The sun. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1833-1916, 1906-11-18
SAVED HER SCALP.
4 Boston Malden's Adventure with q savage
I'm the Rocky Mountains.

- nEttDth w
I'm the Rocky Mountains.
Paullye Marguerite Smythe was not q
woman whom a oonnoisseur In female lowell
ness would, il sober, call beautiful. For
many years her face had stood as an insur-
mountable obstacle between the gentlemen
Of her acquaintance who were looking Tor
wives and her ambition to shed the golden
lustre of connubial happiness over the life
and the cottage. or fiat, as the case might
be. Of one of the opposite sex.
And yet Paullye was not a fright. NO
horse had ever SHE'D at sight Of her. n 1t
had been observed that the clocks In the
homes which she visited ran during her
stay as IL nothing had happened.
On the morning which we have selected
for the opening Of our story heroine had
strayed far from the amp on the stored
Unoompahgre River in the mountainous
wilds OF Colorado, where she was spending
a summer vacation with a party Of friends
from that hotbed OF literary achievement
Noblesville, Hamilton county, Indiana.
In all Of Colorado's large collection OF
mountain scenery there was none 50 pic
turesque, so awe inspiring, 30 soul satisfying
in rugged grandeur as the scene which sur
rounded her at the moment Of which we
write. The trail which she was following
on her dachshund modelled feet-long and
low in the instep-accommodated itself to
the tortuous windings Of a dashing noun
tain stream that threw the spray, like q
shower OF glittering diamonds, high in air
whenever, with it's crystal hand, it slapped
an obstructing boulder in the face.
On either side OF the creek rose towering
mountains, thickly studded with moss
jacketed rocks, green chaparral and Gov
eminent timber. Bright eyed magpies
fiuttered around her on black and white
wings, wondering what IL was and express
ing their surprise in chatters to one another,
and now and then a rabbit, yet wearing
it's winter furs. dashed from near the trail
and sought safety in the adjacent bushes.
But Paullye was entirely oblivious OF
the presence OF these pretty mountain
creatures. Every bit OF attention she could
command was centred upon the pages of
a book entitled -Lurid Lyrics Of Love-
from the passion tipped pen Of Miss Popsie
McSwat, the sweet singer OF Methodist
Mountain.
As she strolled along she read to herself
In a voice trembling with emotion:
When true love enters in the heart
It comes as flaming arrow,
anu OuC Lttlb II HAn
From cuticle to marrow
The earth seems as a golden day.
Etherealis existence.
And heaven not half a mile away.
And down hill all the distance.
Raising her eyes for a few moments to
allow her brain to digest the sweet food
and the wild beatings of her heart to SUBJ
side, she continued:
When love-true gins to surge
Within the soul in gladness.
1t brings its victim to the verge
OF sweet. delirious madnessl
The heart cords seem as fiddle string
On which is gayly dancing
The bow of that nude god on wingS-
Ny gawd, but it's entrsncingl
With a low gurgle OF delight she pressed
straight front and was about to close her
eyes and dream of what she had read when
a rustling in the bushes beside the trail
startled her and Hungry Jim, the dreaded
Ute outlaw, stood before her with a sardontc
grin upon his group Of hideous features.
what wouIdst thou of me, noble red
man Of the forest?" she asked, assuming a
brave demeanor which jim knew at first
sight was bogus.
hair between a thumb and adjacent finger
and shook it suggestively.
~Wouldst scaIlup mes she cried, turning
as pale as the sallowness Of her face would
permit. ~Wouldst snatch from my head the
browning glory Of w~omanhood to assuage
your insatiate appetite for hair? Is there
not in you dark brown bosom one humane
instinct, one symptom Of sympathy for ar
UNPROTECTED gyurl who never felt aught
but a feeling akin to love for your sex2
Open your cruel heart and listen to this
Opening he book with trembling fingers
she impressively read;
True love Just shoots as golden streaks
OF sunshine through the system;
With passion flame they tint the cheeks
No mortal can resist EN-!
And every victim feels like he So
The sage or hippant vain beau
Was sailing through ozonic sea
Astraddle OF a rainbow! ...
Have you never felt that thrill of ecstasy,
red monarch of the rocky wilds And
listen again, " and she read;
When lips meet lips in passions kiss
And weld themselves together.
The heart feels Initiative bliss,
As tickled with a featherl
And soul meets soul and heart meets heart,
And. as the bond they sever.
They wish the lips they pull apart
Could stay that way forever!
She raised her eyes to see what effect the
inspired lines had upon the red demon of
the reservation, but his tracks were vacant.
He had fed from her presence, whether
with terror may never be known.
With a sigh OF relief she carefully removed
her wig, stroked its golden rands lovingly
and said to herself. confdentially:
How fortunate he had a heart! Had he
dehaired me, fiendishly robbed me OF my
And replacing the attachment she hit the
hack trail down the canon.