Evening Republican, Volume 22, Number 67, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 20 March 1919 — As Man to Man [ARTICLE]

As Man to Man

By STEVE M'HENRY

(Copyright.) While the north-bound limited "its fii«pinj rt>» thirst m Its panting CBgine atThe sun-baked depot that morning. t he Wells-Fargo guard said something to one of my deputies, about Indians being on a rampage:- He was= trying to add details when the sliout of ■n autocratic conductor cut shortrfrtA efforts and patted the long • train north ward. Igiter in the day. old Jim t'anniohael. Who runs several herds under hla own brand in the f<*etbUls of the T-r-es Hermans s, dropped into my office ami regaled me with a harrowing tale of pillage and murder. It was conveyed - to him, he said, over The long-distance telephone, by one -of his line riders. Jim declared ihat. judging from the man’s choice of comparatively nioderate words, he must have pone to the telephone booth before going to the Oriental, to be refreshed with that particular brand which lift thrifty proprietor is wont to keep on *ap for the cowmen of the region. Thus he placed some credence in the report. He said that some half-dozen savages, drunk with temporary freedom, and led by a half-breed more cunning than his followers, were traveling in this direction, avoiding towns, hut '~ swooping down on isolated ranches, ready to murder their occupants and drive off their stock. Having heard nothing from neighboring sheriffs. I took little stock In the story. -Probably one harmless red-skin, filled with firewater, strayed from -the reservation, and is whopping things up miHl somebody corrals him," I told my deputies. -• -•- At any rate, because a show of official interest was desirable, 1 premised the old man to let him know if anything happened, and I nsked the hoys to stay around the office that night. Shortly before ten- o’clock, I turned up a vastly premising poker hand, when the telephone bell rang. “Hallo! Sheriff’s office!” bawled a nervous voice at the other end. ‘There’s been a shooting scrape here. One man’s dead —er —both drunk. I reckon —want you to come out. you know. The other fellow got away, but he ain’t got much of a start on you, ts T-T

I interrupted the man’s incoherent account by roaring Into the receiver: “Stop talking long enough to tell me who. and where you are!” “This is Maloney’s—just across the ditch. It was One Kye Pete—" “All right!” I yelled back. “I'll be out righfaway. Leave things as they are.” Hanging up the Instrument; ! told the hoys about it, adding: “You fellows stick around. Should anything turn tip, Montgomery here will take charge. So long!” Indicating the undersheriff, I left the room. N’ear the edge of town, I crossed the white stretch of road which leads straight To "wy ranch. I- was tempted for a moment to turn off and run in on the wife and little one before attending to the business on band. Five minutes more brought" me to the saloon, which I entered through the rear door. In the far corner, covered with a horse blanket, lay a form. Removing the covering, 1 Ihw that the right hand still held a pistol. Its barrel was pointed In an indifferent way, toward the mirror behind the bar. On looking closer, I discovered that the weapon was fully loaded and cocked. So I gently let down the hammer, reflecting that it was by but a small margin that fate had decided which one should die. “The undertaker will take care of this,” I said, stepping to the liar. “I’ve go other work to do. Who saw this shooting?* - ~ ~ - . ; Two or three men shifted uneasily, for it is apt Western wisdom To tell tales QfXkillings. So, balking at the pfopWwbr, I casually remarked : “Gome oia Maloney, you might as well, now as later. Who did tills?” “Him they call One-Eye Pete.” he replied ; “and he ought to hang for it! Come butting Into the talk here when' the other fellow began some kind of a yarn about a girl what pounds the piano in a dance hall down In Tucson!” “I’m not so sure about that neither,” drawled a tall Texan. “Tim tried to fill .his hand on him, but be warn’t quick enough. I deem It an even break for being guilty, with Tete a shade the better of it. Didn't you all notice how the sheriff here had to let down the hammer of Tim s gun? It may teach some of you shorthorns to go kind of slow and easy like, when . women*is the subject of your conversation.” At that 1 turned to the Southerner, «nd jisked; “Did you happen to notice which way this Pete went?” “Sheriff,” he replied, “this Pete, which that ain’t his name nohow, startled for Bear Creek, where he’s got friends. YotiT! know him if you cross up with him, by,histone eye and the limp in his walk, being one leg Is two inches shorter thaD its mate. He’s got almost three-quarters of an hour the start of you, but hts oayuse is played out Tin telling you this, because 1 voted for you j but I don't hope, you’ll

