The progressive farmer. [volume] (Winston, N.C.) 1886-1904, 1895-06-11

essential was discarded.
A lariat, looped around the horses
lower jaw, and a saddle blanket strap,
ped tightly on the back formed the
steed's outfit. Pantaloons, light moe.
casins. and a handkerchief around the
head to keep his long hair from blow
ing into his eyes, made up the riders
toilet.
If I get to the fort I can get a jacket
and hat from the soldiers; ifI can't get
there, thereW be less for old Juh to
tote" were Collins reflections.
Into his pocket he slipped a Derrln
ger, saying, I don't take any chances
on being taken alive"
Strips of blankets were tied deity
around the horses feet, that no chlnks
of hoofs on stone might warn the keen
eyed besiegers of his passage; and
when the moon was fairly set, Collins
led his stallion down the slope OF the
mound, vaulted upon his back, and
saying quietly to Clay: IF the troops
amt here by an hour after moonset,
tomorrow night, you may know l am
gone UNDER and stole slowly away in
the darkness"
Those left behind waited, listening,
with anxious hearts, to hear the tumul5
which would announce that their mes
senger's fight had been discovered.
Five minutes passed-ten minutes
twenty minutes; Clay had just drawn
a long sigh of relief, and was turning
away with the remark, Il reckon he's
safe by this time," a flash caught his
eye out on the plain. Another and an
other succeeded; and the report Of
rifles came to their ears.
They've seen him! They're after
HING exclaimed Finch; but vainly did
the beleaguered watchers listen and
strain their eyes for further indications
al to the fate of their courier.
Would he outstrip his pursuers2
Had he escaped, or vas he already
dead, or a pinioned prisoner, helpless
to aid them9 These were questions
which no n on the mound could an
swer.
The night dragged by and another
day of thirst and suffering dawned. A
feeble groan from Pike, the wounded
man, drew Finch's attention. He
walked back to where poor Aleck lay,
andaWkwardIy, but tenderly, adjusted
his head in a easier position. AS he
stood looking down upon him, he
thought of another sick man who once
lay delirious in a Crow lodge. and
loathsome from head to foot with fes-
tering disease.
He remembered, too, who it was that
had nursed that sick man through that
time of horror, who had stayed by him
and watched over him as tenderly as a
mother over her child, even when the
stoical Indians had fled appalled-who,
when the grip of death "a broken,
had painfully carried him for weary
mile upon mile till help was reached;
and then, laying down his helpless
burden at the post surgeons feet, had
fallen, ~senseless, in the middle of the
parade ground.
"And 1 have quarreled with this
man-this brother-about a horsei"
thought Finch. bah! All the horses
from the Rio Grande to the Columbia
weren't worth one hair on Tom Collins
head! Oh! what a fool-what a fool
I've been! Can I ever make it up to
Tom for the wrong I've done him9"
The day, with ever increasing, mis-
cry, wore away. With mouths too
parched to talk, the men lay watching
at their posts. Aleck had died at noon.
Save now and then a plaintive neigh
from the thirsty horses, or a distant
whoop of derision from the expectant
Apaches, scarcely a sound broke the
wretched monotony IN the mound.
Clay sat and watched the sun sink
behind the distant range. Il nor none
of us, will ever see another sunset" he
murmured to himself, "unless Tom got
through and perhaps not even then"
Gradually the darkness descended
and night gathered about them; but
still, grimly at their places, the from
tiersmen lay, we'll nigh hopeless now,
but none the less determined to die
fighting to the bitter end.
But what clear, sweet sound was
that which suddenly broke on the dull,
oppressive stiffness of the dry night airG
It was-and what a shout rose from
those parched throats!-lt was a bugle
call. Hank! I sounded:
"Open. order, fours!"
EED-.- - n Hon ~