The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905, 1902-02-18
MeLquiades.
BY EDGAR WELToN COOLEY.

! turned upon Melquiades, Piney and 8
! greaser from down on the Rio.
with his arm around the waist of the
I! girl and a scowl on his face as dark as
the gloss of her curls. Lopez stood mo
| tionless, glazing at the greaser. who
| crouched like tiger just ready to spring
| moment of silence so deep you could
! cut it, and then with a snarl the greaseI
leaped straight for the throat Of his rival
| the knife in his hand bleamng bright in
the light Of the lamps.
| The point of his weapon plowed It's
| way through the side of Lopez but a bull
| let fun into his face shattered the nerve
| 81 the greaser, and he sank on his knees,
| his blood staining red the white dress OF
| the one he had loved and had died for
] MS fast chilling lips touching softly the
| mem OF her garment.
With his smoking revolver still clasped
! in his hand, Melauiades jerked the blood
! dripping knife from his quivering flesh
and hung It with sheer of contempt at
| the motfonlesS form Of the greaser. Then
! turning his glittering eyes on the boys
| in the room he swore he would shoot out
| the heart of any galoot who dared to
| make love to the fairy.
At his words q dozen revolvers were
| flashed, and he backed his way into a
| corner with CLEAN in his eyes that pro-
! claimed he would make his bluff good.
| But Piney. dash Of red on her cheeks
| as bright as the red on her dress, de-
| manded he put up his weapon.
For moment he gaZed in Ter eyes, the
| ScoWl on his face giving way to a smile,
| then he quivered an instant and sank In
| heap on the floor.
For a month after that he was loco
| with fever, dealing out to his nurses all
kinds Of wild talk Of a fairy with eyes
| that laughed into his like the star SPAN
! gled night laughs in the faces of ripples
| that dance on the Pecos. But when the
| fire got out of his veins, and the w--eels
| or his Uranium ceased their revolving,
| he never once mentioned her name all
! though we
! 1ngly out of the window to where her
/ home stood on the banks of the old
| Phantom.
Autumn stampeded and winter
froze to death on the prairies while
| Melquiades tossed on his bunk with his
pain never soothed by the presence Of
| Piney. She had no time to waste on
! a wounded cow-puncher while the plain
and the valley were dizzy with boys who
| could dance and could ride and make
| love in the moonlight.
| The wild flowers held up their pity
/ ing heads, when Melquiades, pale-faced
and crippled forever, dragged himself
down to the banks of the river. Great
were the wounds in his flesh, where the
| knife of the greaser had chawed at his
vitals. but greater than these was the
wound in his heart for, little by little,
he had learned of Piney's betrothal to
! Jose Oumondo.
he dragged himself onward, hearing
| the murTnuring ripples, and watching
| the moonlight asleep on the water. and
suddenly, through the gloom and the
| silence there came to his ears the
sobbing voice of a woman He listened
a moment, then onward he hurried with
all the strength that was left him
He found her at last, lying fiat on
her face in the grasses, her wonderful
! eyes dripping wet with her tears, her
| misty and tragical tresses unkempt and
unbraided, falling patheticalIy over her
/ shoulders that shook with her anguish
He knelt by her side and rested his
| hand on her head, but spoke not a
| word. A moment she glanced In his
| face, then, like a child, clutched his arm
| and buried her face on his shoulder.
| "A long time they sat on the bank of
| the Pecos, and, little by little, she told
] him the story Of Jose's desertion, of her