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About The Sioux County journal. (Harrison, Nebraska) 1888-1899 | View Entire Issue (Nov. 14, 1889)
OH gWEKT HOIK. Weary and faint lay the old (rrandsire-. He bud bidden adieu to earthly thing; HUi bandit were clasped like a saint at rest, Jn the boly cairn dettk'n angel brings. ""The way had been la-g--be tai so tired, So glad to reach the tn4," be said; Then closed his eyes wl'h a parting smile. While we kept oar vigil beside bis bed. The sands of life were ebbing fast We felt "the last of earth" bad come. "When, sudden, the voice of a little child Sang sweetie and clearly, ' Home sweet borne. -At once the wan lips opened wide, The dim eyes beamed on ns in prayer, And we caught tbe pale lips' wistful words: "There's no place like home help me reach there." "Then, while he erently fell o sleet, We took up the strain of the little child, -And sang the old man to his heavenly rest, Sate in the fold of the Shepherd mild. And the smile still lived on the dear, calm face, On which the shadow of death had come; flut our grief was stilled, and our hearts were glad. For we knew he was sheltered at "Home, sweet home." New York Observer. RIVAL OF A PARSON. NE morning the customers who came to Beckett's rail! with their "turns " were a little surprised to find the mill door closed and a writ ten notice posted thereon, which read: 'Mill close on ercount of wife dyin'. Have to go to hnrvin' over to Coon Bun mectin' house. Will be back in two hours." Sam Beckett. Two or three customers who had come from the extreme end of 'Pos sum Ridge, concluded to wait for Beckett's return rather thanto make the trip again; and so, tying their horses, they sat down on a log and fell into a friendly chat. "I'll tell you what, fellers," Rial Harder said, after the weather and -crops had been discussed, "the takin' off of old Sam's woman is purtydog goned sudden t, ain't it?" "Yes, it air, Rial, fur a fack," Dan Hawkins replied. "Reckon there warn't nobody spectin' of it." "No, and I guess Sam hadn't fig gered on it any hisself." "Wonder if it'll git Sam down much?" "Reckon not bad. You see, when a feller's buried four wives he natu" rally gets sort of used to it, and the takin' off of the fifth hain't likely to go so hard with him as it would ifshe was the first, It's all bein' used to things." "Yes. that's so, Rial, and if a feller ever g'ts used to wives a dyin', I guess Sam ought to be. There ain't many men as kin boast o' buryin' five of 'em haudrunnin'." "No, there ain't many, Dan, that's so. Wonder who Sam'll marry next time?" "Lor' I hain't no idea. Nobody ever thought of him murryin' any of them women he has married. ; Seems like he has a mighty takin' way with - the women folks, somehow, and it does 'pear like women do most un accountable things. Now there wasn't anybody as ever thought of Tilly Smith a marryin' old Sara, was there?" "I guess not,' v "But she married him, though." "Yes. that's so, she did." "Well, and that's the way it'll be ag'in. Old Sam's doggoned lucky when it comes to marryin', and I guess he ought to be, after all the experience he s had." "Yes; and the first thing you know he'll have another wife. And she won't be an old hag, either, but the purtiest gal on 'Possum Ridge." "Azaetly azactly. He has always married young gals, and I 'low he'll do it this time." "I wouldn't be a blamed bit sur prised, Dan, if he did spruce around Bet Higgins. Bet's the beet-looking woman on the ridge, and most any body'd be glad enough to git her." "But that wouldn't do him any good, Rial. Reckon that preach er has got her fast enough." "He may have, and he mayn't have. We kin tell better a week from now." ' The two hours had run out and Beckett ret u rned . "Sorrow I had to keep you waitin'. men," said he, as he came up; "but it couldn't be helped. Folks will die, and they can't be blamed for it; and they're just as liable to goat one time as another. Tain't in the nature of things for people to chose their own time for dyin'; and when they die they have to be buried, you know." "Shore, Sam; that's all natural enough. Reckon you find it a power ful hard blow, cotnin' so unexpected?" "Yes, I do, Rial. It'sawful unhandy. Tilly was a smart