Custer County Republican. (Broken Bow, Neb.) 1882-1921, 1906-08-09
The COWARD
By FRANCIS A. sToUTENBURcH.

door and locked IL. Then, with ener'
getic tread he made his way to his
desk. From one of the pigeon holes
he took a revolver. II was a big
wicked looking gun-44 caliber.
Capt. Clay, retired, was a man who
always believed himself to be a COW.
ard at heart; but in a cabinet in his
library there was a medal which had
been awarded him for yalor in the
field; there was also a letter from
President Mckinley promoting and
commenting him for conspicuous brav-
cry. And on the wall was a sword,
given him by his own company, with
an inscription on the blade testifying
to his courage, self.sacrifice and 10y
atty.
Clay examined the revolver care.
fully. 1t was properly loaded and
ready to do the deadly work it might
be called upon to do.
Clay sank back in an arm chair, the
weapon in his hand.
In the last stages of consumption;
racked by pain; grieving over the loss
of his young wife, who had died but a
few months previously; harassed by
a poverty that he was too proud to
make known, he had sought the seclu-
sion of his pet room surcease Of sor-
row, an end to all the responsibilities
of life"
Il was always a coward" he NUT
tered, as he shudderingly looked down
at the revolver. yet somehow l did
my work. When ! charged the Span
ish breastworks at Palmas at the head
of my men / was in mortal fear OF a
wound of some kind. l was the first
man inside the enemy's works. Men
near me were cut down by machets,
bayoneted or shot. l was untouched.
My men never knew my fear; never
noticed my white face. In the heat
of the combat they took no heed Of
all this; but they cheered me after
the fight was won.
Then, again, that fight near the
river, when l carried Sergt. Peters on
my back after he was wounded-car-
ried him through deadly fire, back
in our lines-ah, ha!-that's where 1
won the presidents letter; but l was
in agony lest some Mauser should send
it's bullet through me. But somehow
l did my work.
"And now,"-he glanced again at
the weapon in his hand-"it may hurt
me-" he unused, with something of
boyish petulance. "Oh! I cannot bear
the pain, in case it does not kill in
stantly; the crashing through my It's
sues and bones; and even though 1t
kill me, there will be momentary, n
horrible agony.
"a coward l am, and always was;
yet somehow / did my work"
Racked by fit Of coughing, he no.
ticed that blood had come on his
handkerchief again.
Something prompted him to take the
sword of honor from its place on the
wall and put it by his side; to gaze
once more upon the medal and to
take the presidents letter and spread
it acrss his knees.
These will make me a brave man."
he said.
But these acts failed to summon up
the courage that he sought.
He looked again at his revolver and
shuddered. Throwing open it's
breech, he hastily emptied it of its
contents; then picking up the poker
with sharp blow he smashed the
weapon and threw it's shattered rem
nants into the dead embers of the
hearth.
Now / am a coward" he exclaimed
bitterly. Somehow before this al
ways did my work"
Then it was that the bright, hope
full faces of his two young sons-one
of IA and one Of 12-who were near
at hand at play with other boys, came
up before him, and their voices seemed
to say: mo, no, you are brave man
and no coward"
A smile passed over his wan face.
What was that?" he asked. rs
anyone in the room?"
He heard a faint sigh; that same
faint, happy little sigh that had come
from his wife as she died in his arms
but few months previous.
His wasted right hand was lifted
from the desk whereon 1t rested by
fingers invisible but supremely ten
der. A kiss, Elusive, sweet and bear.
ing in itself a message of angelic
gratitude and approval was pressed
upon it.
He leaned forward in his chair.
The blood gushed forth from mouth
and nostrils and trailed in a crimson
stream across the letter from the muir.
dered president which lay in his lap.
No bullet caused it, 1t was the last
hemorrhage. 1t was copious; 1t was
merciful; and it took Hmm. Y. Her.
aid.