THE NEBRASKAN.
sympathy was united with his love and she
was doubly dear to him. His was a border
love, compared with which the sickly effemin
ate passion of the youths of the crowded cities
pale with insignificance. But like all men who
love so intensely, because he loved her, he
stood in awe of her and uncovered his head
and bowed humbly in her presence. She
was a something so different from the every
day realities of life, that he did not dare lay
hands upon her except in reverence and the
touch of her inanimate form as he had lifted
her tenderly and placed her on her rude
couch, had sent a passionate thrill through
his whole being.
But, while he sat and waited and watched
there came another unseen, who halted at
some distance and looked long on a sight
that filled his soul with jealous rage. It was
Frank Fisher. He did not linger long as
the scone was not one calculated to please.
But he carefully treasured up these incidents
and laid them away with others for future
revengeful use.
And Dale still stood guard. He did not
know that shortly after he had placed her so
tenderly on the couch she had opened .her
eyes, kissed the hem of the blanket, covered
her face with its folds and had fallen into a
deep sleep. But still he watched and wait
ed. The sun sank to rest, and the stars came
out one by one and looked down upon a
Mcene rarely witnessed by their ever watch
ful eyes. He had eaten nothing since early
morning, but he felt no hunger or fatigue.
All night long he paced back and forth, a
solitary gaurdsman over one, who, to him,
was the most precious being on earth. It
was the most pleasant task of his life, even
though the sharp wind whistled and the frost
sought out the weak spots in his clothing.
He had been several times at her side and
from the deep breathing he knew that she
slept, and that when she awakened she
would be refreshed. He occasionally gave
gave an extra tuck to the blanket about her.
and then resumed his solitary watch which
he had to make an active one to keep from
chilling through.
Just as the sun was breaking through the
pine trees in the east, he was startled by
hearing the clank of sabers and the rustle ol
horses' feet in the grass. A troop of cavnlry
had arrived from the post, and with them,
now thoroughly sobered, came John John
son, who had spent the night in the guard
house. Fisher had returned late to the fort
the night before, and had told of the raid on
the ranch and the murder of the two boys,
and this scouting party had been sent out to
hunt down the Indians and punish them for
their deviltry.
Moyne awoke early, and the party moved
on to the ruins of the old home. The bodies
of the two boys were placed in an ambu
lance and the old man and the girl were
taken back to the post, where the boys were
given a Christian burial. The detachment
of cavalry started in pursuit of the Indians
and Harry Dale went with them as a volun
teer. They returned in a few days, report
ing that they had overtaken the band and
killed and wounded a number.
With the assistance of some friends, Jack
son soon rebuilt the log cabin and enclosed
it and the stables in a heavy stockade for
better protection in the future. The old man
seemed but little different from his former
self; the loss of his boys and his stock did
not set very heavily on his mind. He visited
the post as before and joined his companions
in the flowing bowl, but somehow the thought
of his daughter, alone and unprotected,
nerved him up, and kept him sober enough
to start home in time to arrive before dark.
Thus the weeks passed by. Though they
looked for him hourly, Harry Dale did not
come to visit his friends, to chefcr and com
fort them in their sorrow. Moyne grew
weary of waiting. The color left her cheeks
and she grew wan and thin. The old man
was often silent now, as if thinking of the
past, and the two sat hours by the old fire
place, she knitting, he smoking his pipe, and
not a word nor hardly a glance would be