The Scranton tribune. [volume] (Scranton, Pa.) 1891-1910, 1899-09-07

hand wet with something warm. And
then he knew. His friend, Mark RiV-
ington, bold and trusty scout, lay dead
beside him, slain by one more crafty
than himself
one moment Amos spared to lament
his lost Cumrade and then he sprang
to his feet, remembering the dead
mans last message. Women prisoners
had been carried off. Agnes was in the
Creek camp Even now she might be
He thrust the thought from him ana
sped with swift. silent steps in the dl-
rection indicated by poor Rivington as
the position of the foe.
Suddenly he stopped What was this
ne was about to do? He was soldier,
and behind him lay his post one spot
of all others which the Greeks would
choose for their point of attack, should
they make it at dawn. That the attack
was contemplated he knew. He alone
of all men, now that 'kivington was
gone, possessed the fatCful knowledge.
Floyd, though he had not neglected
precautions, was secure in the beliet
that the Indians were far away. only
through RivinEton could the mistake
have been corrected, and now Rtvlng-
ton was dead the secret was in the pos
session of Amos and none other. The
lives of some two thousand men were.
in his keeping. Floyd trusted him; his
comrades slept at ease. relying upon
his skill and caution, and now he was
about to betray his trust, to sacrifice
them for an end of his own.
Behind him lay his duty--his duty,
Cot 1AI
Before him lay his hopes, shadowy, un-
defined, forlorn; for that he could reach
the Creek camp ere death, or worse.
had overtaken his Agnes was almost
beyond the bounds of possibility
But, slightly probable though it was,
there was yet the bare possibility: and,
oh, God! to picture her there alone,
weeping. despairing, praying, waiting
for the help that he alone could bring;
for he alone knew of her desperate po'
sition. He thanked God that she knew
not that he knew. He cursed himself
that he should hesitate for one mo-
ment between his duty and his love.
He execrated the general, who held
him bound to his post by every tie
of honor. He questioned of himself
with bitter emphasis what concern of
his where the lives Of the 1000 men
behind him, men OF whom nine out of
ten were unknown to him. when the
one life. dearer to him than those of
thousands of millions of others. dearer
to him than all the world, was at stake.
Why should he hesitate? He was bound
by no stringent military rule. He was
but a volunteer who had Joined more
for the sport of the thing than for
aught else. He, at least, had no quar-
rel, save that of race, with the perse-
cuted Indian. Not until now. And
now Nemises, following with swift foot
had overtaken him, and Nature was
to avengs her slaughtered children.
Why should he stay? Were there not
other points at which the Creeks
might make their attack? Were there
not other scouts besides poor Riving
ton, who might have borne the news
to Floyd, who might even now be alert
and preparing? Were there no other
sentries who could and would give the
alarm as well as he? Might not, after
all, Rivington have been mistaken as
to the threatened advance? 1t was nat
ural that, on seeing the Creeks in
force, he should suppose them about
to move to battle. But what less like
ly? Their successes had not been So
conspicuous as to hold out much in
ducement to them to attack a strong
position Most likely they were but a
marauding party moving on. Moving
on! Moving away. And bearing Agnes
with them. The thought unnamed
him, and he sank to the ground, COW
ering his face with his hands.
The brook bHbblcd on to join some
mighty river, the breeze that followed
the advent of midnight began to stir
among the trees; here and there the notes
of a night-bird broke the stiffness sharp
ly, the stars looked down upon him in
their calm, pitiless fashion, and still
Amos sat there, neither returning to his
post nor moving forward to the succor
of his love-sat there, inert, helpless, UNI
nerved, struggling weakly between tie
calling voices of love and duty.
But the balance was all on the side of
love; and, at last, as out of the dark
| ness, came a suggestion. He sprang ia
his feet once more. tiEhtened tn" belt OF
his tuniC, and, casting his duty to the
winds, FASTENED with swift though
| stcalthy feet in the direction of the
| Creek encampment.
For beam of light had illumined the
| darkness Of desCation that sat upon hi.
| soul, and in spirit he asked himself
"Why not do both? The Indians will not
attack before dawn in any case, for tho
| difficulties in their way are too great
| Long ere that | can reach their camp
perhaps save Agnes, and be back in am
| pie time to give the alarm. l can say
| that | found cause to advance, and the
news I bring will be my excuse for lcav,
| ing my post, After ALL am not leaving
| 1t; | am but extending it. 1t is better
| for every one that | should 60 forward. Of
He clutChed at the thought with the
| desperation of a man drowning in a sea
of indecision; and, stopping no more tC
| argue with himself, went on as rapidly
| as the darkness would allow.
| Well for MIN that he knew the COun,
| try There were landmarks visible t.
| him, deep night though It was that few
| white men besides himself could have
| recognized. There was the brook upor
| the right; the great bald smountain
| amidst whose crags he had so otter
| hunted, upon his left the very stars. ot
| whose names he was ignorant, were "A
| signal-lamps to guide him on his way
| And so he pushed on and on, through
| the miry swamp, in and out Of the dceI
| pine woods, over the brook across the
| sinuous river by fords known to few
| until he came to the edge Of a fringe
of forest, beyond which he could see {
multitude of twinkling lights. And by
| these he knew that his enemies and h,
| should soon be face to face.
He had judged Alright, IL seemed n,
movement was visible In the hostil,
camp, and 1t was evident TO him that
| If an attack We're contemplated, some
hours must elapse ere it could be made
| But, so far, all was quiet; and slowly
cautiously, as one who takes his iif
I l.. - i
wary eye for sentinel or picket as n
| went.
But he saw no one heard nothing, an,
! as he moved HlCng great wonder file,
| him. For the fires were burning low
| ana none came to tend them. What wa