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THE DEAD.
Whatever liis guilt,
He is gone;
His life has been spilt—
’lis the la9t of poor Milt.—
Poor Milton Malone.
Perhaps it is wrong,—
This sad little song,
Sent after his bhade:
•* It may be that I
Should laugh, and cot cry,
When criminals die—
But not thus was I made.
Without any fear
Will I part with a tear
At the poor fellow’s bier:
If we cannot forgive
Our foes while they live,
At least let us try
To be friends when they die.
Nov. 20, 1873. L. E. B.
The Young Wolf
“It ain't of no manner of uso to talk such
doctrine to me, ma’am!” growled the old
frontiersman, to Mrs. Grant, as they stood in
front of the widow’s pleasant home, discuss
ing the dark tiding of the Sioux rising and
the coming peril—“it ain’t no manner of uso.
Your husband, was a good man; but he was
all wrong on the Injin question. He never
known ’em as have. Tell ye what, ma'am, a
wolf’s a wolf, and as soon as he ever gits old
enough he’s bound to show it. First he'll
bite, and then he'll run every time.”
“Why, Gurney, poor Philip has been with
ns six years now, and we've never had any
great complaint to make of him, I'm sure.”
“Yea,” said Gurney, “no doubt he’s been
quiet enough. Haven’t you treated him as if
he’d been your own sou ? And what has he
ever done to pay you ? Has ho ever took to
work ?”
“Well, but, then, it's hardly in Indian j
nature to be very industrious,” pleaded good
Mrs. Grant.
“ Taiu’t, eh? Well, laziness isn’t
the only had thiDg that runs in the
blood. Didn’t he clear out all last
summer, and spend his time on the
plains, hunting with his tribe, ’stead of help
ing you here at home, as he’d onghter? And
ho hasn't been the same fellow ever since he
got back. Tell ye what, if there is any pos
sible show for wolf-taming, the Elder missed
it on Philip. He wasn’t caught young enough.
Why, he was nigh on to fourteen when the
Elder took him in hand, and that’s old
enough for all sorts of p’ison things to have
got well rooted into him." v
“Oh, I hope not,” persisted the good lady,
mournfully. “I want very much to think
good of Philip.”
“That’s what’s the matter almost ronghly
returned her grim old neighbor. “I’m only
afraid you’ll think too much of him. Why,
it’s his own tribe and kin that’s cutting up
all these awful shines among the settlements.
Don’t you trust him too much, if so be the
devils come down hereaway. Joab and I
mean to keep our eyes peeled for him. We
and the neighbors think your place is a heap
too lonely, anyhow.”
Mach more was said; but neither of the
speakers had any idea of being overheard.
The widow had taken a deep interest from
the first in the success of her husband’s ex
periment with the Indian boy, and had
labored hard to complete the unfinished work
fiis death had left to her.
“Philip" they had named him, after the
great Pequot chief ot the old colony times,
instead ot the jawbreaking string of Sioux
gutturals, with their uncanny meaning, which
his tribe had left with him when they gave
him up.
The Grants believed in Philip; but his
proud, reserved, unsocial bearing, his readi
ness to take offense, and his recklessness in
general, had gone far to justify the remainder
of that sparse anti scattered community for
disagreeing with them. One member, even of
o-etf wn little larnily, had ot late ot-guu to
hav inge thoughts and feelings concern
ing t ill, dark, moody-looking young red
man, for Emma Grant had more than once
felt his impenetrable eyes resting upon her
with an intensity of hidden meaning which
had been anything but comfortable. And yet,
of all the household, none had been kinder to
Philip than the merry-eyed, golden-haired
maiden, who was her widowed mother’s great
est remaining comfort and stay, as well as the
beauty and pride of the settlement. Emma
could not, indeed, fathom the meaning of
Philip's looks; but there were other eyes in
the neighborhood that she found less diffi
culty in understanding, and she had had
glances enough to account for, in all con
science.
