The watchman and southron. [volume] (Sumter, S.C.) 1881-1930, 1894-04-04

followers were scuddlng out across the
desert, every man for himself, as though
the very devil were in pursuit of each
individual member of the gang. Eight
or ten at least, squirting, lashing their
horses to the top of their speed, were
already far beyond reach of his voice.
Close at hand, however, six or seven Of
the fellows, desperadoes of the first
water, had unslung their henry rifles
and blazing away for all they were
worth showed evidence of a determine
ton to die game. Behind them, cream
ing at the tops Of their shriil, strident
voices, Sonora Moreno and her daughter
were clinging stoutly to the iron rail
Of their seats as the blackboard was
whirled and dashed r the plain.
Already both the wounded men had
been flung helplessly out upon the sands,
and even as he looked the off fore
wheel snuck stout cactus stump; flew
into fragments; the tire rolled off in
one direction, and Moreno's luckless
family shot, cometlike, into space and
fetched up shrieking in the midst Of a
plentiful crop of thorns and spines.
The husband and father, gazing upon
the incident from over his shoulder and
afar, blessed the saints for their bene-
fcence in having landed his loved ones
on soft soil instead of among the jag
ged rocks across the plain. But for
himself the sooner he reached the rocks
the better. A tall gringo, who cast
aside a dark blue blouse al he rode,
STOPPING low yer his horses neck,
seemed bent on racing the late ranch
owner to the goal where both would
be, and there was none to dispute with
them the doubtful honor. Even those
who had stampeded at the first yell Of
alarm were now refining back in broad,
sweeping circle, unslinging the ready
rife and pouring in a long range fire on
the distant rank of cavalry, just burst
ing into the triumph Of the charge.
Here, there and everywhere across the
plain little puffs of blue white smoke
were shooting up, telling of the leaden
missiles hurled at the charging line.
But on like the wind came the troopers
in blue, never pausing to fire a shot.
their leader at racing speed.
Wounded though he was, Pasqual
Morales was not the man to fail in the
fight. Yelling orders and curses at his
driver, he succeeded in getting him to
control his frantic team just long
enough to enable the outlaw captain
to tumble out. Then away they dashed
again, the stiffening body of Ramon and
the weighty little safe being now sole
occupants Of the interior. In the mad
excitement of the first rush two or three
horses had broken loose, leaving their
owners afoot. and believing that no
quarter would be the rule these aban-
doned roughs were fighting to the last.
selling their lives, as they called it, as
dearly as possible. From their rifles
and from others the shots rained fast
upon the troopers. but never seemed to
check the charge. The rush was glori-
Gus. Drawing their r%evolvers now,
for they carried no sabers, the soldiers
fired as they rode down those would be
Instructors, and two poor wretches We're
fattened out upon the plain when the
main body of the troop dashed by. max
ing straight for the fleeing Concord
with the white canvas top. Drum
mond had not fred at all. Every
thought was concentrated On the c
pants of the wagon. Every shot might
be needed when he got to them.
Chester was running grandly. The
designated four who were to follow the
lieutenant were already over 100 yards
behind when, from the trail Of the am
bulance, from a little patch of cactus,
there came a flash and report, and the
beautiful horse swerved, reeled. but
pushed gamely on. Noting the spot,
two of the following troopers emptied
a cartridge into the clump, but left the
lurking foe to be looked after later.
They we're too close to the Concord to
think of anything else-so close they
could hear the cries and pleadings Of a
woman's voice, the terrified scream Of
W. -