Shoshone journal. [volume] (Shoshone, Idaho) 1884-1931, 1908-10-23
In DEAD MANS
CANYON
BY EDGAR wELToN COOLEY

(c0pyr.ght. by shortstory - -

over upon his side and cast one des
perate, hopeless glance up the sheer
white face of the precipice that rose
three thousand feet and pressed its
pinnacles against the sky. Not a crev
ice or iutting point Of rock gave prom
ise OF foothold or hiding-place.
Then a spasm Of agony and despair
crossed the mans face and he bowed
his head upon his arms and hngged
his misery TO his heart. As slight as
his movement had, been, the red
pushed forth anew from the jagged
hole in his side where the Apache
bullet had gnawed his flesh, and with
fast weakening fingers he clutched a
handful Of dew-wet leaves and pressed
them to the wound Then he lay for
a long time. fiat upon his face, mo
tionless listening.
The sun poured its wealth Of scorch-
ing brilliancy into the canon-not a
feathery cloud dimmed its luster. The
breeze whispered amid the pine trees
across the river, and the eddying tide
rushed past increasingly. High over
head an eagle circled slowly. No other
living creature was visible
In this wild, lonely tabernacle of Ma
ture and of God, Peace seemed to
have found an eternal hidingp place,
but the man, with his parching lips
pressed against the cooling grasses,
knew that every tuft of waving YER
dure might conceal the painted form
and shining eyes of an Apache, whose
oopper-colored hands rested upon thS
lock of deadly rife. invented by a
white mans brain. fashioned by white
mans skill end used for white mans
annihilaJion.
The dew damp leaves staunched the
flow of blood from his side and. little
by little, his strength revived. Put
he did not. dare not, move, for death
lurked on every hand So he lay, as
motionless as dead man, amid the
rank and tangled grass-thinking of
woman.
And his thoughts made him fill his
mouth with leaves to stiAe the groan
that swelled up from his heart In the
autumn he was TO have gone back for
her. Four years of prospecting in
Arizona had brought him a wealth of
gold-and that CHASTITY hole in his
side, And this was the end The
end of the woman's waiting-the end
OF his longing to go back. But how,
when, would she ever learn of his
death? White men seldom come into
Dead Mans Canon. And if one should
he would not be likely TO stumble up
on the heap of white bones here in
this jungle of grass.
Thirst was burning in his veins.
God how hot the sun was. He must
have water-waterl
Not 20 feet from where he lay
sparkling crystal river, cold as the
snow-capped mountain peaks, flowed
by. Its constant murmuring was m>s-
sic to his ears-maddening music. for
a score of Indians might be hidden /.
between him and the waters brink.
But he must have drink His lips /
were parched and cracked-his tongue /
was swollen-his veins We're on fire. /
He peered through the grass before /
him-he saw a CLINT of light upon
the rivers surface. Perhaps-per-
haps,
Slowly, painfully, so carefully that
not the faintest sound was caused by
the movement of his body. he dragged
himself forward An eighth Of an inch
4 second-a foot in a minute and
aalf-he moved. the pace of a snail,
and he was dying of thirst.
Ten feet. u feet. Is feet. he crept.
the quivering verdure he
,ould see the sunlight glistening upon
he shimmering river; in his ears the
orrent's roar was deafening; mist
rom the dashing waves moistened his
row
Carefully he reached forth his hand
nd parted a bunch of grass before ;
lin; then he drew his hand back
quickly and iattened himself upon the ;
round. For. just beyond that little
uft of verdure, so near that the man
ould touch him with his fingers. an
lpache warrior lay, his naked body (
leaning like FURNISHED copper. his
lack hair falling like dark shadows s
own his painted neck and broad
houlders.
The savage was lying upon his face, i
is rife thrust through the grasses be- a
ore him. his eyes riveted upon the a
ank of the stream. With infinite pa c
ence he was waiting, watching for
he writhing body of a wounded man, f
hose delirium and fever would cause
i'm to be hurled TO death by the sing d
lg of the ripples. e
Gazing through the intervening a
rasses at his silent, relentless foe. o
lie man drew revolver from his belt
ld raised il to the level of his eve. u
he little projection on the end of the "
lining barrel pointed directly at the g,
use of the Indians brain. and the f
ans fingers closed slowly. steadily H
ION the trigger. A sudden tremor "
lssed through the Indian; then he lay b
lite still again and the man lowered in
5 pistol He had but that one cart A.
ige left. and its voice would call a al
inbred painted devils upon him.
CO he stretched ike n shadow n.