Part 39 (2/2)

He took her hand. ”Good-by,” he said, chokingly. ”You've given me heart.” He bent swiftly and kissed her forehead. ”I'll win! You'll hear from me.”

”Hurry!” she wildly cried. ”I hear voices!”

He caught up his hat and opened the door. As he faced them his lips were resolute and his eyes glowing. ”It's only good night,” he said, and closed the door behind him.

”Hold!” shouted Ward. ”You must take some food.” He tore the door open.

”Wait--”

Even as he spoke a pistol-shot resounded through the night. It cut through the deathly silence of the forest like a spiteful curse, and was answered by another--then, after a short pause, a swift-tearing volley followed.

”They are killing him!” cried Alice.

They brought him in and laid him at her feet. He had requested this, but when she bent to peer into his face he had gone beyond speech. Limp and b.l.o.o.d.y and motionless he lay, with eyes of unfathomable regret and longing, staring up at her, and as the men stood about with uncovered heads she stooped to him, forgetful of all else; knelt to lay her hand upon his brow.

”Poor boy! Poor boy!” she said, her eyes blinded with tears.

His hand stirred, seeking her own, and she took it and pressed it in both of hers. ”Jesus be merciful!” she prayed, softly.

He smiled faintly in acknowledgment of her presence and her prayer, and in this consolation died.

Wonderingly, with imperious frown, she rose and confronted the sheriff.

”How is it that you are unhurt? Did he not fight?”

”That's what I can't understand, miss,” he answered. ”He fired only once, and then into the air. 'Pears like he wanted to die.”

Alice understood. His thought was of her. ”You shall hear as little as possible,” he had said.

”And you killed him--as he surrendered,” she exclaimed, bitterly, and turned toward the dead man, whose face was growing very peaceful now, and with a blinding pain in her eyes she bent and laid a final caressing hand upon his brow.

As she faced the sheriff again she said, with merciless severity: ”I'd rather be in his place than yours.” Then, with a tired droop in her voice, she appealed to Ward: ”Take me away from here. I'm tired of this savage world.”

THE LEASER

_--the tenderfoot hay-roller from the prairies--still tries his luck in some abandoned tunnel--sternly toiling for his sweetheart far away._

VIII

THE LEASER

The only pa.s.senger in the car who really interested me was a burly young fellow who sat just ahead of me, and who seemed to be something more than a tourist, for the conductor greeted him pleasantly and the brakeman shook his hand. We were climbing to Cripple Creek by way of the Short Line, but as ”the sceneries” were all familiar to me, I was able to study my fellow-pa.s.sengers.

The man before me was very attractive, although he was by no interpretation a gentle type. On the contrary, he looked to be the rough and ready American, rough in phrase and ready to fight. His corduroy coat hunched about his muscular shoulders in awkward lines, and his broad face, inclining to fat, was stern and harsh. He appeared to be about thirty-five years of age.

The more I studied him the more I hankered to know his history. The conductor, coming through, hailed him with:

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