Forest City press. (Forest City, Potter County, D.T. [S.D.]) 1883-19??, 1912-07-11
T T STORIES or LIFE
IN DEAD MANS CANON.
By EDGAR WELToN COOLEY.

Apache warrior law. his naked body
cleaning like FURNISHED copper, his
black hair falling like lark shadows
down his painted neck and broad
shoulders.
The savage was lying upon his face,
tore him. his eyes riveted upon the
oank of the stream. With infinite pa
thence he was waiting, watching for
the Writh1ng body of a wounded man,
whose delirium and fever would cause
him to be lured to death by the sing
ing of the ripples.
Gazing through the intervening
grasses at his silent, relentless foe,
the man drew a revolver from his belt
and raised it to the level of his eye.
The little projection on the end of
the shining barrel pointed directly at
the base of the Indians brain. n
the mans fingers closed slowly, stead
lily upon the trigger. A sudden
tremor passed through the Indian; then
he lay quite still again and the man
lowered his pistol. He nae but that
one cartridge left. and its voice would
call 100 painted devils upon him.
So he stretched, like a shadow,
amid the grass, not moving so much
as a finger, breathing into the turf
and gritting his teeth over the agony
in his throat which the river, singing
in his ears. could alleviate.
The wnd strengthened. and the
whispering amid the pines increased to
a Shrek. The fever in the mans
veins crept into his eyes, and balls of
fire seemed floating in the air about
him. Delirium fastened its fingers
upon his brain and he fought it off
madly.
An impulse to make his presence
known to the savage. and thus invite
death, seized him. For. after all, why
prolong his agony? Earth, sky, river.
rock or air afforded no means of
escape. No human help was within
100 miles. And yet-death at the
hands of an Apache!
Then a sudden thought came to the
man and a faint smile quivered upon
his lips. Silently he raised once more
h pistol in his hand and pressed it's
chilly muzzle against his hot temple.
But, in the sheen of sunlight falling
upon the turbulent bosom of the
woman's hair. n in the tranquil
azure of of the Arizona sky he saw the
tender blue of a woman's eyes, and
he let the weapon drop upon the
ground. And after that he lay, as in
a daze, listening to the singing of the
river.
And as he listened he seemed to see
a white farm house far up in the New
England hills, and a sweet-faced
woman standing in the twilight,
Watchlng fOr some one.
Suddenly he was aroused by a rustic
in the grass in front of him. He
raised his head a trifle and saw the
Apache leap to his feet and skulk
away through the grass. Then. pom
h parched air there was borne to
him the koof-beats of many horses.
and a momen later he was standing
knee-deep in the grass, gazing with
mouth agape and eyes staring at a
long file of cavalrymen. in the blue of
the nation, approaching along the mar
row trail that followed the course of
the river, at their head, it's silken folds
Tapping d%efiiantly in the breeze, the
American flag.
Slowly, alertly, the cavalrymen rode
along the almost invisible path, each
with his carbine ready for instant use
and each with his eyes searching the
brush and the underground for gleam-
ing rifle or tufted head.
And suddenly, in rounding a sharp
turn in the trail. they saw the man.
His face was pallid, his eyes were
feverishly bright, his clothes were
clotted with blood. He was standing
in the. sparkling tide. dipping up the
water with his hands. And, as the
soldiers approached. he raised his torn
cap and the walls of Dead Mans
canon echoed and re-echoed his thank
full voice.