woman and I hated to' give her up; and besides, there is always more or less time lost in bury in' of tbe dead one and lookin' round for somebody to take ber place." "Reckon you'll marry ag'in?" "Why, yes, of course; but I haint settled oa anybody yet. It takes times for theaethings, you know, and nan bos to look around a little.,' OM Bam Beckett was well-to-do, ad on Toeetnn Bids bewas looked woa as Os? moos? king of tbe world. . Ea owned good bra, beside, the 1 Dd Bred in a two-story Ltrnt bottci htxury that was rare at that time and which loomed ;p immensely among its numerous log cabin neighbors. Some time previous to the death of Keckett s fifth wife old Jerry liiggins had died, and, having a daughter to leave to the tender mercies of the world. lequeathed her to old Sam's fatherly care. Hetty Higgins was just "rising onto" 18, and was as pretty a girl as evergraced Possum Kidge society, and for that matter she would have no mean ornament in more aristo cratic circles. For years shehad constituted Jerry Higgins' family, and he being a a man well-to-do financially, and justly proud of his daughter, had devoted considerable means to giving her an education, and had even gone so far against the protest of his neighbors, of course as to send her away to attend school in the city Old Sam was a rudy gruff fellow, who had seenthesunsof iiOsummers, but who was perfectly preserved phy sically, and in good trim for taking a sixth wife at anv time. The work at the mill had run be hind a little during Tilly Beckett's short illness, and for two or three days after the funeral old Sam was kept quite busy grinding the ac cumulated "grists." In the meantime Mosellackett, the "preacher feller," had spent a good deal of his spare time in the neigh borhood of Beckett's mill. In fact, he and Bettv spent a great many hours in quiet strolls along the shady lanes of l'ossum Judge or in peaceful Coon Run River. In one of these long walks they happened to pass by the null. Beck ett was at thetimeleaning through the little window looking listlessly down the road that ran off through the woods, and all at once his gaze fell upon the advancing couple. In a moment a dark frown came over his face and his brows con tracted witlt vexation. He watched them until they passed on and out of sight, and then with a dissatisfied shrug of the broad shoulders he turned away muttering: " 'Twon't do 'twon't nigh do! That thar feller's gittin' too num erovs in these parts, an' the first thing 1 know that girl will be fer marrvin, him. I promised old Jerry I'd keer fer 'er an' I'll doit. 'Tain't fer her good to marry sech upstarts as him. an she shan't doit. Since the death of Beckett's wife Betty had gone to live at Dan Bun ker's, and accordingly, as soon as the grist had all been ground out, Beckett closed the old mill, and dressing himself in his best suit, walked over to Bunker's house. Pretty soon after his arrival Dan and his wile managed to retire, leaving Beckett alone together in the best room. "Ruth," Dan said, when they were outside, "you know what Beckett's come fer?" "No, I don't," Ruth replied. "Wal, I do." "Then, what is it?" "Whv, he's come a-sparkin' uv Bet." " "The land sake, Dan! do you reckon so?" "I know it. Ain't he got on a b'iled shirt an' his go-to-meetin' blue jeans coat? An' what else would ho have them on forif he wasn't flaur ing on axin' her to have him?" "Dan Bunker, do vou know what I think of old Bec kett?" "No, 1 don't, Ruth; but, for that matter, I 'low it's not so much what you think of him as what Bet thinks of him that's of interest to old Beck ett." "Well, I think he's an old varmint, and for that matter, I 'low that Bet won't think much different when she finds out his business. The- idea of the old thing marryin' a pretty young gal like fier an that, too, when his other wife ain't been dead a week!" As soon as Dan and Mrs. Bunker were well out of the room old Sam turned to Beth and remarked: "I see you a-walking about a good bit of late with that preacher feller, an' don't approve of it. I hope you don't mean nothin' like business." "I do'n know that I understand your meaning Mr. Beckett." the girl replied, but I must say that I am at a loss to know what objection you