There were the great, honest brown eyes of
Joab Garner, for instance, staring straight
down into her own, as if he would like to eat
her op, only she had never felt that he would
try, giant as he was, for Joab was evidently
a good deal more afraid of her than she of
him. Doubtless, it could have been truth-,
fully declared, however, that unless the grim
old Hebrew warrior, from whom Joab took
his name, was every iuch the hero he is said
to have been, young Gnrney could have
Uooredhim in a rough-and-tumble. He had
done that very thing for every soul that had
tried it with him, aud it was even said he had
whipped a well-grown bear with nothing but a
club.
Philip had refused to be friends with Joab,
but he had been wise enough not to quarrel
with him. There were times, too, when not
only Philip felt like it, but when Joab him
self would have been glad to have given him
a chance.
Times? l’es, times enough, and that mor
ning was one of them; for after her rough old
friend had shouldered his ax, picked up his
rifle, and stalked away into the forest whioh
bordered her pleasant little home, and after
the Widow Grant bad gone somewhat soberly
back into the house to wonder whatever has
become of Emma, there was a light rustle
and a movement among the adjacent sumach
bushes, and then in the hazel brush beyond,
and the tall, lithe, sinewy form of the young
Indian himself glided from tree to tree into
the deeper cover.
Not a sound passed his thin, tightly com
pressed lips, but Philip's eyes were gleaming
with strange fire, and the muscles of his face
were working to and fro with the swiftly
passing expressions of the fierce thoughts aud
passions within, for he h'ad overheard every
word of the talk between his benefactress
and her neighbor. After all, any human be
ing might reasonably object to being consid
ered in the light of an untamable wild beast,
and evou tho half-civilized son of a Sioux
war-chief might almostfte pardoned for “get
ting riled about it.”
“That is, if he didn't deserve it?”
Y r es, and Philip could not remember that
he had ever harmed any one of the Gurneys.
Nevertheless, his fingers closed around the
barrel of his rifle just now in a way to suggest
the idea that he would like to shoot at some
thing or somebody right off.
Philip was every inch an Indian in his
physical man, although an unusually fine
looking one, and his partial adoption of civ
ilized dress, added to the native grace and
dignity of his manner, made him a decidedly
striking aud interesting personage to look at.
There was not much that was pleasant in his
bronzed face just then, however, and there
was destined soon to be less; for suddenly his
keen eyes caught sight of something which
drove him instantly to “cover" again.
Nothing especially wonderful, one would
think. Only a young woman and a young
man, walking along side by side under the
primeval trees, the former lookin up every
now and then into the eyes of the latter with
au expression which even Sionx sharpness ol
vision could not make out at that distance.
“Emma—Joab Gnrney! "
Philip bad spoken at Inst, but that was all
ho said. Not but what his face told a great
deal more, only there wa9 no one in the little
copse with him to read the dangerous mean
ings that followed one another sc swiftly.
Again and again he gripped his rifle, and
once he half raised it, as if mechanically.
Just then, however, his cars were startled
by a low, emphatic “Ugh! ugh!” that seemed
to come from the ground under his feet.
It was not in Philip’s nature to show sur
prise, however much he might feel it, but ho
looked down into a painted face which he iu-
Btantly recognized, and he saw, too, that the
owner was on the war path.
Quick, low, sharp, the rough gutturals mu6t
have b.'3D, as all Indian talk is—a species of
vocal “short-hand,” condensing much into
little, with the help of gestures and signs, for
in a marvelously short space of time the two
seemed to understand each other. It had been
a bad moment for Philip to fall in with one of
his own race who had never been tamed at all.
Meantime, unconscious of any other pres
ence than their own, in the seeming solitude
of the forest, Joab Gurney and Emma Grant
walked slowly on towards the homestead, and
they also were talking of the dangerous times
that threatened to come.
At first Emma’s thoughts had all gone out
after her mother, her little brothers and sis
ters; and yet she remembered what a friend of
the red man her father bad been, and what
and how profuse had been the oft-repeated.as
surances he and his had received of Sionx
gratitude and protection.
She spoke of this to Joab, but the young
man fully shared in his father’s distrust ot
savage good-will, and shook his head dubi
ously.
