The Scranton tribune. [volume] (Scranton, Pa.) 1891-1910, 1895-10-09
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VopyriCht 1895 by Irving Bachelor.
I(opyright 1895 by Irving Bacheller.l

boat, In an empty ocean. with the white
wings of the tempest already shifting
the sea into foam. But 1t would, at
least. give them a little OF rest; they
would be stronger for the struggle that
must last until them-the earthly end
of all things.
1t was as well, too. that the little val
ley they had selected for my final scene
on the worlds stage should be In full
view Of those for whom | was to die--as
well that my end should be an object
lesson for their information. They could
not help me. for the place selected was
we'll beyond rifle shot, and to attempt
my rescue would be a suicidal antici-
patton of the inev!table--a premature
throwing away of rhe last possibility
left to nearly complete hopelessness.
But they had good glasses; ! knew they
would watch every detail Of the devilish
deed. II would help them little long
er to the work when their time was
narrowing down to minutes-to seconds;
II would cost the savage foe another life
or two; 1t would insure. in the cases Of
Millie Davis and the other women,
a certainty of simple. unqualified death.
They tied me to stake. They piled
the fagots about me. y group of priv
ileged ones-led by the creature / mem
toned little time ago-began a mad
dance about me-torches in their hands
l shut my hips tightly. ! prayed silent
ly. l waited. A column of dust was ris-
ing beyond the ridge! 1t was hurrying-
hurrying! Some belated savages.
doubtless unwilling to be cheated out
of the show set for their friends in the
valley. The dust column climbed the
ridge. 1t reached the summit. And
was going mad? or was there a line of
gallopng blue in the dust? The SOL
diers-the soldiers We're coming! The
wagon train was saved-saved! And l
was so glad l almost forgot the deep
personal interest had in the situation.
But the soldiers were charging straight
for me-and a tall horseman who wore
no uniform was riding madly well in
advance of them.
The estimable savage TO whom l have
referred sprang forward torch in hand
to fire the wood piled about me. And
the horseman rose in his stirrups raised
his rifle to his shoulder, fired, and the
attentive individual went down like
log, shot straight through the brain.
A rifle was aimed at me-fired- and
the bullet went rods wide of it's mark.
The horseman had risen in his stirrups
again. He had fired his own rifle sec
ond time. and my intending assissin
had hole through his heart.
The horseman saved me, In that rum
ming fight half dozen times. He COW
cred himself in glory, proved himself a
hero and then went down, killed by a
skulking loiterer, when the battle was
over and the foe, with here and there
an exception, either dead or in flight.
In fiction l suppose Tige Black
would have skipped out to the aid OF
the savages. And the Indian wose life
had saved. six years before, would
have brought the soldiers to save me.
But this is "a story of the Indian as he
was and is-not as we might idly say
he ought to be! Real life plays havoc
with the theories of romance. When
l looked into the dead face of the saw
age who had persistently tried to burn
me, / knew him-and understood the
gestures in which he had motioned to
head and leg and arm. He was the un-
grateful brute to whom I had given
lfe-when circumstances had dictated
death.
My son-Millie's and mine-is as mild
hammered fellow as you have ever