Herald and news. [volume] (West Randolph, Vt.) 1878-1943, 1903-06-18

4
listening with wide-eyed delight to
my description Of its uses and values
in the big cities. Though he never
! told me till later. was already sure
that he had never been in the states.
/ but he was so keen for information.
so ambitious for work, so apt in
grasping ideas, that / never could
make up my mind TO believe that be
had any Indian blood in him.
When I left him that time his mind
was fully made up to go prospecting
for asphalt. and sorry as / felt for
him, / couldn't help but admire the
splendid optimism which seemed 20
surmount all his strange i'll luck and
lead him always on to new enter
prises. ! gave him two or three adj
dresses, where letters might reach
me during the next year, and prom
ised in case he should find a consid-
cradle deposit of asphalt, to rejoia
him, and il possible unite with him
in the business of acquiring leases
and developing the property.
/ was in Pittsburg late that sum
mer, when | got letter from Balm.
dated at Ardmore, in the Chiekasaw
country, telling me that he had found
a great and hitherto unknown depos-
il of asphalt in the black hills above
Taila, and seven miles to the north
west by the trail. 1t was nearly six
weeks later, after a days mean rid
ing. that l got well up into the rocky
hills into which the trail had led me.
/ had a pack mule, besides my saddle
pony. for l didn't know how Batiin
was situated, and had stopped with
the intention of frying some bacon
for my dinner when l heard a rife
shot sound across the valley, rever
berating against the high rocks with
roar that fingered like recediue
thunder. l looked about and al last
saw Baffin standing on point Of
rock far above me, his rife on his
arm and eyes searching across the
deep canyon. / called his name, aud
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
i noticed that there was a hunted
look in his wide, black eyes, and some
gray hairs above his temples that !
had not noticed before. He asked
me if | had heard the shot. "Of
course" said /, ''what were you shoot
ing at?" But he said that he didn't
shoot at all, that IL was somebody
else, and so led me up the narrow
passageway between the rocks till
we came into a little clearing at the
top. l saw that he had built a 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 doing in the westering sun.
light
But l was not prepared for the
sudden change that came over Bafiin
when he saw her. With an awful
oath he stopped me, and when
looked at him his face was asher
and his fiery eyes were fixed upon the
old bag. / was afraid he was III,
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, what
you might call a legend, about the
massacre of the Tonkawas 2"
/ thought it queer, irrelevant
question, but 1 sat down and said
/ had not.
II never believed it," he resumed
land | never heard it before, but I'd
rather you heard il from me than
from someone else. 1t is said tn
in the old days the Tonkawas ate
their prisoners. They were cannibals,
as you call them. 1t must be lie
But the Apaches and the Iowas. as
well as the Comanches,. wish to be-
lieve il. l 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.
1t was two nights later that 600 Ki-
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 a 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
toward his shanty, and, pointing his
big, brown hand at the old squaw,
said:
There she sits. She was the last
of the Tonkawas, unless l can be
called Tonkawa.''
"You?" l said, not understanding;
but he went on:. 'She was my moth