“ Tell you what, Emma,” said he, “there’s
only one thing for it. You and your folks must
up stakes and come to onr house on the first
token of danger. We’re making a regular
fort of it, and there won’t be less'n half a
dozen good rifles to keep it, any time the red
skins choose to come. Now, you're just per
fectly unprotected up at your mother's."
“Except by father’s memory,” replied Em
ma.
“And that wouldn’t hold back a Sioux war
j party for half an hour. And, what's more,
some of our people they’ve found Indian
signs in the woods within these past few days.
Tell you what, Emma, I don’t reckon there’s
any great amount of time to spare about this
here moving business. Father said he meant
to go up and see your mother about it this
morning.”
Little did Joab imagine what was going on
in the shadows of the woods around him even
while he was talking.
When old Gurney had left the widow’s
door that morning, it had been with a heart
and mind full of evil foiebodings of a nature
to dispose him to be more than ordinarily
suspicions and observing.
Not a passing indication of any sort was
likely to escape his keen and practiced senses,
for the old man, solid and settled farmer and
land owner as he now was, had been in his
day one of the most noted Indian fighters on
the frontier, and he hardly yielded the palm
of personal prowess even to hi3 own stalwart
son.
As yet, all reports of savage outrages had
come from localities far to the north ward ;
but Gurney knew the ways of the Siouxlbands
too well to be hoodwinked by that, and he
strolled Blowly along with the air of a man
who is continually looking for something.
Whether or not this appearance was more
in seeming than reality, suddenly Gurney
bent forward almost to the ground, balancing
bis heavy weight with his long arms, as if he
discovered something on the soft earth of the
damp, marshy spot he stood on tbat called for
careful study. ,
Only tor a moment the study c'ntinued.
and then the old man drew himself erect
again and stride forward, while the expres
sion of anxiety grew deeper and darker on
his rugged, wrinkled face.
“Recon there’s not many of ’em,” he mut
tered. “Only a sort of a scoutin’ party ; but
they’re awful close, and they wouldn’t mind
picking up a scalp or two.”
His eyes were travelling fast enough now, the
quick glances taking in only the dim and
doubtful trail he was following, but every
possible object ot interest in the surrounding
forest.
“They can’t be tar away now,” he muttered,
“and I mustn’t give ’em a chance to bush me.
Hullo ! right there they seem to have scatter
ed and cut in different lines. Go slow now,
old man, go slow.”
And suiting the action to the word, the
veteran pioneer began to dodge from tree to
tree as deftly and silently as if he had been
stalking deer, while his keen gray eye3 work
ed harder than ever under their penthouse
brows.
And now, as he peered from behind tho
goarled roots of a gigantic upturned maple,
old Gurney’s face underwent a quick, fierce,
angry change.
“I thought so !” he exclaimed. “There’s
one of ’em in his war-paint, and there’s Phil
lip, and yonder’s Joab and Emma, strollin’
on home as ignorant of danger as a pair of
calves. Why on earth can’t Joab keep his
eyes about him ? Hullo ! I can’t understand
that—Philip won’t let him shoot! That’s
queer. The red skins mad abont it, too.
Good for||Philip—only what business has he
got with such a scalp-taker, anyhow ?’’
The old man’s puzzle had very nearly prov
ed a dangerous one for him, since it had ab
sorbed him so completely that he had failed
to “watch out” for other comers, and now
with a crash of the rotten bark and the
crumbling clods which still clung to the torn
roots of the old maple, the form of a Sioux
brave came lumbering down upon his very
shoulders.
The fellow had evidently climbed along the
fallen trunk and missed his footing, for his
surprise and dismay was more than equal to
that of the white man with whom he almost
instantly found himself grappling.
“War-paint!” said old Gurney to himself.
“That’s all I want. No need of any explana
tions. ”
And, as he grasped the redskin in a hug like
tbat of a grizzly bear, tbe brave old man east
off all considerations of his own safety, and
shouted loudly to Joab to hurry to the house
with Emma.
