The herald-advance. (Milbank, S.D.) 1890-1922, 1902-03-14

i BAL AC al last uS O1OhOs Tic
sheriff, eve 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.
1t means the gallows now. Concbtta
told us about Heynman's dying, and
maybe you won't believe LIS, but we
didn't mean to kill the fool. BY heav-
en-, I 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 a lark, but
it's turned out an annoying n We've
got to pay the price, I suppose, but
COnchita"-his voice seemed almost to
tremble as 1t ioated up to Mcguire
she followed me here, and now-well,
l reckon you'll give her a 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 a sharp eye on the Mexicans, who
now seemed too stunned wen to pick
up their firearms. Mcguire kept his
gun trained on Wolfe & the latter
stood a moment in earnest converse
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 vas 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
lmperiled 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 1oated
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 fusillade 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 sherif's posse had
been spirited away to Denver. Pueblo
or Canon City. A dozen reporters from
city dailies were on the scene. There
was talk of a Mexican uprising.
A newspaper man who had been
talking with the postmaster suddenly
struck of in the direction of the river
and the cabin among the willows. He
was on the trail of a story, the true
story Of Randall Wolfe. Conchita met
him at the door with eyes more wistful
than ever and a pathetic droop about
her mouth. But that mouth tool on a
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 p
Still no answer. The newspaper man
tried another tack.
Hes left you nothing, l hear, and
it isn't to be supposed hat 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 te~ll-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 a packet Of letters.
Among them was the photograph Of q
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 a picture Of her
dead husband. With hungry yes she
studied each crude line, Their kissed the |
photograph passionately and, with a
sob, laid that, too, on the greedy Goals.
"Ah.' she sobbed as the flames licked
and curled the blackened p%asteboard,
mia cara. l have kept my word! 1t
was all | could do, and they shall never
known
Then. with her hands clasped about
her knees. she crouched weeping by
the dying embers.