can have to Mr. Hackett." "Wnl I've got this much objection to him or to anybody else; I don't want you to marry anybody but me. I'm yourguurdeen, an' I know who'll make you a good husband, nn' I nin't willin' to trust you with them thar young upstarts. I've made up my mind to marry ycu Bet. I done that the day Tilly wai buried, an' I've come to ask you to jineme." "Marry you!" the girl exclaimed in amazed wonder. "Why, I never thought of such a thing." "Don't need to be thought ol. All you want to do is to say the word, an' I'll get Dan to go over an' fetch 'Squire Beeson, an' we'll have it over in less 'n hour. Don't need no think in', Bet. You know me nn' I know you, an' you know how much money an' land 1'vegot, an' you know what sort of a home I kin offeryou. Ain't that enough?" "No, it's not enough. You ore a fool if you think I could be induced to marry an old man likeyou simply because you have a little money, and that, too, when your poor wife is hardly cold in her grave. I won't listen to you and either you or I will leave the room!" 'Do you meam what you eay, Bet!" "Yes, I meam what I say every word of it. I'd die before rd marry jrou!" . "Wall, I ain't need to bein' treated In that way, gal, an' yon may be sorry for it yet." V "Never!" "I think yon will; an aa your law- J ful guardeen, I now srive you notice that you shan't never marry that up ' start of a preacher Do you bear that?" "Yes, I hear it." "Then see that you heed it!" "I won't do it. I'm going to mar ry him, and you can't prevent it." "Goin' to marry him?" "Yes, going to marry him." Old Sam took two or three turns across tbe room, then halted in front of the girl, hn face livid with rage and his form shaking with anger, he bent forward until his hot breath scorched her cheeks, and hissed: "You sha'n't do it. You're mine, an' I'm goin' to have you. and before you shall marry that fellow, I'll I'll it He never finished the sentence, but the look in his eyes and the awtul ness ol his manner madehis meaning plain to the girl, and she shrank back from hi in. "You will not," she cried. ' You dare not." "Won't I? You'll Bee. And, girl, his blood will be on your head for you drive me to it. I've had five wives and I've loved them all. I loved them as well ns men usually love their wives, but 1 never loved anybody as I love you." "Go! I've heard enough!" and with that the girl swept from the room. For a moment Beckett stood still looking nfter her, then, whirling on his heel, he strode out and away. As he walked along the road lead ing to the mill his mind dwelled on the scene he had just quitted, and with each succeeding minute his rage grew fiercer and his anger higher, and his face looked strangely white in the soft moonlight. Once he clinched his fists and muttered! "It shan't lc so. I'll kill him first. It's her money that bought the land and her money that built the house, and, thouarh nobody knows it, it'll be found out if she marries him, and then I'll be fixed in a nice pickle. No, it mustn't and it shan't be. She must be my wife." lie had walked quite n distance and come tothe point where the road followed along the river bank. It wns a narrow pass between the river and the bluff, and only a footpath, or "high cut," as the people called it where foot passengers turned off from the main road and saved some distance by going through. Beckett hnd passed several yards along the bank when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching from the other way. and looking up, what was his surprise and indigna tion to find himself face to face with the "preacher feller." Both stopped short and for some time neither spoke. Beckett's rage was too great to permit of his utter ing a word, while the other was too much shocked by old Sam's looks and actions to find any power of speech. "What's the matter, Mr. Beckett?" the minister finally asked. ".Matter enough," Beckett replied. in a trembling voice. "I hope nothing serious has gone wrong with you." "You're a liar," Beckett screamed. "You don't hope any such thing, an' you know you don't. If you did you wouidn t do it. "Do what, my friend? I do not un derstand your meaning." -No, I reckon you don tunderstnnd it, when you are at the bottom of it." "Bottom