The Irish standard., 1908-08-01
By the
Hands of

By DON MARK LEMON.

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Copyright. by shortstory Pub. Col
was living in Pima county, Ari-
iona, In 1885. Joe Hillard was living
there then. He is dead now, poor fell
low, and only God and three fools
know how he died. I was one of the
three fools-perhaps the least guilty
certainly not blameless.
Everybody liked Hillard. He was
handsome, athletic fellow, wearing his
hair long and flowing, in ideal cowboy
fashion, brave and kind-hearted,
brainy as any two men have ever
known, with memory whose power
was but little short of prodigious. He
came originally from New Hampshire,
l believe, but his personal history an
tecedent to 1881 was yelled in mys-
terry. He himself never spoke of his
youth, and no one in Arizona seemed
to know anything about him prior to
the summer he arrived in the terri
tory. nor to this day can I more than
conjecture why he should have come
out to new land like Arizona-bril-
liant fellow that he was-and have
spent his time roughing it in the hills,
instead. of remaining at home and Gull
tivating his remarkable talents. And
as for that conjecture, leave it to
the reader to discover.
In March. 's2, in partnership with
Hillard and four other men-all good
prospectors and courageous fellows
l opened up mine in the hills north
east of Tucson. We had no stamps
only two arrastres-but the ore was
rich, and we were making the ground
pay, when one night the Apaches came
along and stole our burros, leaving us
without any power with which to
crush the ore, and Gripping us en-
tirely as far as quartz mining went
We believed that the little band of
Apaches was led by a white rene.
gade, the most villainous being that
had ever dragged a helpless captive
over the cactus spikes at the heels of
an Infatuated mustang, and the night
after Tom Hazen was shot through the
back Of the head, as he came walking
quietly into camp, we hid our pro.
visions in rendezvous in the hills,
and set about making preparations to
exterminate our enemies. We pro.
posed to kill the Apaches like rep
tiles. but we would hang their white
leader like murderer.
We had never seen this renegade.
No. white man in Arizona had ever
seen him face to face, save the dead
that lay out on the hot alkali-lands,
or up in the hills, with their sealed
lips baked by the sun or eaten away
by ants. Yet, though he seemed as in.
visible as the Angel Of Death, he was
terrible reality. He was the NOV
ing spirit behind Apache Kid" when
that noted Indian was striking like a
rattlesnake through all Arizona, and
many an ash-heap no bigger than a
mole.hill cried out to heaven for ven
geance upon him-ash.heaps that once
we're human beings!
The friendly Pima Indians, to whom
was due all knowledge of this white
renegade, had reported that his face
was CHASTITY white, despite the fact
that for years he had lived under the
open sky In one of the hottest eli
mates of the west, and that his feat
ures, while not ugly, were cruel as
death.
We proposed to make of ourselves
party of vengeance, take this man
prisoner, and execute him. Hillard
was made our leader, for he was the
best man among us, and we all
knew it. We we're alike courageous,
but Hillard was infinitely shrewd in
his bravery; we were all physically
powerful, but Hillard handled his
strength like a trained athlete.
In three days we had run to earth
two of the Apaches, and killed them.
lost the little finger of my right
hand in that affair.
This taste of retribution was so en-
couraging that Hillard, with some
thing of his old-time spirit, made
Jest about his hair. l have once be-
fore spoken of Hillard's hair. It was
long and exceedingly luxurious, fall
ing about his shoulders, straight down
over his ears, in great profusion. He
doubly tempted death to go among
the Apaches with such an adornment,
those red devils coveting his scalp
from the first, yet nothing could pre-
vail upon him to cut his hair short,
or even to trim it down a little, and
I believed in those days that he was
proud of it as an addition to his per.
sonal beauty, which was very consid-
cradle; but, God help me, I know
better now!
On the fifth morning after we had
taken to our rendezvous-I think 1t
was Saturday-Dick Montrose went
of at about II o'clock, intending to
search little ravine which, up to that
time, had received no attention, for