River Falls journal. [volume] (River Falls, Pierce County, Wis.) 1872-2019, 1894-01-11
ONLY a TRAMP.
The Heroic Act Of n Despised and Home
Less Wanderer.

Day after day had passed bringing
no rains to the thirsty, wind blown
valley. The sun rose every morning
upon a clear sky and every evening
sank down behind the brown hills
a perfect blaze of glory. The drought
held full sway; tanks were dry, els
terms were drained, and for the thirsty
cattle in the parching pastures there
was left only the waters of the little
creek, that. skirting the town, bore on
the river the salt and sulphurous flow
from Lampas' as never-failing springs.
From north and south and east and
west came cowboys on their bucking
bronchos, with whoop and halloo,
driving their believing herds through
the narrow streets to the cool creek
side.
One quiet evening down the western
hill-slope came IA band in full swing,
the dry grass breaking crisply be-
meath the cattle's tread and the fine
dust stirred into dense cloud.
Straight on to the eastward toward the
ford spurred the leading horseman,
calling out his musical halloo. But the
refreshing smell of the salt water near
at hand reached the nostrils of the
thirsty cattle and down an unpro-
tected alleyway leading southwark
the head of the band turned sharply.
In a moment, with digging of spurs,
with whoop and halloo and shout and
whistle, the horsemen were after and
in advance, tut Let 'em go' called
the leader. above the mingle of voices
and the stampeding drove, with five
hundred parching threats, followed,
painting, down the narrow lane be-
tween the lines of barbed wire fencing.
A man coming through the alley
from the other end saw the onrushing
drove and waited, looking about him
frightened and helpless.
Head off the idiot struck dumb
there" shouted a cowboy.
'Come off; he's only tramp. Let
him run for it," called the leader, cut
ting at the man with his quirt as he
galloped past. Clear out of this, can't
your
At first the man only stared. Then,
reaching up his arm, he grasped the
stout limb of a mesquite under which
he was standing and pulled himself up
into the tree, his long legs dangling.
''Take in your shanks, you bloomin'
coward" said the cowboy, squirting
past. There was sharp whistle as the
RATA sped through the air, and the
man in the tree felt the well-aimed
rope whirr across his feet, cutting and
showed between the ragged trowsers
and low, Hopping shoes.
But there was someone else in the
narrow street besides the tramp who
saw with CONSERVATION the onrushing
maddened cattle. A child-a little
thing, scarce more than a babe-stopped
her gathering of the priclIly cactus
buds and stood unmovIng, with wide
open, startled eyes. A cowboy, casting
his eye backward over his shoulder,
caught sight of the little white, still
figure and turned his pony sharply, but
the mad cows were coming with frantic
pace, snorting and believing in the
dust cloud.
And the man in the tree? Looking
down from his perch of safety he saw
the child almost beneath him. The
rose-red juice of the cactus bud had
stained her lips and dripped down upon
her white dress. My God. 1t looked
like blood. The blood of a young child!
o God, no!
With one wild leap through the
feathery mesquite leaves the man was
on has feet, a pistol in each out
stretched hand between the child and
the oncoming death Above the noise
81 oil, a,,1 ha1Ia,,. he 81
rang out clear and sharp. The two
foremost cows snorted, spraug their
length, and dropped dead in the dust.
There was gained but seconds inter
val, but, with sudden swerve, the cow
boy had snatched the child up before
him and was galloping onward in
safety.
They picked him up, by and by,
when the moving mass of hoofs and
horns had passed in the dust-cloud, his
poor, mangled body begrimed, red with
his own life's blood.
1t was the longest procession Lam
pasas had ever seen that followed up
the northern hill slope to the little
cemetery next day. The cowboys,
with their big spurs rafting, and high
heels climbing against the stones. bore
the coffin all the way on their shout
ders. They would have it so; in no
other way could they do honor to the
man whom, in the pride of their
Centaur-like Craftsmanship, they had
tainted as "a tramp"
They knew no name to mark the
Unable shaft they had put above him,
taller than any in the whole grave
yard, but upon the stone one reads:
ITO the memory'-not of a tramp,
but OF hero. -Philadelphi Times.