Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1912-06-02
Continued from page 4

Continued from page 4
ing of the horse had not awakened his man.
Regain crept nearer. A twig cracked sharply
under his foot as he rose behind a rock, and
quickly the rifle barrel cleaned in the light
of the sun which was just appearing over the
top of the ridge. But still the Sheriff did not
move. He lay there as one dead in the
shadow of the rock.
Sound asleep" muttered Shorty. "Sho!
It's too blamed easy!" He wormed his way
to within dozen yards of the man on the
ground. Mcfarland was lying on his side,
his head cushioned on his right arm, while
the other lay stretched across his chest.
Of sudden Shorty caught sight of a
number of dark brown patches on the Sher-
ifs gray blanket. Other patches of the
same kind freckled the arm and the collar
of the light wooden suit he wore. What
were they?
aSome kind of bugs, guess was his
mental remark. @Why, he's all covered
with emf Then quick shiver ran over
the avengers FORM "Great Jehoshaphat!
They're scorpions"
his eager eyes. Had the venomous creatures
robbed him of his revenge? Had they stung
the man to death? If SO, it was no wonder
he did not hear the neighing of his horse nor
the swapping of the twig. He gazed sharply
at the Sheriff. Now he was SO near that he
could see the rise and fall of the gray blanket
where it swathed the sleepers breast. That
was good His man was unframed; he was
sleeping peacefully, and not dreaming of the
double menace of death that waited his ris
ing up.
Shorty understood. The creatures, chilled
by the nipping night air, had crept upon the
sleeper to get the warmth of his body. But
now it was morning, and they were nearly
ready to be astir, as was doubtless the Sher
if. If he made the slightest move. ibis face
and neck and his bare wrists and hands
might be pierced by anyone or dozen of
the scores of deadly stingers of the scor
pions.
Again the eager onlooker shivered con-
vulsively. The flashed through his mind
the picture of dead Sonoran he had once
found on the trail, the skin of his bare arms
and legs punctured by many deep wounds
into which the poison had entered. He
knew that the strong human pulse could re-
sist and the system react against the venom
of one or two of these alert, little, lobster
shaped animals; but such a multitudinous
charge of quick lances as would follow the
Sheriff slightest movement could hardly be
withstood. In other words, it was Shorty's
conclusion that if the sleeper moved he
would be stung to death.
The shadow of the rock was growing
shorter. Its rim was only a foot from Mac
Farland's face and was creeping steadily
toward him through the grass. When the
sun should blaze down on his closed eyelids
he would open them and sit up. By that
time the poison would begin to course
through his veins. A bullet would be more
merciful But Shorty had not crossed the
desert to shoot the Sheriff as he slept
Despite the one or two feminine touches
in his nature, Shorty was hard man. His
life in the land of sun-parched desert, barbed
wire, and cactus had had anything but
softening effect upon him. Coyotes that
stole his provisions, angry rattlesnakes that
struck at his snaps, and Sheriffs who inter-
fered with his liberty were things to be got
rid of and despatched in the quickest way
possible.
But there was something about the help
1essness of the man in the shadow of the rock
that appealed to him in way that few
things had ever done before. He was not
afraid of death nor appalled, by the spectacle
of it; but somehow the impending fate of
the man before him made his flesh creep.
There was something clean and wholesome
about a bullet, even though it pumped
through YOUR brain: but these crawling.