The Morris County chronicle. [volume] (Morristown, N.J.) 1877-1915, 1903-05-15

MIGUEL sPRANa ACROSS THE OPEN, RUSTY
PETE AT HIS HEELS
face had grown more sphinXlike than
ever Grim, silent, as if weighed down
by some tragic secret. he kept to him.
self, and the boldest among the Aloho
outfit did not care to question Rusty
Pete.
There were many traditions of him
the ride through the night to save the
neck of Miguel, when it became ques-
ton of his own life before the dawn
the strike at Joses where he had
made the stand and driven the drink
maddened crew into the corral and
there held them until the fumes of bad
whisky and pulque had passed. Here
in came part of the mystery. When
Jose had endeavored to thank him,
Pete had floored the whole crowd by
giving Jose talk on the folly of keep
ing barrels of whisky in easy reach of
such devils as the compound of Indian
and greaser that made up the per-
sonnet of Jose's ranch. And the most
startling feature was that in his eX-
element the vernacular of the border
slipped aside and he spoke in the cul-
tured tones that betrayed the college
bred son of the east. He had never for
gotten his mask since.
Pete rose and turned toward the
south, his lean body at attention"
like a statue, a full minute, his eyes
fixed upon the southern horizon. Fire!
Fire! Fire! The shrill cry brought
the mass of men swarming from the
corral and the air was full of eX-
clamation and question. Pete stood
STILL one bony hand pointing toward
the horizon, where misty blue haze
was seething up. John, reused from
his. siesta, came sleepily lounging
across the patio. One look, and he
yelled to the men: "Get to the plows!
Every man to his pony, and God help
us to fight itv'
Inside the corral the ponies were
tethered AS one man the eyes of the
whole outfit turned toward them, the
purpose of fight written on their faces
Then Pete sprang forward.
hNh VI luS 4AlOlO, tntIc . no USE III
playing the coward. You can't get
away, and If you could you would have
to leave the women. If we can't save
'em, we can die with 'em. The first
man that turns his pony to the north
won't need no pony"
This dictum was delivered without
the culver of muscle in his quiet,
even voice, and the men knew Pete.
Round and round. in a widening cir
Gle, they drove the ponies dashed to the
plows any fashion-cow pony, buster,
thoroughbred. all strained and tugged
alike as the plows turned the hard
baked soil, and the blue line, that was
now a fiery serpent curling its length
over the crest of the mesa, approached
even nearer.
The smoke grew sitting. The whole
world was ablaze, long fingers of fire
that crept out and pointed the way for
the vanguard to follow, closer and
closer, until the murmur grew to a
savage roar, and the ponies screamed
and fought away from the plows and
the blinded men that still forced them
on.
Closer still The long file broke, and
the ponies galloped into the corral,
there to huddle in frightened bunch.
The plows were left where they fell,
and the men staggered toward the
house. Then a shout went up, and
they stood still peering through the
smoke. The door of Miguel's tepee
was thrown open, and Bright Eyes,
with the papoose clinging to hei
skirts, stood In the doorway. The wo-
man must have slept through all the
din and only awakened to her danger
when too late For moment there