Semi-weekly Windham County reformer. (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1897-1901, 1901-10-18

| constantly thrown together and then the
| excitement of coming out here; tears an0
scene. lost my head, couldn't seem
brute, so played the game; exchanged
rings, wrote foolish letters, tragic goodby
and here we. are
"Morty. you are incorrigible,' says Cur
ION. "Where is her ring? You would
like me to send it if-that is, you would
| like her to have it again If things don
J come right
! Bet | would. she has got the ring the
dad left mc-family heirloom and all that
The mater will CANT my young brother
TO have it if | get out
With great difficulty he gets at cham
to witch is attached Il medley of articles
and among them Il magnificent ring OF
opals and diamonds. Curzon stretches
out his hand to take it, giving heart!
grasp to the shaking hand that delivers
the heavy gold circlet. An instant iatcl
his eyes light on the ring; curious sound
comes from between his teeth, which are
closed over the pipestem.
Not hit. Curzon?" almost screams
Mortlakc.
| NO; keep quiet, you fool; You will hurt
| yourself." The tone is stern and Mort
| lake wriggles back in his old position.
| There is n long silence; then "Morty
| lad, You never gave me the address, and
| shall have to get your ring for Your
mother"
"Oh, the address is inside the letter. AS
| for my ring, | trust you to get me out of
this final scrape, as you have done SO
many others in days gone BY
Curzon suddenly asks, Il wonder If /
know her."
ooh. yes; of course you do, old chap.
| She told me your place was quite near
her fathers and that you had known her
as a child. Cecil Nereker-yOu must re-
| member her."
| For a moment there is a dead silence.
| Curzon grips his rifle until the veins of
| his hand stand out like whipcord and
| mutters under his breath: known her
as a child. Good God, and this is how
| the ring | gave her comes back to me.
| Wonder If the ring left for her is guard
| ing the heirloom of the Mortlake family
and if other mems trinkcts are hanging
on my watch chain? Heaven aboye-'un-
| sophisticated" Shall tell him? Better
not; if he must 60 let him go believing
her TO be what he thinks her. If he lives
well, if he lives as there is God in
And to think
"Curzon, do you think the end is near?
l am getting awfully cold shivers down
my back. What is the chance of our
getting out of this Internal hole alive:'
"Our chance depends upon how the
mounted troops draw them off to the
right. Take my coat, Morty; ! don't feel
cold. can wiggle out of it
- I ItISh u = a II
that, Curzon. Feel my head. bit light.
| This place is becoming 4 well. Can't see
clearly. Is ths-how it comes?'
Nonsense, man; pull yourself together.
You'll pull through all right" His voice
has terrible anxious ring, however.
THE whisky has gone to your head. You
want n meal, that's what you want, and
warm blankets. I've seen men live to a
hale old age with wad of lead in their
insides."
Il don't believe there is any left inside;
seems to have gone clean through, and
expect that Internal hem
"Shut up, Morty. Keep up your old
time grit. Think | hear horse galloping,
and no man would be such an ass if they
are not retreating." Looks carefully out,
then ducks.
"Jove it is mounted officer, and there
come stretcher bearers. Hold up, old
man, veil fix you all right" Shouts for
stretcher bearers, waving his hat on ms
rife. Two minutes later FIVE meu are
bending over Mortlake; one, a surgeon,
makes hasty examination of wound, cut
ting away uniform. Curzon kneels be-
side his friend who writhes with pain,
his lips pressed between his teeth as the
| by poderlnic syringe is quickly called into
| service.
Bullets begin to plow up the earth
close to the little group. Curse the cow
ards, they always aim at the bearers,
growls one man.
Surgeon-All right here. Lucky cs-
| cape for the lad. Clean fresh wound.
Can't spare much blood though, looks as
| if he needed food.
Thank Cod" from Curzon.
From Mortlake, family: Afraid |
made bit of an ass of myself, old chap
Surgeon-Move on, men; getting too
hot; try and get him out of harms way.
4 bearer sinks to the ground with n
| bullet in his ankle. Curzon rises and
takes his place hurricdly. lays Mortake
gently on the stretcher and they move of.
the ring, still in Curzons hand, pressing
| into the palm as the weight OF lhe
stretcher begins to tell.
stop a secold" he calls TO the front
bearer; must shift weight a bit; am
| fcarfully stiff" Then he draws n long
breath, squaring his broad shoulders and
stretching his limbs with delight. This
is better than that sodden hole; bullets or
no bullets. one is a man again.
"Curzon, for Gods sake, hurry" comes
| in feeble tones from the stretcher.
At that moment Curzon pitches head
! long in the mud. The ring from his open
| hand rolls to one side, the surgeon steps
up to take his place, and his foot presses
the shining jewels deep into the African
mud, mixed now in red paste. Gives
one glance at the face as he turns Cur
ION over.
| "Devils-clean through the heart. A
| brave man gone. Can you stand trot,
man? Our only chance" The surgeon
does not wait for an answer, but takes
| the handles of the stretcher and heads
| for the nearest dressing station.
Curzon sleeps undisturbed on the dark
| ening vedt with his outstretched hand
| pointing toward the buried ring.-New
York Evening Post.
NI