The Kinsley graphic. [volume] (Kinsley, Kan.) 1890-1940, 1895-01-04
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By CAPT. lHARIes HING. USA,
Copyright. 1898. by J. B. Lippnbott Co.
CHAPTER L-CoNrINIJEp.

Copyright. 1893. by J. B. nppinbot Co.
CHAPTER L-CoHr1NuEp.
"What is it?" he cried, running and
bending over him. "Are you hit?
Here, let me help you, man." And
poor Schramm could only clasp his
hand about bis leg and plead in English
equally broken: "Lauf-Roon! Herr
Lieutenant Ach EOtN can it not
make" Then Morgan, IL powerful
fellow. cut him short and swung the
little ex-Hussar on his back and plunged
ahead, needless of his captive splut-
ter and struggles. But yelling Sioux
and whistling bullets both were gain
ing. Another minute, and down went
| lieutenant and man, carrier and car
ried, and this time Schramm, rolling
over and over, never let go Of his car
bine, but, lying prone, levelled it over
q little hummock, and sent shot
square at the foremost Indian, tripping
his calico pony in the nick of time.
''Check to your game, my bucks!"
painted Morgan, loading, firing and
missing again. Its little but lead
you'll get out of this outfit" The In
dian bullets were biting at the turf all
around him, yet mercifully flying wild.
Schramm, bleeding fast, was paling,
yet keeping up his fire, wondering how
it was he could so rarely hit those yell
ing, painted, feathered fends darting
about them only few hundred yards
away. Then, rising on his knees, he
shouted Prussian taunt and challenge.
''Lie down, you fool!'' yelled his Off
GER, rolling over to him, and, Selling his
shoulder, Morgan forced him to earth.
Not second too soon; an Indian had
sprung from his pony, taken deliberate
aim and sent shot that just grazed
the hand that pinned him down, and
then came thunder of hoofs far out
over the prairie and the rush of COM
rades to the rescue, and then the Sioux.
firing to the last minute, whirled away
up the rayine, and Morgan's deer hunt
was over. That night, while Ray, with
his troop, was still out in pursuit, Nor
gan lay with a shot hole through the
left shoulder at the bivouac fire, and
was chaffed and condoned with in
moderation over the failure of his ven-
ison chase, and took it all meekly
enough. He had bagged no game, had
well-nigh lost his own and other lives.
had ridden almost blindly into Indian
ambuscade, and yet, in point of result,
as it turned out, that was about the best
days work he mad done in all his life.
CHAPTER II.
eff ever a man came into the cavalry
who deserved we'll of his country" said
his colonel, sit is .Iorgan." He was a
good soldier, but a bad manager-a
combination far more frequent than is
probably known. He came into the
regiment in &c, burdened with a wife
and war debt. A capital trooper, he
had won honors with the saber in the
Shenandoah; had risen to the command
of his battalion, and was urged to take
commission in the regular army.
Famous names backed his application,
but he had been held to duty in Texas
while earlier-discharged volunteers
were picking up the plums in the
newly-authorized regiments. He got
in eventually as second lieutenant
where his own lieutenants had gone in
as first. He had the brevet of a lieu
tenant colonel of volunteers and the
rank and pay of q low-down subaltern
of regulars when he and his wife and
little daughter joined the regiment
in the south. When he came to the
frontier after five years Of reconstruc-
ton duty her health was impaired as
much as his prospects. Morgan was
supporting an invalid wife, three chill
dren, a negro nanny" an cgregious
folly of female nurse and q scattered
indebtedness of no one knew just how
many hundreds or thousands, all on a
first lieutenant's pay, and that hy-
pothccated. He loved his wife and
little ones; he was attached to his COM
rades and his profession, but every
month found him more dangerously in.
volved. He had no relatives to help
him; she had some who might, but
didn't. He wore old clothes, stinted
himself in every way, yet saw no light
ahead, and, to make n long story short,
would have thanked God for the
chance to end it all but for the
thought of those helpless little ones
when at last the wife, not he, was
taken. She had been practically bed
ridden for two years, and it would
have been mercy to take her long be.
fore, but Morgan couldn't see that
He wept sorely over the cold, ema
ciated form, then reused himself
gathered his children in his strong
arms and folded them to his heart
"You must be more shan ever little
mother to them, now, Connie" said he
as he kissed the white forehead of his
eldest. She was only fifteen that
spring, yet for two years had beer
more woman than child, trying to helI
mother, trying to be comfort te
poor daddy" whose face took on deer
and deeper lines with every month
trying to be n teacher and playmate
and mother all in one to Sister Lottie
only eight, and to burly, brown-haircd
uproarious little Billy, the one member
of the household whose spirits were
unquenchable. There were minister
ing hands and loving hearts at the
rude old frontier fort, ana in poor Mrs
Morgan's last days, far from her home
and Kindred, there was no ''lack O.
woman's nursing" no ''dearth of WON
ans tears" Everybody seemed to e.
in the solemn little procession when
nfoot, they followed the wasted form
to its bleak and lonely resting place i,
the post cemetery out on the oper
prairie.
my God! to think Of Door CARRIE