Waterbury Democrat., 1902-12-31

was sltuated, and I had stopped with the intention of frying some bacon for my dinner when I heard a rifle shot sound across the valley, rever- berating against the high rocks with 8 roar that fingered like receding thunder. I looked about and at last saw Baff1n standing on point of rock far above me, his rife on his arm and eyes searching across the deep canyon. I called his name, and was astonished to see him drop fiat on his face like a man pursued, and peer over the edge of his hiding place.
 scrambled into my saddle and was soon within speaking distance of him. He came out with a glad smile, but l noticed that there was hunted gray hairs above his temples that I had not noticed before. He asked me if had heard the shot. "Of course" said I, what were you shoot ing at?" But he said that he didn't shoot at all, that it was somebody else, and so led me up the narrow passageway between the rocks till we came into little clearing at the top. I saw that he had built good shanty there, and also saw that the old squaw was yet with him, for she was sitting there by the front door as if dozing in the westering sun- light.
 But I was not prepared for the sudden change that came over Baffin when he saw her. With an awful oath he stopped me, and when I looked at him his face was ashen and his fiery eyes were fixed upon the old bag. I was afraid he was ill, and asked him, but he said no, and then, becoming quite calm, he sat down on a shady rock and said:
 Did you ever hear that story. wha [ you might call a legend, about the massacre of the Tonkawas?'
 thought it, queer, irrelevant question, but I sat down, and said I had not.
 "I never believed it." he resumed. "and I never heard it before, but I'd rather you heard it from me thau from someone else. 1t is said that in the old days the Tonkawas ate their prisoners. They were cannfbals, as you call them. It must be a lie. But the Apaches and the Iowas, as we'll as the Comanches, wish to be- lieve it. don't know how long age, but some time when the Tonkawas were at war with the Comanches, they stole baby from the Comanche village that was in the West Cache, near the foothills of the Washita, and cooked it for the Tonkawa chief. It was two nights later that 600 Xii owas and Comanches fell upon the Tonkawa camp in the rock gorge of Bloody mountain and massacred the whole tribe. They slew and burned till there was not Tonkawa left, and when they had counted the scalps they knew that every fighting man was dead. But when they came back into the valley they found that one woman and her baby had es- capped"
 There were tears in his eyes when he looked across the sunlit clearing l toward his sllanty, and, pointing his l big, brown hand at the old squaw, said:
 l There she sits. She was the last of the TonlSawas, unless I can be I called Tonkawa."
 "You?" I said, not understanding; | but he went on: ''She was my moth CTS mother. My father was Gerald Baffin, an English trapper. He mar ried the Tonkawa baby. But the Co manche followed them as they have followed me. They shot my mother while she was nursing me. My father disappeared, but old Shaiga hid me and I have repaid her we'll till now "She must be very old" I said, not knowing why he bowed his tousled head so low.
 ..More than century," he an. l swered.
 'And you think it was your enc.
 mics who burned your houses and l maimed your cattle?'
 .sIt doesn't matter. I didn't mind l that, but this" he had risen and l l followed him toward the shanty where the old woman was sitting mo
 tionless-"th is hard to forget. I, l was that shot you heard"
 The old squaw was quite dead.--
 Chicago Record-Herald.
 somefhinH WronR.
 Physician Madam, I find your hus
 band has pneumonia in its wors
 form. ns
 Mrs. Newrich--I can't understan that. We are certainly rich enoug to afford the very best there is.