keyork, as
though answering. The people who
do what they they mean to do are not
always talking about will" But
kafka had closed his eyes again.
This time, however, his breathing
was apparent and he was evidently
returning to a conscious state.
'Do you think we can take him
home to-night?" inquired the Wan
derer.
Il think not" he replied. There
is nothing to be done but to keep him
quiet. Goodnight. 1 am tired of all
this nonsense, and | do not mean to
lose my nights rest for all the Israels
in Jewry-or all the Jews in Israel.
You can stay with him if you please"
He did not dare to take upon him
self the responsibility of calling some
n to help him and of removing the
Moravian in his present condition.
The man was still very weak and
either altogether unconscious Or Sleep
ing the sleep of exhaustion. The
weather, too, was bitterly cold and
the exposure to the night air might
bring on immediate and fatal conse-
quences. He examined Kafka closely
and came to the conclusion that he
was really asleep. To wake him
would be absolutely cruel as we'll as
dangerous He looked kindly at the
weary face and then began to walk up
and down between the plants, coming
back at the end of every turn
to look again and assure himself that
NJ change had taken place.
Keyork's precautions were in reality
useless, and they merely illustrate the
ruthlessly selfish character of the man.
The Wanderer would in all probability
neither have attempted to leaTe the
house with kafka that night nor to
communicate with the servants, even
if he had been left free to do either
and if no one had disturbed him in his
watch. He Was disturbed, however,
and very unexpectedly, between 1870
and 1:45 in the morning.
More than once he had remained
seated for a long time, but his eyes
were growing heavy and he reused
himself and walked again until he was
thoroughly awake.
When the door was suddenly opened
he stood still in his walk and faced it.
He hardly recognized Unorna in the
pale, d~isheyeled woma with circled
eyes who came toward him under the
bright light. She, too, stood still when
she saw him, starting suddenly. She
seemed to be very cold, for she shiv-
cred visibly and her teeth were chat
tering. Without the least prote ction
against the bitter night-air she had
fed, bareheaded and cloakless,
through the open streets from the
church to her home.