The Chanute times. [volume] (Chanute, Kan.) 1897-1913, 1901-08-02
CHAPTER III.


In the sage brush wigwam the sum-
mer waned to autumn with dreary
stiffness. Grey already, the stretch of
brush, relieved alone by the willow
fringe Of the wandering creek, was
cherries, dreary and oppressive to the
girl She sat alone, while the chilling
wind was wantonly ripping the leaves
from the branches, her head dropped
low in hopeless despair.
A shadow, thrown by the setting
sun, betrayed a presence. Dumbly she
raised her eyes to look.
UGH" said tall, grunting Washoe
buck.
She turned away her head again.
'Mahala, do you wait for Mingo?"
said the man. Johnny Shag is big
ger chief. Mingo shall never come"
She looked in silence on the ashes of
the wood burned the day before.
"Mahala," he added, lone, two moons
johnny Shag come to take you the trail
Too long, you sabbee? Mahala waits
for Mingo. Better look out Mahala;
johnny Shag is warrior. To-day you
better talk"
"One moon. let me think" she
YEARLY answered. "Let me wait one
moon"
"One moon, yet. Jonny Shag will
wait Many things come before the
moon again." He glided away, and
again her head sank YEARLY down.
Mingo, the Washoe, stealthily re-
turning to Chloride hill, kept cautious
cars and eyes awide, to learn the re-
suit of the murder at the mine. Susie
he rightly conjectured, would have
guessed the truth. He avoided the
wikiup, but remained in the town. Pa
thence with many an Indian is virtue
On a crisp, cool day, while Mingo
talked with group of bucks on Il COR
ner, Shag, on pony and armed with
a rifle, rode up behind. Raising his
gun, he deliberately shot Mingo
through the body, and escaped to the
hills.
The thoroughly astounded camp Of
ficials promptly gave pursuit, but all
dead man assisting, the country was
secured, skillfully, cunningly. Canyons,
valleys, the shoulders of the noun
tains, were traversed and searched,
but nothing availed Shag enjoyed ey-
cry advantage.
Three Indian trailers, mounted, came
at length to where the fugitive was
lying in ambush. One of these escaped
with his life and rode like a demon
to tell of the two, lying grisly and
stark, struck in the back by the bull
lets of Shag, their faces now twisted
in the sum-
A STOPPING, stricken Washoe, the old
Red Wolf, whose boys they were that
had died in the sand, departed in sill
ence, alone, on the path of war. The
fued was his. In the night he found
the man he sought, found him asleep
left him asleep-his knife standing
firm, erect, buried to the hilt in the
breast of Shag the warrior.
The year grew old; it's days, like
the hours Of waking of an old and
passing man, were dim and short; its
nights long sleeps, that made it none
the stronger.
And yet there came day that was
like an echo of what had been before
the year began to age. Susie, wan but
wistful of face, went from the hope
less wigwam and hurried away up the
moaning creek. She went to a copse
of alder trees, entered and was lost to
view.
An hour later she slowly emerged
and in her arms she carried child,
little boy with fairest hair and the
bluest of eyes. She seated herself in
the sunlight and shivered as she nes-
tied the infant and cooed it softly with
Indian words. She was faint and
weary, but strangely happy. Her baby
resembled its father, young as it was.
Her heart went leaping to it-embrac-
ed it-owned it! Her pain, her suffer-
ing, everything was forgotten.
All the afternoon she sat by the
stream nursing her baby, Guiding it
closely, warming it ever in her throb-
bling breast. AS the twilight approach
ed, the air was the balm of the Indian
summer.
Rising, she placed her baby In the
rustling grass; deftly she bent the
subtle willows down-masses of willow
and throwing the grass, leaves and
twigs over all. made a roof to catch
the frost. Into this with her child she
crept. nesting it gently as before.
Night came down. Quite late the
babe awoke and feebly cried. She
smothered 1t and sang, in her sad
sweet voice, lullaby:
hear the crickets sing in the long
grasses;
Many camp-fires of the braves shine
in the sky
They shine again in the little river;
The wind is small and gentle when il
plays in your hair.
Lie in my heart as the pebbles lie In
the little river;
As the crickets lie in the long grasses;
Shine in my heart as the camp-fres
shine in the sky;