Startled, surprised, as he well might be,
Joab’s trust in the veteran's pluck aud judg
ment forbade him to hesitate, and he sprang
forward at once, half dragging, and some
times more than halt carrying Emma, very
much against the will of tbe brave-hearted
maiden.
As for Gurney's immediate antagonist, there
was very little to be said about him, in less
than half a minute “all the danger being ta
ken ont of him,” as his victor coolly described
the effect of the finishing stroke he gave him
with his own tomahawk.
And the old man crouched more and more
closely under the protection of the massive
trunk, for he knew not what other struggles
might be in store for him.
Rapidly as Joab and Emma had pushed
their retreat to the house, Philip had managed
to be beforehand, and that by so circuitous a
path that neither of them connected him with
the idea of any danger which might have been
behind them.
Philip had begun to say something to Mrs.
Grant about signs of danger which he had
discovered in the forest, when Joab and Emma
came in, and the former set himself to work
with the most Breathless energy to close up
the house and put it in some sort of defensi
ble condition.
Philip silently sprang to his assistance; and
if Mrs. Grant bad received any unpleasant
impressions from her morning’s consultation
with Joab’s father, they were in a fair way to
be dissipated by the seeiniDgly zealous readi
ness of her sombre and dignified protege.
There was so little to be done, however,
tbat it was quickly over, and Jonh’s thoughts
now turned to his father, and the possibilities
| of what might be taking place in the neigh
boring forest.
“ I would go at once to help him,” he mut
tered, “if there was only somobody to stay
here.”
Both Emma and her mother understood,
even if they heard but imperfectly, and they
so loudly asserted their readiness to remain
under Philip’s protection that Joab felt very
much like yielding.
ATLANTA WEEKLY HERALD- December 3, 1873.
“Besides," thought h, “if I can only get
the old man safe in here, he’s as good as ten
common chaps, and he’ll know just about
what ought to be done."
Philip said nothing either way, seeming to
be very busy with an inspection of the arms
and ammunition, of which there was a very
good supply; and, after a moment's counsel
with himself, sorely distnrbed by the thoughts
of leaving Emma Grant for one moment with
out his own protection, Joab determined to
venture.
His first and greatest peril, as he knew,
would be in getting under cover of the forest
from the house; but that once accomplished,
he pushed forward over the not very great
distance to the point of his first alarm with
creditable rapidity.
Still, he was too good a woodsman to do
anything rash, and even the profound silence
which seemed to reign convinced him that
there was danger brewing.
“Either the old man’s wiped out clean, or
else he’s laying for somebody, that’s flat,”
muttered Joab; “and jnst as like as not
they’ie a-laying for him all around at the
same time. Seems to mo as if his voice
sounded from just over yonder.”
Joab was pretty nearly correct, not only in
his surmises, but in his calculations of his
father’s whereabouts; but ho himself was
keeping Under the closest kind of cover now,
nor had he in any manner betrayed his re
turn or presence to tLe eager redskins, who
were “laying for” his father.
In fact, they had hardly calculated on his
coming back so soon, if at all, having possi
bly reasons of their own for supposing mat
ters all right and safe at the house for the
time being.
At all events, they had good reason for be
iug in something of a hurry in their business,
nor was it long before Joab’s patient waiting
had been rewarded.
Not a sign ot life had he detected on, under,
or about the old maple trunk, but be discov
ered that, somehow or other, it was the centre
of attraction. Away in the wood- at fair rifle
distance, three or four painted braves were
scouting slyly toward it. from tree, to tree,
while two, who now made their way close to
one side of it, showed evident symptoms of a
desire to look over it, or even to get on top.
“Tho old man's over there somewhere,” said
he to himself, “only I can’t imagine how he
can bide so close, with them all aronnd him.
Hullo! the gravel and mud is giving way a
little there at the root. If that ain’t his rifle
bar’l, I’m done! There, they've seen it!
Look at ’em climb ! Here go !”
