St. Landry clarion. (Opelousas, La.) 1890-1921, 1901-03-09

oF less the CnlcaSos express Houlu
thunder by. Restless and uneasy,
somehow, | went TO the door and
opened it. The moon was at its full,
bathing every object in its pure white
light.
II glanced downt The track. A dark
object threw its black shadow direct
ly across the spot it was my daily duty
TO guard.
g The team | gasped. reaching
for my cap. My Godp and the next
moment, as well as my halting step
would permit, | was making for the
crossing. That shrill whistle in the
distance could it already be the ez-
press?
In less time than it takes to tell
it, sir, ! had clambered into the Wag-
on, upon the floor Of which with
white, upturned face, lay young
man, dead-if you'll permit me to
say it, sir-dead drunk
sgThe train was between Linwood
and Rnsselfs. Even now its fiery eye
cleaned banefully over the track.
The horses trembled, reared, and
wouldn't obey therein. Pray? Aye,
sir, that instant Of peril taught me
the difference between form and
earnest prayer. Good Lord, deliver
u.s. meant something more than an
idle petition spoken with a smile on
the lip. | needed help, superhuman
help, A second later the express,
shrieking like demon, flashed by,
and on the crossing lay no writhing
horses, no torn and bleeding men,
no wrecked and useless wagon.
@The young man, aroused by the
noise, had by now struggled to his
feet.
What is to he asked, doggedly,
yet half conlprehending.
i was trembliT G as violently as
the horses, and for a moment was un-
able to answer him. His face, when
| had explained, turned ghastly
white in the moonlight. Thoroughly
sobered, he sat silent for awhile, his
lips moving conyulsively as though
in prayer.
You're all right now, said I,
after awhile, giving him the reins,
but be careful, my boy, of the next
crossing For answer he wrung my
hand, saying never a word Iunder-
stood, Of course, all that was in his
heart, and so | stood, all unmindful of
the cold, till long after the wagon had
crossed the bridge and the sound of
the wheels had very nearly died in the
distance.
1T was a month or more after that,
when one day young man stepped
up to the sentry-box and cordially
grasped my hand
g You don't remember me- he
said, little bashfully, the young
man whose life you saved almost on
this very spot@
!" Why, bless mep / returned,
heartily, and.then we Of course fell to
talking the thing over.
Mr.. Owens said he, earnestly,
when about to leave, I feel as though
| can never repay you for your noble
deed that night, but passing me
shining silver quarter of a dollar
which by courtesy, sir, I felt should
MT refuse-<iit would afford me great
pleasure if you would some time
drink to our further acquaintance
q I can never do that, sir, I an
swered, shaking my head. I never
indulge in spirits. / wouldn't be fit
for duty, young man, if I did
" That's so, said be, the muscles
about his chin quivering, if you had
been in bed and as tipsy as / was that
night, Why but No. 20 was due,
could only say good-by and leave him,
''About year after that" he re-
sumed, after slight pause, "an old
gentleman, standing here idly one
day, engaged me in conversation.
Something in his face and speech
seemed familiar, tantalizingly famil-
lar. Presently I asked his name
Morrow, John Morrow,~of
knew then who stood before ME. He
was the father of the young man I
have been telling about. Naturally
enough | spoke Of his sons peril that
night. The old gentleman looked
dumfounded.
!" That accounts for the sudden
change in my boy exclaimed he.
when, at his request, / had told him
all. That accounts for the ehangein
Ned about that time And then he |
told me Of the sorrow and trouble the
boys love Of liquor had given The
mother and him, and how unreliable |