ot what?" "Bottom of this trouble. Oh, you're a good one, and you've work ed it mighty fine, hut you shan't nev er marry her." A light began to dawn on Hackett, and he tuought he was getting an in sight into the old man's meaning. "Now, look here, .Mr. Beckett," he said, very calmly, "I know you are .Miss Higgins guardian, and 1 pro posed to respect your right by in forming you of our intentions." "Hang your intentions! I say you can't marry the gal. Youcun'thave her!" "What's your objections?" "I'm goin' to marry her myself." The reply struck Moso Hackett as so preposterous and ridiculous that he could not avoid laughing. In an instant Beckett's face grew red with anger; and taking a stop forward, he said: "You laugh at me, do you, you little gutter-snipe of creation? You think you'll git her anyhow, but I'll see to it that you don't!" And before the minister realized his meaning, Beckett hnd his strong arms about him and was doing his utmost to throw him over into the river. Beckett was a hardy man and unusually strong, and he experienced no difficulty in lifting his little an tagonist up and churning him about. But to throw him into the river was a much more difficult task, since the little man clung to him like a leech and refused" to be shaken loose. There was a long struggle which at last ended in both of them getting too near the bank and slipping into the river. The minister.beingtbe most active, was the first to come up, and see ing his advantage was quick to seize it, and in an instant he gathered Beckett by the nupe of the neck and proceeded to duck him two or three times, after which he said, still re taining his grip: Mr. Beckett, I want'yonr consent to tbe marriage between Miss Hig gins and myself. Are you going to give it?" "Never!" Beckett mattered. "Then under you go again!" After two or three more duckings, the minister asked again. "Do you give in?" . "Never!" "Then Iehallhaveto repeat it." A lew more plunge weakened tike old man. and hepiomised tosnnetion the marriage. . "That's not enough." the minister went on. "You have her money and you must give it up. Do you prom ise that?" "No, I don't, and I won't. 1 11 die first." "Then I shall have to put you un der and hold you under." 'For heaven's sake, don't do that, man! I'm drowned now." "Then you promise?" "Yes. l promise." "Will you swear it? "Yes. yes! Let nio out; I'm dying'" At that moment Dan Bunker and Bettv Higgins arrived. "Thev knew thut the minister was coming. nd they feared that Beck ett would meet him und use violence, and came tohisresctie. "Now, repeat your promise in the presence ol these two," the minister commanded, and Beckett reluctantly complied. "I'll tell you what," the minister continued, "it will lie a good idea to complete this business while we're at it. So if Dan will iro an fetch 'Squire Beeson, "we'll have the marriage it formed and the papers Mgned over wuile Mr. Beckett is in the right no tion." , , Dan went for the Squire, who lived less than a half a mile away, and in a short time the niarriatre ceremony was gone through. Beckett then signed over the girj's projierty and departed for home, a sadder and a madder man. The next day he went down and married the Widow Mnggs, and from that day he and his old mill have jogged along, doing moderately well. Bat Beckett never has Irked a preacher since that night. A Truo Wire, It is not to sweep the house, make the beds, darn the socks and cook the meals chiefly that a man wants a wile. If this is all he needs, a servant can do it cheaper than a wife. If this is all, when a young man calls to see a lady, send him in" to the pantry to taste the bread and cake she has made; send him to inspect the needlework and lied making; or put a broom in her hand and (.end him to witness its use. Such things are important, und a wise young man will quickly look after them. But what the true young man wants with a wife is her companionship, symputlry and love. The way of life has many dreary places in it, and a man needs a wile to go with hiin. A man is some times overtaken by misfortunes; he meets with failures and defeat; trials and temptations beset him, and he needs one to stand by and sympa thize. He has some hard battles to fight