The sudden spring of the two braves right
on top of the huge trunk had brought them
in splendid range; and, as Joab’s rifle cracked,
they both went over on the other side; only
one of them jumped, while the other tumbled
like a log. Then for an instant the forest
rang with angry, disappointed yells, as the
savages, one and all,broke and ran for cover—
not in Joob’s direction—disconcerted by this
deadly attack in tbe rear; and at the same
moment old Gnrney shot ont from his hole at
the root'end of the fallen tree, and made the
best of his way toward where his son was
lying.
“Do you hear that ?” he exclaimed, as he
sprang into the dense thicket that concealed
Joab. “Don’t you know what that means?
There’s more of’em down yonder, and they
have answered that death whoop. We must
go for the house now. There just ain’t half
a minute of time to throw away. I'm glad
we’ve sweetened them two, only that 11 fetch
the rest right close on our heels."
Joab needed no urging, for he had no .very
high opinion of Philip as a garrison of such
a fort as Emma Grant's home.
Now, it had come to pass that after Joab
had started ont to look for his father, and
poor Mrs. Grant gathered her frightened little
ones around her, as if her motherly love could
of itself protect them from the atrocities of
Indian warfare, Philip had again and again
chimed in with Emma’s inmost thought by
the, for him, strong and voluble expression
of his anxiety about the fate of her friend;
and when at last be declared his intention of
making a sooul to wiAt had become of him,
the excited girl’s uncontrollable impulses car
ried her right along with him, almost in spite
of her mother’s timid protest.
Even Mrs. Grant, however, sympathized
with Philip’s pretended motives, nor was she
as yet tully awake to the condition of affairs.
Neither she nor Emma bad heard or seen the
slightest sign of any real danger.
And so Emma and her tanned savage of a
friend set ont together, warily threading the
underbrush for some little distance, while all
the summer stillness around them seemed to
speak only of the most perfect peace and utter
safety.
And yet Emma was strangely conscious
that there was something unusual in Philip’s
eyes—a sort of halt-fierce, half-triumphant
expression that was not unkindly, but still
that made her shudder.
She was even on the point of saying that
they had better turn back, when suddenly,
from under a low-growing iron-wood, there
sprang ont beside them a pair of beings such
as every frontier-Rirl's dreams have pictured
to her, but such as Emma had never seen be
fore—at least, not in the unearthly hideous
ness of their war paint.
She would'have shrieked, but her tongue
clove fast to the roof of her mouth, and the
two redskins were themselves for a moment
silent.
They had reached ont as if to seizs her, but
Philip had motioned them off, saying some
thing in their own dialect.
Then followed what seemed to be a sharp
dispute, and then, jnst as poor Emma’s faith
in Philip’s protecting power was growing
stronger, he himself seemed to yield assent to
some proposal made, and she felt their strong
hands tighten upon her with a rude and piti
less grasp.
Again she tried to cry out, but a hand was
over her mouth, and the threatening gleam of
a tomahawk arose before her eyes.
She saw Philip snatch the tomahawk, aDd
then the arm that held it suddenly relaxed,
and she heard a long-drawn, mournful
whoop; and then there was a sudden rush,
and crash, and shout, and she was lifted up,
almost fainting with terror, and borne swittly
toward the house.
Before she got there, however, she discov
ered that she was carried in tbe strong arms
of Joab Gurney.
“Tell you what, my boy,” she beard his
father say, “we wa’n’t any too soon. Even if
Philip didn’t mean harm—and it half
looked as if he was fending ’em off
—they’d have been too many for him.
Aud what’s more, that makes four Sioux
out of this ’ere party, and that’s a kind of
thinning out that the rascals don’t hanker
arter.”
As if there could be no manner of ground
for anything but commendation of his con
duct, Philip walked straight into the house
with Emma and her rescuers, and seemed as
alert as either of them in the attention he
paid to means of defense. Old man Gurney,
however, was apparently, absorbed in the
deepest kind of a brown study.
“Joab,” said he, at length, “it may be we’d
better get out of this. It's a poor place to
make a fight in, at best, and then we couldn't
stand any kind ot a siege. Besides, we ought
to be stirring up the other folks. This party
mayn’t bo the only one in the woods.”
