Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1905-03-18

81 the wounded had been carried on by
those lucky enough to escape. Forester
that ghastiy day. clearing away the ruin
and burying the dead. At niEhtfall the
troops arrived. and with them the post sur
geon. Forester hurried him into the room
where Marion lay. still In that deathlike
stupor.
Brain fever" said the surgeon. with a
keen glance at Forester. Young man.
this lady will need the greatest care and at
tention. If she RECEIVERS 1t will be the good
nursing that will bring her through. Is she
your sister,"
NO" said Forester. my future wife.
II she lives. Don't misunde rstand," seeing
the look in the other mans eyes; come
out here and I'll tell you how she came
here" Forester gave the history Of the
night as briefly as possible. not touching
upon the history of Dane, save as it con-
ished the surgeon held out his hand. II owe
you an apology, Mr.. Forester. 1t is a
strange land out here, where our bearings
become twisted, ana we are apt to Judge
swiftly without stopping to ask questions.
Now I'll leave a few directions"
Forester wrote down the simple rules by
which he would have to battle for Marion's
very life. Then the surgeon dosed out the
possible. Forester turned the ranch over
to his head boss, Matthews, and settled
down to his task. Night and day he hung
over the low bed where Marion Anthony
VI,
surgeon came, looked grave and said little,
but he praised old, Sancha's really skillfui
nursing, and said that the case was going
better than he had expected.
Forester never allowed himself to think
from one moment to another until the day
when he hung above her, watching the first
natural sleep. He knew that she would
awaken conscious of her surroundings, and
there lay the difficulty-how to keep her
mind from reverting to that mad orgy at
the agency.
There was a slight start and Marion's
brown eyes met his in puzzled inquiry. Be-
fore she had time to question, Sancha was
holding the spoon to her lips. She swal-
lowed the broth, keeping her eyes on For
rester's face, and dim recollection began
to struggle in their depths. Sancha set
down the bowl and motioned FORESTER 10
keep still, while the shriveled brown hands
gently stroked the thin white ones until the
girl slept again. Forester did not enter
the sick room after that. Sancha took en-
tire charge of her. patient, While ne re,
sumed his work. The uprising had settled
itself after the usual fashion. Crazy Snake
was quieted for all time, and Lone Bear
assumed the chieftainship. They were back
on the reservation, and already new aseht
was on his way to take charge, and the
Great White Father had given up the task
of Furnishing the culprits.
A week had passed when Sancha tod him
that the senorita had asked to see him. he
found her propped up on pillows, white and
wan, the beautiful hair shorn away by
Sancha's rough scissors, a faint shadow OF
the Marion Anthony whose gfrlish race mad
been with him all these years.
you are Rod Forester She held out
both slim, white hands. After ten years
We meet strangely. 1 have forgotten now
1 came here, and Sancha would not tell me,
but you wfll?'
Forester met her question squarely. L
am going to ask you to trust that to me a
little longer, Miss AUTHORIZATION. II
is too long a story for your strength. In
few days you shall hear It, sand-' he
never finished as Sancha thrust her head
through the door. reckoning excitedly.
One Of the vaqueros stood in the patio,
his ragged poncho fiuttering In the WIND.
He held out a dingy packet to Forester
Silent Wolf he send to the Senior For
roster. Silent Wolf, he die last night. Him
and Lone Bear heap fight. Lone Bear dead,
Silent Wolf he die too; but give two ponies
for bring this
A mist went over Forrester's eyes-a mist
in which the vaquero and his rags faded
out before swift vision of a field gay with
red and blue remnants, its grandstand
mass Of girlish faces. Of slim boylsh
figure, scarlet against the gray sun of No
vember skies, speeding across the gridiron
with the brown sphere Rugged close and
swarm Of painting faces at his shoulder.
Gone the dashing, fiery youth, flushed with
victory; gone the eager lover who had
passed him in the race for girls heart,
gone-to an unmarked grave in the desert,
where a slaughtered pony waits its mas
ter.
Forester opened the packet A faded
crimson pennant, pierced with a fraternity
pin twisted about an ivory miniature, and
the face of Marion-the Marion Anthony
for whom Jim Dane had died-smiled up
to Forrester's dimmed eyes. He barred his
head as at the passing of a soul.
Old Sancha rustled through the low door
into the patio. THE senorita say come"