with poverty, enemies and sin, and he needs a woman that when he fiuts his arms around her, he .eels he las something to fight for; she will help him to light; she will put her lips to his ear and whisper words of counsel, and her hand to his heart and impart inspiration. All through life, through storm and through sun shine, conflict and victory, through adverse and through favoring winds, man needs a woman's love. The Lady. (.iiltenn's Curse. The death of Policeman Kearney, the officer w ho arrested (iuiteau just after he had shot President Garfield, br i n gs u p o n ee in o re G u i tea u 's c u rse. " The superstitious find much food for morbid imaginings in the fate which has lielallen so many of the chief act ors in that tragical affair. It must have been aa impartial or too com prehensive curse, for while George B. Cork hill, the prosecuting attorney, and Judge Porter, his nssitant, are both dead, poor Charley Reed, who defended him, alter attempting sui cide by jumping from a ferry boat into the North river, is in an insane asylum in New Jersey, und Scoville, Guitcau.s brother-in-law, w ho assist ed in the. defense, is divorced from his wife and is little better than a le gal wreck. However, Judge Cox, who presided at the trial and sentenced the assassin, is halo ond hearty, sound of body aud mind, r.nd is just now wrestling with the mysteries of the Butler-Strong case. Washing ton Cor. Chicago Times. The Ancient Ale Tauter. The modern wino taster and tea taster ore well known institutions but iii old times there was an office of ale taster, to the holder of which fees were paid in kind. It is noted in Dr. Lnngbaine's "Collections,"under Jan. 2a, 1017, that John Shurlehad a patent from Arthur Lake, bishop of Bath and Wells, nnd vice chane.. lor of Oxford.for the otHce of nle tast er to the university, and the making and ossizing of bottles of liny. The office of ale tasting requires that ho goto every nle brewery the day they brew,accordingtotheircourses nnd taste their ale ; for which his oncient fee is one gallon ofstrongale and two gallons of small wort, worth a penny. Lippincott's Mngazino. Sully Plaited It Very few persons are aware that Faris has a large elm which is 130 feet tall and has a circumtWonn. ..vV ,reiH its baseofeighteen feet. It is healthy ..u TiKurous. ii was planted by Bullv bv order rJ M.. tv P pd" m In front of every church . ikuuuuvu aeraia. LOST Uf.ST. I rsnnot make her smile come back That sunshine of hrr f-e. That oxl to mnke this worn earth " At times, so (fay plan. The same dparejes Unit out st ma; TUs features arc tiiesame: But. oh! tne smile is out of them, And Imniit be to blame. Sometimes I see it still: I went With her t lis other d n jr To meet a lonK-m'ed Iriend, and while He stiil were on the way, Bert-oiifldenci in uitinjs lore Brouicbt lim-k. for me to e. That old-time love-lmht to tier eyes That s ill not shine for me. They tell me moner waits forme; Tlier snjr I might bare fame. I like thowgewjraws quite as well As othent like those sume. But I rare not for what I have, Xor lust for what 1 lock. Onetithe as much a my heart long To cull tlintluet lijrht bai t. tome back! dear, banished smile, come hack! And inio txile drive All thouKbts. und aims, and Jealous hopes, That in thy stead would thrive. Who wants tbe enrth without its sun? And what hus h'e for me Tlmt s worth a thought, if. P' It leaves me robl-ed ol thee? K.I nurd S. M;irtin, in July Siribnei'. A FEARKUTORDEAL Occupying a seat in the reading Tnnm nf n down town hotel one day last week, says a writer in The Alta California, there might have been observed a seemingly aged gentle, mnn whose hair wnsirravand whose cheeks were shrivled. A pallor us of death was on his face, and frequently the muscles of his features would twitch convulsively. His name wus Hichnrd J. Allen, and ho registered himseif as hailing from Toronto, Canada Five years ago Itichard Allen, or Dick Allen, as he was familarly known by his associates, owned, or at least claimed and occupied, a stock range of considerable area in south ern Arizona, the Mexican boundary line being distant but a few miles He owned a large number of beef cut tie and was considered well to do. Among the rough population