“We’ve plenty of horses,” chimed in tho
widow. “I wouldn't mind their bnruiug lip
everything if Emma and the children were
only safe.”
“Fight here,” interrupted Philip. “Got
plenty gun, got house, got everything handy.
Sioux braves catch us in tbe woods. Take
all children scalp. Take yours. Take mine.
Emma scalp. Not leave one of us.”
“That’s enough,” exclaimed old Gurney.
“If that young wolf says stay, Isay go ! Joab,
you put for the barn. Rake out the Elder’s
old buggy to carry tbe children in. Emma,
you go help him. Quick now !”
“I’ll help. Get quick ready," said Philip,
while at the same time his black eyes were
blazing liko two coals of fire, and he turned
toward the door as if to lead the way to tbo
barn. Jnst then, however, tbe right hand of ;
Joab Gurney shot out from his shoulder, and I
the “tame ladian” measured his length on ■
the floor with terrific emphasis. Not only !
that but the brawny young frontiersman,
threw himself bodily upon him, shouting to
his father to hand him a rope, and, in a mo- '
ment more, Philip was tightly bound, hand
and foot, in spito of desperate struggles to
draw his knife, which had only secured him
a dozen more applications of Joab’s iron fist.
“Why, Joab,” exclaimed poor Mrs. Grant,
“don’t hurt him ! Wbat do you mean, and
what is it all about ? What has Philip done ?
I’m sure ”
“Done? Done?” roared the angry Joab.
“Dad, just look at the touchholes of those
guns and pistols he was fingering with when
I went out. The sneaking skunk has plugged
’em all up with little divers of wood. Much
good they’d have been to us in a fight. He’s
some'low at the bottom of all this, and the
sooner we are out of it the better."
“That’s so,” exclaimed the old man. “I
saw him palavering with one of 'em, and if
you can't see what he’s np to, Icin ; that’s
all. Anyhow, they’ll be apt to wait for some
kind of a signal from him. That’s what he
was going out for, I reckon. Maybe we may
git a good start, now we’vo cornered him.”
Hardly had Gurney slopped speaking be
fore the sharp beginning of a yell from the
form on the door died out in a sort of choking
sound, as the watchful Joab proceeded to gag
his victim.
“He didn’t even get a good whoop out,” j
growled Joab.
“The young wolf!" exclaimed old Gurney
‘lf he tries it ag<u n, I’ll stop his yelling for
good and all. Come, now, let’s hurry up
with the horses."
Poor Mrs. Grant sat disconsolately looking
down at the sad results of her own and her
late husband’s philanthropieal experiment ;
but even th ough her kindly brain strange
thoughts were chasing one another, for she
somehow instinctively connected Emma and
her beauty with the dark doings of that event
ful morning.
Short time, indeed, did Joab and
his father consume in their preparations,
and they pittilessly refused every effort
of the widow’s to take with her
some portion of her household treasures.
“It’s likely to be a race, ma’am,” said the
old man, “and every pound is an object. Tbe
old buggy’s heavy enough, at the best, with
you and the young ones in it.”
Mrs. Grant and the three children were
hurried into the antiquated vehicle, she her
self to drive, while the Gurneys and Emma
were quickly in the saddle. the pair of
plow-horses in front of the buggy were none
of the fastest, bat they were strong and
stannch, and, if a fair start could be gained,
it seemed highly probable that tbe five miles
or so of rough road which lay before them
might be passed in safety.
“What shall you do with Philip ? ” asked
Emma.
“Oh yes ! Poor Philip! ” added the wid
ow.
“Leave him there for his Sioux relatives to
untie,” growled Gurney the elder. “But I
warn him never to cross my path in the
woods, if he doesn’t want something worse
than Joab’s given him.”
Philip looked unutterable things, but he
could not speak.
Rapid motion was the thing in order and
away sprang the sharply lashed plow-horses
over the rough but not otherwise difficult
road toward the Gurney farm. Close behind
them rode Emma, with tbe towering form of
Joab by her side—a heavy weight for the po
ny he was riding—while further in the rear
came the old pioneer himself in a slow gal
lop, evidently determined to cover the singu
lar and dangerous retreat.
