The citizen. (Frederick City, Md.) 1895-1923, 1902-10-17
THE CITIZEN FIRE Derrick MORNING. OCTOBER IT, 1902

Conchita"-his voice seemed almost to
tremble as it 1oated up to Mcguire
she followed me here, and now-woll
| reckon you'll give her a chance TO
get up there safe"
Mcguire nodded grlmly. He knew
what those words meant. Wolfe
meant to die fighting. There would he
no surrender. The men of the posse
kept a 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 Il moment in earnest converse
ton with Conchita. He saw something
white slipped into her hands and scent
ed treachery, but as she pushed tho
packet into The bosom Of her gown he
saw that it was merely 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
dozen steps, then paused, turned and
stretched out her arms. Eight deputies
Imperfect their lives by closing their
eyes
Conchita sprang up the path and
without looking back dashed into the
underground Oh the summit and dis
appeared. \ second later there foated
up TO Mcguire Randall Wolfe's taunt-
ING laugh. He swung round on the
cringin% McNicaus.
Plight you towards" 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 riddlcd bodies lay in the towns
small undertaking establishment. The
armed guards stiil patrolled the town.
The members of the sherin's posse had
been spirited away to Denver, Pueblo
or Canon City. y dozen reporters from
city dailies were on the scene. There
was talk Of a Mexican uprising.
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 a 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 Il
determined curve as the reporter talk
cd. 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?"
Still no answer. The newspaper man
tried another tack.
Hes left you nothing, l 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 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
lISLl. llt AlltN lHc NOlidu lltu. 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 a
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 passionately and, with a
sob, laid that, too, on the greedy Goals.
"Ah," she sobbed as the flames licked
and curled the blackened pasteboard,
mia cara, have kept my word! 1t
was all | could do. and they shall never
know
Then, with her hands clasped about
her knees, she crouched weeping by
the dying embers.