The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1929-06-14
Little Journeys in
Americana
Pelathe, the Eagle
By LESTER B. COLBY

Pelathe, the Eagle
pELATHE, the Eagle, rides. Pity
the chestnut mare. Pelathe rides
to warn city of impending disaster.
He rides to warn sleeping Lawrence,
Kansas, of massacre at dawn. For
Quantrill, bushwhacker, wholesale
murder in his heart, is riding west in
rage to burn and destroy.
All night Quantrill has been riding
at the head of his $50 men. He has
routed farmers out of bed to act as
his guide. When he is done with
guide he shoots him. Dead men are
safe--ond silent History saws he MUIR
dered ten guides that night.
Quindar0 Is an outpost of Kansas
City. Theodore Bartles, scout, holds
the head Of his chestnut mare. She
is fleet, stout of heart, deep chested,
a thoroughbred. Scout Bartles loves
that mare but he is about to sacrifice
her.
Pelathe, the Eagle, losses light
blanket across her back. He needs no
saddle. Every ounce of extra weight
will count on this ride. The chestnut
mare breaks into full run. Pelathe,
the Eagle, is riding. And Quantrill
has long head start.
Ten miles out of Quindaro and the
little mares breath is coming in sobs.
Pelathe, the Eagle, talks soothingly.
He caresses her; urges her on. An
other mile or two and she begins to
falter. All, stream!
Pelathe, the Eagle, slips to the
ground. He vets the end of his
blanket and wipes her foaming mouth.
He runs the damp cloth into her nos
triIs; over her head. Then he takes
the dry end of the blanket and wipes
her dripping legs and heaving TANKS.
He gives her drink of water, just
a drink-the last drink she shall ever
havei
Pelathe takes her by the bride,
leads her to the top of the rise
gently. Pelathe, slender, bold, brave
Shawnee Indian, knows horses; he
knows how to get the last ounce of
strength out Of them. And this ride
is to warn city of impending doom.
Lightly the Eagle vaults to the back
of the chestnut mare. She breaks into
run for the second time. Stronger
now. She has gained her second wind.
On, on, on to Lawrence, Kan, the
doomed city. Can he make it ahead
of Quantrill?
Mile after mile. Brave little mare.
Only a few more miles now. She is
faltering. Her sides tremble. Her
legs weaken. She is going down. But
Pelathe, the Eagle, knows trick!
Cruel, inhuman! Yes, but sleep.
ing city must be warned of its doom.
Pelathe, the Eagle, draws his knife.
He rips the shoulders of Scout Bar.
ties beloved chestnut mare. Blood
gushes and spatters on the ground.
Pelathe rubs raw gunpowder into the
flowing wounds.
Pain more intense than the pain
from her bursting lungs flashes
ss0sa9 Ss--ts1nuaa ami.
al. Perhaps some chemical dcu0nl
on her blood gives strength. With +
groan the chestnut mare springs fop.
ward. There is new power in her
faltering legs. And q mile or so furth.
err is the village Of the Delawares.
Will she make 1t? Bravely she runs.
No, she falters again and with moan
drops dead!
Pelathe, the Eagle, lands on his
feet-running. He dashes like a
Splinter to the Delaware village. With
a war-whoop to arouse the camp, he
rushes to the corral. He cannot af'
ford to be shot as a horsethief.
A word and he is on fresh steed,
sturdy Indian pony. The quarter
moon is growing DINNER. Soon the
sun will rise. Quantrill will strike at
dawn. Now the dawn begins to come.
God in Heaven!
Pelathe, the Eagle, looks down in.
to the valley-on Lawrence. His ride
has been in vain. Miles back, on the
road from Quindaro, the little chestnut
mare lies still in darkening blood. Too
late!
In the light of the dawn Pelathe,
the Eagle, looks upon burning houses.
The screams of weeping women
mingle with fierce oaths. Guns roar.
Villagers, white Tipped. see their last
sunrise. The butchery that cost, that
August morning in 1868, not fewer
than $50 lives, is on.
Quantrill and his men are making
a shambles of Lawrence. Their cry to
the ashen-faced, weeping. new-made
widows is:
"We are devils from hell !"
Pelathe, the Eagle, sits on his pony
a statue in the dawn. His face Is
buried in his hands.