The Sauk Centre herald., 1909-03-11
THE INK OF
DESTINY
By WILL KENYON
Copyright. BY shortstory Pub. Co..

"Will we make it, Mojave girl?' the
gaunt man croaked through cracked
and blistered lips to his ratty little
mule. The man walked, resting his
hand affectionately On the mules
withers.
Before, behind, and everywhere, the
desert stretched away in miles Of
fantastic imagery. Nothing but heat.
thirst and death. Oppressed with ut.
ter loneliness, the gaunt man lifted
his voice and cursed, but the vast
barrens made jest of his impotence
and turned his oaths to bitter laugh
ter.
Every laboring step a growing ag.
ony, resolutely denied. His mouth was
as dry as the white bones back yon-
der. the FURNISHED disk in the heavens
scared his eyes, and his brain reeled.
but the iron spirit refused to submit
to the tyranny of environment. On
and on, and on he pressed, his padded
footballs inaudible in the awesome i'm.
mensity.
The desert rose gently to a rock.
ribbed rim, and the added toll Of the
ascent cruelty taxed the well-nigh
spent travellers. Mojave stopped once.
and the fear-frenzied man rained fu-
tile blows upon her. After a
time the brute moved on of her own
accord Thrice they stopped. the
breath of life sucking shallowly, rau-
cously in and out of the channels OF
respiration. At the third halt the man
looked about him DULY, the volcanic
rim which hedged in the desert fall.
ing dimly on his filmy vision. 1t
danced and capered against a lake of
deep turquoise sky.
He turned stif1y and gazed back
across the desert, a Quivering hell OF
sand and painted rocks, done in brick.
hsd and umber, and orange, brown,
Tack and yellow, to the distant noun.
tains loomink large in a violet haze.
from whence he had won thus far.
Slowly his eye circled back with
Equickening perception to the fiinty bar.
rier. And then he knew. The desert
was passed!
With an inarticulate cry rattling in
his throat he plunged forward, to have
his legs Imply refuse him. He lurched
drunkenly against MOjave, clutching
her gear to keep from falling. Hope
died instantly and his Travelling soul
gave birth to poignant despair.
On the instant an erring wisp Of
breeze strayed over the desert rim,
blowing cool on his cheek. growing
stronger and fresher. Mojave threw
her head up Dto the wind like a
startled antelope. She snuffed the cur.
rent for an instant and with a scream
ing cray breasted the remaining slope,
"a sre5 a'ech anfcaily re-
aiming his hold on her trappings. A
glimpse over the brink made him q
man again. There lay a rugged.
.Ssalay valley, splashed with vivid
green grass and sentinel cottonwoods
patrolling the banks of running
stream, winding down in silvery
reaches and feather-tipped rapids.
Water!
Down they plunged, gasping, sliding,
leaping, stumbling, insane with thirst,
dead to the cruel stab of rock and
root-plunged headlong into the cool,
shallow stream. The man fondled the
water as a miser caresses his gold; he
wallowed in it, kissed it, Tapped it up
'greedily like dog. In the mighty
revulsion Of feeling the dried-up wells
Of his eyes filled again, and he wept.
Three things bring man to such a
pass. Lust for gold, love for wom-
an. and revenge. Aaron Whipple
knew not this last, but the other two
were inseparably woven into the fab
ric of his life, a strangely intricate
pattern. Lust for gold and love for
woman had carried. him far afield
10 the violet mountains lying behind
the fearsome desert, and love for q
woman had urged him through two
score miles of heat, thirst and death
to keep his knightly word to that
woman. .-...
AS he lay there on the dry sands,
his bhstered feet laving in the re.
freshing waters of the singing stream,
the suns heat mercifully tempered by
grateful breezes, with new strength
streaming into every fiber of his be.
ing and the gift of life flowing evenly
through his veins again-under such
strange circumstances this man of
iron did the most unexpected thing
in the woeid.
Fumbling with stiffened fingers at
the neck OF his flannel shirt he drew
forth worn packet Of oiled silk, neat.
ly sewn with even stitches; long and
round and slender. He placed it in his
lap and then searched out tiny cellu.
\ loid calendar, miniature record of
the twelvemonth. Each small square
allotted to a day had been pierced
through with pin, one every "a hours,
! until there remained but oae intact
that of the last day Of the year. This
Aaron punctured, and the cycle was
complete.
In a fit of sullen wrath ho tore the
calendar to bits and tossed the ghost.
ly record Of vanished year to the
winds, each pinhole the mute testi.
mony of herculean labor: each day
an eternity OF crushed hope and sterile
endeavor.
Turning eagerly to the packet he
ripped off the coverings, disclosing q
fountain pen, hard-rubber reservoir