The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1895-07-18
"STANDING THEM OFF,"
The Silent Form in the valley Told {
Story of Bravery.

waves in storm-and hoping that
the crest of each succeeding one would
give us view to break the monotony.
There is a dreariness about the plains
which has no comparison. The only
life under foot are the centipedes and
serpents-the only life in the air the
slow-sailing buzzards. The grass
which takes root in the allzali soil is
hateful to the eye, and the stunted
bush and ugly-looSing cactus but in
crease the general gloominess of pros
pect.
We enter unon our days march with
song and laughter. Within an hour
every trooper is silent We know that
for thirty miles to the west there is not
a stream of water nor a spring. In all
that distance there is not d tree
or flower or single spear of green
grass. 1t is land of desolation SO
drear and forbidding that it chills the
soul as the eye surveys it. In His
wrath the Creator heaved up the great
mountains towards which we are trav-
cling. There was more than wrath in
the making of these miles upon miles
of plain-they lay here under the sum-
mer sun accursed. Never a grain of
wheat will be reaped-never a clover
blossom show its head-never the
sharpening of a scythe disturb these
solitudes 1t is ridge upon ridge-ridge
upon ridge. From the crest of one
you get view of the crest of
another, with the little valleys be-
tween-nothing more, except as you
come upon a pile of bleaching bones
here and there.
In the days of the buffalo, the de-
feated monarchs of the herd wandered
out on the plains to die. Herds broken
up and pursued by wolves or Indians
fled until exhausted and then sank
down and died. Soldiers have wan
dered away from camp and died while
crouched at the roots of the bushes,
and hunters and Indians have left their
bones in the shadows of the giant cac-
tus which warn the living to keep their
distance. 1t would be more merciful
to hang murderer than to turn him
loose on this broad plain and tell him
to seek for life and liberty.
At three o'clock in the afternoon the
column comes to sudden halt. Those
in the rear press forward and are not
rebuked Here, on the crest of a ridge
few feet higher than any other within
rifle shot, is rifle pit-a shallow pit
scooped out with knife and hands and
the dirt piled up around its edges.
Down in the narrow valley between
two ridges are the skeleton and the
trappings of horse. Lying in the pit
on his back, with hands still clutching
Winchester, is the skeleton of a man.
No, do not mean skeleton. The cloth
ing has nodded and decayed and is
only dust, but the flesh has turned
like mummy and CHASTITY object.
What was once the form of a man has
shrunk away to the size of boy ten
years old, and the long black fingers
resemble those of an ape.
Neither the wolf nor the vulture has
been here. Surely these bodies must
have attracted the attention of the
foul birds sailing on high, but they did
not descend to the feast. 1t is too far
from the prairie for the wolf to wan
der. For months and months, under
the SHOWS of winter and the weeping
skies of spring and the hot suns of
summer, these bodies have been left
exposed and undergoing change, but
neither tooth nor beal1 has disturbed
them. They have seemingly waited
here to tell their story, and it is one
which we can read as from a book
Twenty miles to the west, where the
prairie begins, a settler who was
searching for lost stock was suddenly
surprised by the Indians. They cut
him off from the settlement, and he
was forced to ride straight out upon
the plains. There may have been ten
-twenty-thirty. They were after his
scalp, and as he rode away they pur-
sued. There was no hope for the man
from the start. He might lead them a
long'chase, but the end would be death.
He settled himself down in his saddle,
shut his teeth hard and entered upon
the race. 1t may have been ride Of
three hours to the spot where we
found him. He had failed to distance
pursuit and his horse could go no
further. With exultant yells of the
Indians sounding in his ears he had
selected the best spot for mile around
on which to make his last stand. By
the time the Indians were up he had
dug his shallow pit and was ready to
defend it to the last.
How long before death finally came
to end the unequal conflict? None but
the red fiends who escaped his bullets
can tell that. 1t was many long hours
perhaps two whole days. A soldier
dismounts and picks up the empty
cartridge shells and passes them about
as relics. We count them and there
are over seventy. We dig into the dirt
with our knives and bring forth more
than hundred bullets which had been
fired a. him. Without food or water
one against whole war party, per-
haps-knowing from the very first
what the end must be-the borderer
fought on until bullet finally entered
his head and laid him low. With rifle
held ready to fire again he turned over
and died as other brave men have died,
and 'as all border men die if pushed
to the wall. He may have killed three
-fve-even ten of his assailants. Why
they had not rushed in upon him after