The Parma herald. (Parma, Idaho) 1903-1917, 1915-06-03
CHAPTER xIII-contInued.

But" Sabron said aloud. 1T is a
prayer to be said at night and not in
the afternoon of an African hell"
He began to climb; he pulled him
self along. leaving his track In blood.
He tainted twice. and the thick
growth held him like the wicker OF a
cradle. and before he came to his con-
seriousness the sun was mercifully go
ing down. He finally reached the top
OF the bank and lay there painting.
Not far distant we're the bushes Of
rose and mimosa flower. and still pant
ing. weaker and ever weaker, his cour-
age the only living thing in him. Sab
ron. with Pitchoune by his side.
dragged himself into healing hands.
All that night Sabron was delirious;
his mind travelled far into vague fan
tastic countries. led back again, ever
gently, by tune, to safety.
Every now and then he would real
lie that he was alone on the vast
desert, destined to finish his existence
here, to cease being human creature
and to become nothing but carrion.
Moments OF consciousness succeeded
those of mental disorder Every now
and then he would feel Pitchoune
close to his arm. The dog licked his
hand and the touch was grateful to
the deserted officer. Pitchoune licked
his masters cheek and Sabron felt
that there was another life beside his
in the wilderness. Neither dog nor
man could long exist, however. with
out food or drink and Sabron was
growing momentarily weaker.
The Frenchman, though a philoso-
pher, realized how hard it was to die
unsatisfed in love, unsatisfied in life,
having accomplished nothing, having
wished many things and realized at
an early age only DEATH Then this
point of view changed and the phys
zeal man was uppermost
He groaned for water, he groaned
for relief from pain. turned his head
from side to side, and Pitchoune
whined softly Sabron was not strong
enough to speak to him, and their
voices, OF man and beast, inarticulate,
mingled-both left to die in the open.
Then Sabron violently rebelled and
cried out In his soul against fate and
destiny. He could have cursed the
day he was born. Keenly DESTROYS to
live, to make his mark and to win
everything man values. why should
he be picked and chosen for this lone
ly pathetic end? Moreover, he did not
wish to suffer like this, to lose his
o n n mn 10 fr.tA x.rt 10
delirium and to diel He knew enough
OF injuries to feel sure that his wound
alone would not kill him. When he
had first dragged himself into the
shade he had tainted. and when he
came to himself he might have
stanched his blood. His wound was
hardly bleeding now. 1t had already
died! Fatigue and thirst, fever would
finish him, not his hurt. He was too
young to die.
With great effort he raised himself
on his arm and scanned the desert
stretching on all sides like a rosy sea-
Along the river bank the pale and deli
cate blossom and leaf OF the mimosa
lay like blush veil, and the smell OF
the evening and the smell OF the mi
mosa flower and the perfumes OF the
weeds came to him. aromatic and
sweet Above his head the blue sky
was ablaze with stars and directly
over him the evening star hung like a
crystal lamp. But there was no beau
ty In 1t for the wounded officer who
looked In vain to the dark shadows on
the desert that might mean approach
ing human life. II would be better to
die as he was dying. than to be found
by the enemy
The sea OF waste rolled unbroken as
far as his fading eyes could reach.
He sank back with a sigh, not to rise
again. and closed his eyes and waited.
He slept short, restless, feverish
sleep, and in II dreams chased one an
other like those evoked by narcotic,
but out OF them, over and over again
came the picture OF Julia Redmond
and she sang to him the song whose
words were a prayer for the safety
OF loved one during the night.
From that romantic melody there
seemed to rise more solemn ones. He
heard the rolling of the organ In the
cathedral In his native town, for he
came from Rouen originally, where
there is one of the most beautiful
cathedrals In the world. The music