The Camden chronicle. (Camden, Tenn.) 1890-current, 1908-08-07
TN DEAD MANS
CANYON
By EDGAR WELToN COOLEY

ACOpyrlSht, Dy SnortStOry Pub. Coz
With an effort that sent a paroxysm
of pain through him the man rolled
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 crev-
ice or jutting point of rock gave prom.
Use Of a foothold or hiding place
Then a spasm of agony and despair
crossed the mans face and he bowed
his head upon his arms and hugged
his misery to his heart AS slight as
his movement had been, the red
gushed forth anew from the jagged
hole in his side where the Apache's
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 it's 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 hiding-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
,copper-colored hands rested upon tha
lock Of a deadly rife, invented by a
white mans brain, fashioned by white
mans skill and used for white mans
annihilation.
The dew-damp leaves staunched the
flow Of blood from his side and, little
by little, his strength revived. But
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 fiji his
mouth with leaves to stifle 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 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-water!
Not 20 feet from where he lay a
sparkling crystal river, cold as the
snow-capped mountain peaks, flowed
by. It's constant murmuring was mSz
sic to his ears-maddening music, for
score of Indians might be hidden
between him and the waters brink, +
But he must have drink His lips
We're parched and craeked--his tongue
was swollen-his veins were on fire.
He peered through the grass before
him-he saw 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
a second-a foot in a minute and
half-he moved the pace of snail,
and he was dying of thirst!
Ten feet, 12 feet, Is feet, he crept
Through the quivering verdure he
could see the sunlight glistening upon