Warren sheaf. [volume] (Warren, Marshall County, Minn.) 1880-current, 1902-02-27

guire. When at last he spoke, the
| sheriff, even with the thirst Of the
man hunter upon him. caught himself
wondering how that voice would sound
| in legislative halls.
Its no use to surrender, Mcguire.
It means the gallows now. Conchita
told US about Heynman's dying, and
| maybe you won't believe us, but we
| didn't mean to kill the fool By heav-
en-, couldn't stand being cooped up
there! Another day'd have set me
mad. When he brought the supper, we
just toppled him over, for lark, but
it's turned out an annoying one. We've
got to pay the price, suppose, but
Conchita voice seemed almost to
tremble as it tioated up to Mcguire
she followed me here, and now-well,
| reckon you'll give her chance to
get up there safe
Mcguire nodded grimly. He knew
what those words meant. Wolfe
meant to die fighting. There would be
no surrender. The men of the posse
kept sharp eye on the Mexicans, who
now seemed too stunned even to pick
up their firearms. Mcguire kept his
gun trained on Wolfe as the latter
stood a moment in earnest conversa-
ton with Conchita. He saw something
white slipped into her hands and scent
ed treachery, but as she pushed the
packet into the bosom Of her gown he
saw that it was merely a bundle Of
papers or letters.
Without looking at his companions
and with Maguire's gun still aimed at
his heart, Wolfe led Conchita to the
narrow goat path. She took half a
dozen steps, then paused, turned and
stretched out her arms Eight deputies
imperiled their lives by closing their
eyes.
Conchita sprang up the path and
without looking back dashed into the
underground on the summit and dis
appeared. A second later there foated
up to Mcguire Randall Wolfe's taunt-
ing laugh. He swung round on the
cringing Mexicans
Flight, you cowardsv' he cried and
aimed at Mcguire. The fusilIade was
on.
The next day a CHASTITY quiet hung
over Cimarron. The coroner had rid.
den to the Devils caldron, and four
bullet riddled bodies lay in the towns
small undertaking establishment. The
armed guards still patrolled the town.
The members of the sheriff's posse had
been spirited away to Denver, Pueblo
or Canon City. A dozen reporters from
city dallies were on the scene. There
was talk of Mexican uprising.
A newspaper man who had been
talking with the postmaster suddenly
struck off in the direction of the river
and the cabin among the willows. He
was on the trail Of story, the true
story of Randall Wolfe. Conchita met
him at the door with eyes more wistful
than ever and pathetic droop about
her mouth. But that mouth took on
determined curve as the reporter talk
ed. She shook her head
But" he persisted did Wolfe never
tell you anything about his people in
the east? He got money from them,
didn't he? His mother wrote to him 90
Still no answer. The newspaper man
tried another tack.
Hes left you nothing, I hear, and
it isn't to be supposed that his people
will help YOU He drew forth his
purse. Now, I'd be glad to help you
out if you'll answer a few questions"
The Mexican woman rose and threw
open the door.
There is nothing to tell-nothing.
The newspaper man shrugged his
shoulders and walked out into the sun
light. He knew the woman lied. She
watched him through the following
willows. Then she closed her door and
crossed to the fireplace From her
bosom she drew packet of letters.
Among them was the photograph of
woman with white hair. These she
laid on the Goals and watched them
burn. Then she sprang to her feet
and tore from the wall picture of. her
dead husband. With hungry eyes she
studied each crude line, then kissed the
photograph passionateIy and, with a
sob laid that, too, on the greedy Goals.
s'Ah,' she sobbed as the flames licked
and curled the blackened pasteboard,
mia cara, have kept my word! It
was all could do, and they shall never
know!''
Then, with her hands clasped about
her knees, she crouched weeping by
the dying embers.
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