of the border Allen was a power. He was most generously gilted by na ture, havinir a well knit, athletic frame, nnd u mind well stored with knowledge. But it was Allen's nerve which secured for him recognition and affluence amid the cactus flecked plains of Arizona and New Mexico a nerve winciikncw notlinelung, even in the face of death. The greasers and Indians soon learned to dread the tall stockman, tor in more than one encounter they liailrome olf bad ly worsted, and more than ono tin marked grave on the Mexican fron tier bp.'iri silent. witiu.Ka In Al len'rt lincrrinir ,iim fir lio novor hesitated to kill when he thought himselt justified. cry little is con sidered justification among tne class wun Tviiicii Alien was associated, So PTpntlv wns he fenreil nnil rtt pected by his wild companions and neighbors that nothing bearing his brand was ever molested, nnil 11m most daring ofthe cowboys and out laws eeiuomattemptefl death by a too prolonged argument with him. As an illustration ofhis iron nerve, it may be related that atone time in 18S-1 he was given warning to keen nwnv from a enrtnin km n 1 1 settlement, some ten miles from his ranch, he having incurred the dis pleasure of a fail'' of n.itvirinim cutthroats there. Allen smiled grimly as he read tbe warning, then strapjied on his revolver and set forth for the hostile hamlet. Ho tied his horse in the rear ol a saloon and started to enter, when a pistol shot was heard and a bullet whistled over his head. Allen turned. Not more than twenty feet away stood i'Dan," a half breed Indian, with a revolver in his hand. As Allen turned three more balls passed inclose proximity to his head. He knew the Indian h iid nnn ulint left. With a scornful Kmiln h imi.i "Fire again, you , and fire lower." The Indian ni! n nn.l tl, stanthis spirithnd left the arid plains ui ;vri.oiiuiorever. men Allen strode into thesnloon. ... J " " v w i UWeVviJ of his enemies were gathered, and de- iimuueu 10 Know- who sent him the warnincr. No nnn nnui ,i - .... ... . , qmu after roundly cursing the gang for t lint H nnn.A.i:, 1 . I r. . vunuiuiue, ue leic ana went home. For two months ho battled hard with death, for the lust bullet fired bv the In, linn l,,..l t,i. i . iuiiuu IU his right breast, almost piercing the It Was SOmn tlil-u mnni I... r.. iiivubun nicer this occurrence that Allen met with a mishap that hurled him from the heiirhts of u stiinlv an existence but little removed from uuuih. ii was in tlm mi,..,.,,,.. 1885. All dav Ion hard at work branding a lot of year ling steers ut a point some twenty miles from his dugout, and at night he was completely worn out. It was a wearisome lrnllnn fm.n 4i. j ing place to his cheerless habitation BIiry ana the baked ground gave forth an intense heat. It was nearly 11 o'clock when the stock man reached his destination, and triad was h wU i,;. " ' L"!"bfort,he igt and at j w rewre. ii WBa aboil!; to creeointn hA ut. r. lo wioie, ana h knew at Once that nrnwl.. . " a i i ; . i" were UDOUt. Wzinghl. revolver, he started for the stable, on hie hands nnd knees torhetaUndedtokillandnotalam: having no garment on other than his undershirt. The noise at tlm stable continued, and Allen moved rapidly toward the sound. So intent was he on in vestigating the noise that he failed to notice where his path led him, and suddenly, without warning, he felt something beneath him give way and he was precipitated to the bot tom of a "played out" well, a dis tance of some twenty-five feet. The well had been dry lor years, and the mouth had been closed with a few rotten boards, which, giving way un der Allen's great weight, bad caue,l the catastrophe. For a moment Allen was stunned. Tbe skin on his body had been abraded in a dozen places, and every bone ached with the force of the fall. The stockman was almost over whelmed with rage, for in this ac cident he saw himself rendered help less, nnd knew the thieves, if nnv there were, would not leave ns much behind us u lariat, and might should they discover his position, kill him. With a muttered curse of dispnir he turned to look foi his revolver, deter mined to fight to the last, should nn attack be made upon him. As he turned he saw gleeming und flashing in the musky