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

/ the north and west the clouds were banking
heavily, and the long, absent rain smell
came fresh and pungent to his nOStrilS.
| Two o'clock and all still. The men stood
| in the deep embrasures of the windows,
guns in hand alert for the slightest rustic
| In the darkness Somewhere, far out a
| dog yapped shrily, ending in choaking
moan. Forester gripped his rifle. shifting
| his position a trifie the first flash OF
lightning revealed, quite close to the house,
| circle of ponies and their swarthy riders
\ in full war paint; then darkness again and
utter silence. No man spoke, but the click
of triggers ratified through the hacienda as
Forester and his men made ready for the
next flash. 1t came-a glare of binding
white light full on Crazy Snake, who rode
in a blaze of paint and feathers. fresh
scalp hanging by its long fair hair to his
belt. Forester leveled his rifle and waited.
Another flash-CraZy Snake rolled from his
pony and the fight was
Forester had round dozen OF picked
men, but the odds were heavy against
| them. The deep easements of the old ha-
cienda made excellent loopholeS, and the
significance of that freshly torn scalp nerv-
| ed them to fight as men fight when certain
death is before them. Yells, screams and
the continuous ripping fire of rifles; then
cracking noise that swelled into deep
| roar as wave of red light lit up the scene.
They had fired the corral, and as the great
double gates fell in the main body of the
Indians broke for it in hope of plumber.
Forester loaded his magazine and slipped
1t into place, his eyes fixed on a little frame
house that stood about thirty feet from the
gate of the corral. Just day or so past
he had stored two kegs of giant powder and
several sticks of dynamite in that little
shed. The walls were thin, and he knew 10
nicely where to aim. They were all
around 1t, men and ponies, hooting ana
yelling, when above the din rang the sharp
report of the Winchester-and the bullet
found It's billet in short thick bar OF
dynamite.
Down on your faces!' Forester yelled
to his men. There was dull rumble tne EN-
heaven and earth met. He felt the old
adobe walls rend and give as the east END
of the hacienda fell in; then darkness ana
nothing but voice that screamed out En-
glish words above the storm and ram ina.
fell in binding sheets. Forester heard II
a long way off, and pulling himself TO-
gether, as out of sleep, he realized that II
was calling to him, Forester! Rod. For
rester!' He dragged himself to the door,
unbarring it with cropping fingers. A stall
wart Indian strobe across the threshold
with a woman In his arms. Forester clos
ed the door and struck a match The In
dian, standing with the woman's fair head
resting on his bare brown breast, watched
him light the lamp. Forester raised the
lamp and looked-the bronze face under the
eagle feathers was streaked with red and
yellow, but he know 1t for the face of Jim
Dane. There was scarce trace in those
grim set features of the handsome lad that
had been his successful rival Danes eyes
met his squarely; then he looked down at
the WOIldH III MS dTulS, anu OITSSteT loi-
lowed the glance. Good God! Marion An
thony!" he cried.
Dane knelt and placed her gently on the
floor between them, then stood up and,
folding himself into the dirty blanket, faced
Forester. Rod, you know my story. Is
there any man that called himself my
friend in the days when I was the heir to
old John Danes millions that did not hear
it the day that I died to civilization? You
know that summers madness, you know
what followed. Yet, what else could she
do? She. Puritan of the Puritans: 1, an
illegitimate half caste. Through all the
hell in which l have existed her name has
never passed my lips until last night when
we sacked the agency and-Forrester, If
there Is white mans God, why was this
last bitterness dealt out to me, that she
should at last become mine, as spoil of that
murderous mob, my share of the loot? She
came there as a missionary to my tribe, out
of her sweet pity to waste her life on such
devils, and in the midst of that saturnalia
of murder l found her on her knees beside
the cradle of Johnson's child. l could not
save the child, but I snatched her away
from Lone Bear. claiming her for my
squaw. 1 have managed to get her here,
and now"
He stopped short and gazed down at the
golden head, motionless in the smoky lamp
light, then went on: She need never know
that the painted brave who battled for her
and bore her in his arms through that
swarm of drunken devils was the same man
who once-help me, Forester! Man, 1 give
her to you; you loved her once, you will
love her again in the years to come; but