The Hardin tribune-herald. [volume] (Hardin, Mont.) 1925-1973, 1934-05-04

from flying in insane passion at one
another's throat.
Early spring chinooks ended their
bondage.
Osborne moved. He built a cabin not
occupied during the winter. 1t was
located between the first cabin and Joe
Pickett's bull camp.
Neither of the men was anxious to
leave the territory. Each was awaiting
the return of the Indian tribe and the
copper-skinned maiden who, in the
summer, would come again.
On March IS, Scott decided to visit
Pickett's bull camp. He va forced to-
pass by Osborne's cabin.
Reluctantly he approached the build
ing. When he was within hailing dis
lance, his former partner stepped out
side and called to him.
Scott approached cautiously. He was
carrying his rifle, and held it in a
ready" position.
Osborne was friendly. He asked
Scott to enter and have a drink.
As the guest crossed the doorsill, he
carefully placed his rifle against the
corner and took a seat within arms
reach. While he drank the strong,
long-brewed brown fluid, he kept
measuring the distance between him.
self and the weapon.
Osborne apparently sensed his dis
trust.
You're going to kill mel" he sud-
denly shrieked.
Scott leaped for the gun. AS he
swung its muzzle toward Osborne, the
host grabbed an that leaned in a
farther corner of the room.
Wild CALCULATIONS fell from his lips.
Once again Scott saw the insane look
in his eyes. He advanced toward Scott,
raising the double-bladed weapon over
his head.
Damn you, I'll kill you'll" he shouted.
Scott backed out the door. Osborne
followed. The x cut through the air
in long, swishing blows that narrowly
missed cleaving Scott from pate to
collar-bone.
Retreating, Scott found himself
backed against the outside wall. He
raised his gun still higher and its
muzzle bore on a point above the at
tacker's heart.
Osborne took a step nearer. The
glittering, almost razor-edged blade
swished past SCOTS bobbing head and
buried itself in the log wall.
The insane man wrenched it loose.
He drew it back to launch another
blow. Scott pressed the muzzle of his
rifle against Osborne's chest.
The axe wa lifted higher. It curved
downward. A muffled shot sounded.
As though struck by a giants blow,
the axe wavered in mid-air. It twisted
and fell to the ground. Osborne stag
gered. He clutched his bosom. His
suddenly vacant eyes stared at his for
mer friend.
Blood seeped through his grasping
fingers. The strength left his muscles.
His knees buckled. His head fell for
ward. With a sodden thump, he
crashed to the ground.
Scott did not need to touch Osborne's
body to know he was dead. The heavy
slug had torn a gaping wound in his
back where it had emerged from the
flesh. His LIES blood quickly dyed the
ground.
Scott frantically raj to Pickett's
camp and told his story of the tragedy.
But none wholly believed him. The
spirit of the %vigilantes wa not dead
among the Montana pioneers.
There was talk of lynching Scott,
although Investigators found the axe
where Scott said it had fallen after he
killed Osborne to save his life.
Before the pioneers could swing their
rope into action, Scott disappeared, a
fugitive for the rest of his life from
haunting memories if not from justice
Of men.