The non-arrival of their two scouts had for
a little while pizzled the Sionx, and the taste
they had had of the manner of men they
were dealing with inclined them to caution;
but such a daring step as this of their inten
ded victims oonld not but be shortly known
to them, and the whole band was as quickly
gathered in belt pursuit.
With ttad a bettor read, there
would have;dfeen, of course, no chance lor
them; but, as it was, the first half-mile ot
start, as well as tbe subsequent delay of the
redskins themselves in their rapid plundering
search of the widow’s home, had been of the
utmost value to the fugitives. Moreover, the
necessities of such a chase resulted in scatter
ing „he pursuers, as the swifter and braver
dashed ahead, while the slower and less zeal
ous lagged behind, so that it was easier for
old Gurney to check them, as he did, when
at last they came in view, by the threatening
muzzle of his rifle.
“Once aronnd the carve and unto the lake
shore, and I won’t care a cent,” said he to him
self; “but if they know the country well
enough to cut across, and head us c ff, we
may have a close shave of it. Anyhow, they
ain't more’n half a dozen right up in the
front here, and Joab and I can try and give a
good account of some of them.”
On pressed the Sionx, and on rattled and
cracked and bnmped the rickety old ve
hicle; but the curve of the road was
reached now. and with it, as even
Emma and her mother coaid see, the
moment of danger, while beyond was the
smooth, blue,J>eautiful lake, and on the shore,
not more than a mile away, was the fortified
homestead of the Gnrneys, with the strong
arms and ready rifles of Joab’s brethren and
neighbors.
Yell after yell arose behind the widow and
her cowering children.
Closer and closer now, for the red men were
“cutting across,” and the hard-driven horses
were getting somewhat blown.
There! That was the crack of old Gurney's
rifle, and Joab had turned to stand by his fa
ther. Hurra! The lake shore now. A few
minutes more, and—
But just at this critical moment, when the
sky seemed brighter to the two poor women,
there was a sound as if of breaking wood, a
dull crash, and then the two reeking horses
stood still of themselves in their tracks, in
front of the ruin, which was all that remained
of the broken-down buggy
"Hand me np one of the children, mother!”
shouted Emma. “Now, another behind me.”
And by the time the half-frantic widow had
complied, Joab had sprung from his pony by
her side, swung her back into the saddle,
lifted the youngest into her arms, and then he
said, as coolly as if nothing particular was the
matter:
“I’ll cut the traces of these two, and get
what good I can out of ’em. You ride on, but
don’t try to get too far ahead, and dad and 1 11
fight ’em off yet.”
Emma looked at her friend in undisguised
admiration and gratitude, but there was no
time for words.
Forward the two heavily burdened ponies,
and forward also their stalwart defenders,
pressed closely by the yelling fiends, who
would now be gathering speedily m greater
number.
“Well, Joab, my boy, your last shot was a
good one. Glad we bain’t got far to go now,
for there mnst be nigb on t o a score of these
cusses, and they’re likely to gather for a rush
in on us about these days, I say. There they
come! Give it to ’em straight, boy! Joab, he’s
hit! Stand up to your work, my boy! ”
Emma Grant looked back just then, with a
light of hope and gladness on her face, that
died suddenly out as she saw old man Gurney
reel sickly in his saddle, while a seemingly
overwhelming number of whooping demons
closed in around tbe youDg hero, who bound
ed forward to defend bis lather.
They had miscalculated the all but frenzied
strength of tho border Hercules, however, and
bis siugle arm, with its flashing axe, that
came and went like lightniDg, was all suffi
cient to hold them at bay for that brief mo
ment which allowed the help to come.
“The help! ”
Yes, the dozen or so of stalwart pioneers,
whose appearance, hurrying down tbe road,
had brought the light to tbe face of Emma
Grant.
They bad caaght the alarm in ample time.
but for the disaster to the wagon, and even
now they were in at the crisis.
