The Roswell daily record. [volume] (Roswell, N.M.) 1903-current, 1907-08-29
XVI.
Mr., Hampton Resolves.


Mr.. Bob Hampton stood in the bright
sunshine on the steps of the hotel, his
~appreciative gaze wandering up the
long, dusty. ~unoccupied street, and
finally rising to the sweet face of the
young gin who occupied the step
Wife hi continued to gaze hun grily
into her troubled face.
Sometimes 1 feel just like a cow
ard, Bob. It's the m of it; yet
truly wish to do whatever you be-
lieve to be best. But, Bob, 1 need you
SO much, and you will come back,
won't you? 1 shall be so lonely here,
for-for you are truly all 1 have in the
world"
With one quick, impulsive motion
he pressed her to him, ~passionately
kissing the tears from her lowered
lashes, unable longer to conceal the
tremor that shook his own voice.
Never, neve doubt it, lassie. 1t will
not take me long, and if live 1 come
straight back"
He watched her slender, white
robed figure as it passed slowly down
the deserted street. Once only she
paused and waved back to him and he
z lSSDOlSSs dlluOuSn
scarcely realizing the act.
Poor little lonely girl Perhaps I
ought to have told her the whole in
fernal story. but l simply haven't got
the nerve, the way it reads now. II
l can only get 1t Strengthened out, it'll
be different"
Mechanically he thrust an unlighted
cigar between his teeth and descend
ed the steps, to all outward appear
ance the same reckless, ~audacious
Hampton as of old.
The military telegraph occupied one
half of the small tent next the Miners
Retreat, and the youthful operator in
stantly recognized his ,debonair visi-
tor.
We'll, Billy" was Hampton's friend
ly greeting, ARE they keeping you fair
ly busy with wars and rumors Of
wars these days?"
"Nuthin' dom just now" was the
cheerful reply. Everything goin' ter
Cheyenne. The Injuns are gittin'
themselves bottled up in the Big Horn
country"
"Oh, that's it? Then maybe you
might manage to rush a message
through for me to Fort A. Lincoln
without discommoding Uncle SAM"
and Hampton placed a coin upon the
rough table.
Sure; write it out"
Here it is; now get it of early, my
lad. and bring the answer to me over
at the hotel. There1l be another yell
low boy waiting when you come"
The reply arrived some two hours
Fort A Lincoln. June II. 1876.
Hampton, Glencaid:
Seventh gone west; probably Yellow
stone. Brant with them. Murphy, gov
rnmen scout, at Cheyenne waiting or
ders. BITTON, Commanding.
He crushed the paper in his hand,
misunderstanding of the past, the
present, the future. He had borne
much in these last years, much mis-
representation, much loneliness Of
soul. To run this Murphy to cover
remained his final hope for retrieving
those dead. dark years. Ay. and there
was Naidai Her future, scarcely less
than his own, hung trembling in the
balance. The sudden flashing of that
name into his brain was like an cleo
trio shock. He cursed his inactivity.
Great Godi had he become a child
a mere hobgoblin of the mind? He
had already wasted time enough; now
he must wiring from the lips of that
m~isshapen savage the last vestige Of
his secret.
He dressed for the road, for hard.
exacting service, buckling his loaded
cartridge belt outside his rough coat
and testing his revolvers with unusual
care. He spoke a few parting words
OF instruction to Mrs. Guffy and went
quietly out. Ten minutes later he was
In the saddle, ga1loping down the dusty
stage road toward Cheyenne.