catch your man. and don’t reckon none you will.” T With that honest wish In fny ndnd, I the place and started for the fringe of trees which mark Bear C’rok. As for the man I wanted. I had never seen him, but Ids reputation was familiar to hie. its burden was that, with all his black record, he had neither haruicd n woman nor roughCTmfniijy. . Straight ahead. I saw the dark I Id® hugging the water. To the right, only the endless plain; to the left; the same thing. No. there Was a light, hwny tn the distance in n spot where no light had business to be. _____ It alternately grew brighter and dimmer, and, at times, it leaped high into the black air. Straining.aiy eyes, 1 imagined'that I could see the Sinuous movenienr of Uerjr tongues. 1 concluded that some poo? settler's barn was going up In smoke. Then I struck spurs to my pony. A minute later a fearful ■ thought .gapped me. My owu home was duo west, right where that fire—but, my God! It could hot be! I stared fur an instant, ns if fas- - einnfCd. Then came action. ’ The fugitive and Ills crime were forgotten ; so was the fact that I wore a sheriff’s shield. I settled myself in the saddle, the rowels bit deep and I was off like the wind across gullies nnd sudden arroyos, through hog-wallows, filled with the powdery dust of seasons, over treacherous towns of prairie dogs, whose fatal burrows my pony missed as if by Instinct, straight for that baleful glow which seemed to grow mure distant with every leap. At length I clearly saw the flames curling hungrily over the roof of my barn. Then I saw the smoking ruins .of the-shed —* . ——— I could hear the roar of the fire. I began to strain my ears for some human sound —even cries of distress. I yelled to let them know I was coming, before I realized that I was too fur away to he heard over the din. The next instant a sound reached me. Worse than the his® of the flames or the groans of tortured timbers, this hideous scream almost froze my blood.* It was the yell of Indians, born of the blood lust. Easton’s glib warning flashed tilroug 1 1 my mind. While still within the fire’s zone of blackness, and just outside of the flames’ glow, I jumped from my horse and ran toward the house. In the space between the smoldering building and the blazing barn, I saw several savages, their pa in,t-bedaubed faces distorted with the-hideous - signs of”the beast in human guise. Beyond them, undamaged bemuse of its thick adobe walls, stood the squat smokehouse.

To—lia-ve—crossed this open space would have meant death. Knowing this. 1 made for the shadow* near the side door. Just as - I reached the I stopped, for’there came to me, faint and muffled, the unmistakable cry of a child. It came from the direction of the smokehouse. Then dawned on me the renson for the apparent lack of Indian war wisdom. If'showed the cunning of their leader. He knew that no mother will flee while her child js In danger. I made up my mind to enter the house secure my rifle, and pick off these vainglorious savages one at a time; hut 1 was destined to take no hand in this fight. The door of the smokehouse suddenly flew open. From the inner darkness stepped a man. He was hatless. His face and neck were black with grime. Each hand held a pistoL Hardly had he cleared the door, when he jumped to one side, thus bringing the house out of range. As he leaped. I saw, clinging to liis shoulders, with her arms held tightly around his neck, my little girl. He looked toward the house, and realizing what might happen, shouted above the din: "j-tjay where you are! I’ll bring her to you !" At t lie first word the savages wheeled and made as if to charge r liim, but those level muzzles blazed forth such a steady stream of hot lead that they scattered. It seemed ns if the man's weapons were linked to the scattering Indians by a livid line of flame. As he shot, he 'came closer to the house.

Spellbound 1 watched every move he- made. In my admiration of bis splendid courage I forgot, for the moment. all else. Leaving dead and wounded Indians in his wake, the stranger reached , the house, from which my wife with outstretched -arms ran to meet him. With infinite gentleness he lifted the child from his back and handed her to her mother, while the Indians who cohld-ride were making tracks for the bil' s - Five minutes later, my wife told me, between sobs, bow the little girl had run to the smokehouse for meat, for breakfast, and liow, almost at the same time, she had seen this stranger ride up out of the darkness. Then, as if by magic, the Indians anneared. I prepared to thank the man, who walked slowly toward us leading a horse. He took my hand. Looking htm in _the face. 1 said: “I am the sheriff of this county. If I can pay you for this night's work, I will." * ft “You have.” he answered quietly, as he mounted his horse and rode away. As 1 saw him head straight for the nearest county liue, I muttered: “Thank God!” . “Why. Jack?” asked my wife. “Because, dear,” I replied, “when he came up to us just now, I saw that he limped; and when I shook .his hand; 1 noticed that he bad but one eye/L_l Then I told her wbat hqd kept m# away from bdi&e.