Forest City press. (Forest City, Potter County, D.T. [S.D.]) 1883-19??, 1912-07-11

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
5000 feet and pressed it's pinnacles
against the sky. Not a crevice or jut-
ting point of rock gave promise OF a
foothold or hiding place.
Then a spasm of agony and despair
crossed the an face n he bowed
his head upon his arms and Rugged his
misery to his heart. AS slight as his
forth anew from the Jagged hole in
his side where the Apache's bullet had
gnawed his flesh, and with fast weak
en1ng fingers he clutched a handful of
dew-wet caves and pressed them to
the wound. Then he lay for a long
time. fiat upon his face, motiOnless,
listening.
The sun poured it's wealth of scorch-
ing brilliancy into the a
feathery cloud dimmed it's lustre. 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 vas visible.
In this wild, lonely tabernacle of
nature and of God, peace seemed to
have found an eternal hiding place, but
the man, with his parching lips pressed
against lue coollilS grasses. knew tnat
every tuft of waving verdure might
conceal the painted form and shining
eyes of an Apache, whose cope
colored hands rested upon the lock of a
deadly rifle, invented by a white mans
brain, fashioned by white mans skill
and used for white mans humiliation.
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
m~otionless as a dead man. amid the
rank and tangled grass-thinking of
And his thoughts made him fill his
mouth with leaves to stile the groan
that Swelled up from his heart. In the
autumn he was to have gone back to
her. Four years of prospecting in
Arizona had brought him a wealth of
gold-and that CHASTITY hole in his side!
woman's waiting-the nj of his long
ing 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 upon 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
Whitewater!
NOt ~ feet from where he lay a
sparkling crystal river. cold as the
s-now-capped mountain peaks. flowed
by. Its constant murmuring was
music to his ears-maddening music,
for a score of Indians might be hidden
between him and the waters brink.
But he must have drink. His lips
were parched and cracked-his tongue
was swollen-h1s veins were on fire.
He peered through the grass before
him-he saw a CLINT of light upon the
rivers surface. Perhaps-perhaps!
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 DOT in a minute and a
half-he moved. the pace of a snail,
and he was dying of thirst,
Ten feet, ~ feet, 10 feet, he crept.
Through the quivering verdure he
could see the sunlight g%listening upon
the shimmering river; in his ears the
torrents roar was deafen1ng; mist
from the dashing waves moistened his
brow.
Carefully he reached forth his hand
and parted a bunch of grass before
him; then he Dire whis hand back
quickly and f1attened himself upon the
ground. For, just beyond that little
tuft of %verdure, SO near that the man
could touch him with his fingers, an