darkness a pair of small, beady eyes, and poor Allen's heart almost stood still, for a warn ing hiss and rattle told him he had in the well ns a companion a rattle snake. The reptile rattled angrily nnd moved his head from side' to side in an uncertain way, and then be hind Allen f liere came nn nnswering sound, and he knew he had two re tiles to cope with instead of one. The sniake liehind him soon crossed the well nnd joined its mate, the two meanwhile keeping up an incessant rattle. Their slumbers had been, rudely disturbed and they seemed determined to resent it if possible. Allen stood as if petrified. He knew a movement on his part meant nn attack, and this attack to him must result in death. And such a death! Ho imagined himself bitten by the snakes, and his fancy depicted a frenzied lieinir, with veins filler with burning poison, wildly grap pling with the scaly, venomous rep tiles, nnd striving with the despera tion of the awful lever to mount the hard sides of the well and die on the plain above beneath God's smiling stnrs. The sweat poured from the poor man's body in streams. The snakes gave forth that musky odor peculiar to them, and this, taken with the close ness and warmth of the air, pro duced u sensation as of suffoca tion. In a moment still hissing nngrilv, one of the snakes began to move, and Allen saw its glistening eyes at his feet. The clammy thinir crawled over his bare leet and circled around his naked legs. The creatureseemed to like the warmth of Allen sbodv. and stopped for a moment. Then it slowly began to ascend his limbs tD his body, and soon the terrible eyes were looking into those ofAllea and they seemed to burn through to his brain. 1'p over his face the creature moved its head, and then encountered Allen's crisp and cuiley, hair. it h nnngnry rat tie the snake drew back his head, and Allen, knowing it would st rike, raised his hands as quick as lightning and gripped the creature by tho throat. ith the other hand he grasped the rattles, aud then ho slowly, surely strangled the creature to death, though the fearful diluvium which it emitted almost caused him to faint. For half an hour he hehl the snake firmly; he saw the malignant light in its eyes grow dim and finally disappear, and then he knew one enemy at least was dead. Hut he dared not drop the dead snake, for the other had become uneasy at the disappearance of it mate, and seemed on the point of starting out in search. Tho tierce, glaring eyes moved from side to side, the rattle was seldom still, and Allen never for a Moment took his eye from those hostile orbs, For hours he stood thus, consumed with a fsverish thirst, his nerves at a terrible tension, and hiseves strained and nlmost bursting. Then the sky above him began to light up, and a little ray of sunlight daneed on tho western wall of his underground pris on. In a few moments tho well was quite light, and then Allen and his remaining enemy saw each other at the same instant. Tho snako coiled nnd sprang, but Allen was too active. He stepped toonesnio ana let the snake go by him, nnd then, with a small club, crushed out the venomous life forever. 1 hen it was that Allen's great nerve gave way. Heyelled and shrieked and cursed and tore m a mad delirium; and when neighbors, attracted by his cries, res cued him an hour later, ho was froth ing at the month, bleeding at the nose and the snakes were torn to shreds. For weeks he lay in his cabin on the outer edeo ol death, but his sturdy constitution stood by him, and he recovered, though he was but a wreck of his former sell. His neigh bors "rounded up" what little stock ho had left for the thieving residents of tho frontier were quick to take advan tage of h!s helnlesHiiess and Allen left for New England, to recover, if possible Ins former health. Hut tne shock was to severe, and Allen will never be a mnn again. At the ago of 30 he is as infirm as a man of 70, and his life is devoid of pleasure. He cannot remain long in ono plnce, for nis nerves demand a constant change of scene, and he Is a homeless, help lea wanderer. Boon death will come to bis relief, and then, perhaps, Allen will learn why this dreadful plague was visited upon him, lloeton True Flag. -f , " 1 i J, '1 -si'. 4