The red men drew back in dismay, and
hurried off to cover, what were left of them
followed for a long distance by their vengeful
adversaries; but Joab Gurney did not go with
hi3 friends. There were several human lorms
lying in the road by the lake shore, and by
one of these the young man was anxiously
kneeling.
“It’s no use, my boy,” grasped the old
frontiersman. “I’m done for, this time; hut
I’m glad it’s me, and not you. Emma’s a
good girl, and I'm glad we saved her and her
mother and the children. Be good to her,
Joab.”
The young man was speechless with his sad
den sorrow, and his father went on, slowly
and with pain:
“Joab, my boy, tell Widder Grant, I say it,
never to trust any more young wolves. I saw
Philip right in front of ’em, after all. It was
all his work."
“Saw him ?" exclaimed Joab. “Why, fa
ther, I believe it was ho that fired that shot
at you; and I know one. thing, I cut him
down through the shoulder only a minute
ago. There he lies.”
The body at which Joab pointed seemed to
recover strange life at e sound of his voice,
and the dark head was slowly lifted.
It was unmistakably that of Philip himself,
and he said, in the very fair English his
benefactors had so .refully taught him:
“The young wolf was the son of a chief
he was not a white man’s plaything. 'When
he saw another man taking the woman ho
chose for himself, his red blood rose within
him. That was ail. White men are fools,
but white women ”
No other words came from the mocking
lips, but instead thereof a stream of tbe “red
blood” he had been so idly vaunting, and the
finely molded but low-browed and com
pressed-looking head fell heavily back to its
long silence.
Some minutes later, as Joab still sat by his
father’s side, with a cup of water he had
brought from the lake, he heard the sound ot
horse’s hoofs beside him, and then a light
form sprang down and knelt, and a white
hand lay upon his own, and although not a
word was spoken, tho bravo fellow's heart
learned once for all what a wonderful help
love can be, in even the darkest aud saddest
hour of trouble, for the little white hand was
that of Emma Grant herself.
A Horrible Fix.
FORTY-ONE HOURS IN A WELL FIFTY FEET DEEP
RESCUED BY CHANCE IN AN EXHAUSTED
CONDITION.
From tbe San Francieco Bulletin.
A man named Hughes, who keeps a hog
ranahe near the Golden Gate Park, met with
an accident the other day which nearly re
sulted in his death. His house is situated a
considerable distance from the road, and he
lives alone, being a gay bachelor. Last Mon
day afternoon, about three o’clock, Mr.
Hughes had occasion to go to his well, which
is a few paces from the house. While fix
ing the rope he fell into the well and brought
up at the bottom, a depth of abont fifty feet,
much shaken, but not materially injured. His
utter helplessness completely overwhelmed
him, but at the top of his voice he began to
shout, hoping that someone in the park
would hear his cries. Monday evening passed,
and his cries for “help" was unanswered.
Tuesday and Tuesday evening passed, and
still no response to his frantic appeals for aid.
His feelings, while down in that well, with
the cold water up to his waist, can be better
imagined than described.
On Tuesday morning G. A. Friermuth went
to Hughes’bouse for the purpose of delivering
the Call. He heard the unfortunate man’s
shouts, but believing they came from the park
he paid no attention. He was surprised yes
terday morning on going to deliver the paper
by hearing the shouts again. The paper which
he left the day before was lying on the stoop.
This fact increased his astonishment, and after
listening attentively, curiosity drew Rim to
the well, from which the cries arose distiutly on
his ear. Mr. Friermuth was somewhat star
tled on learning what was the matter. After
a few words had passed, Mr. Friermuth en
couraged Hughes to hold out a few minutes
longer, and, jumping on'.his horse, rode at full
speed to obtain assistance. In a short time
he retnrned with two men, and Hughes was
fished up from the well in a deplorable condi
tion from exhaustion, his face as pale as
marble. Alter his “inner man” had been
fed, he explained the circumstances to his
rescuers, and stated that he thought some
one had set a trap for him. He was under
the impression that his foot had caught in a
book or something which had been placed
near the mouth of the well. A diligent
search was made, but no evidence to confirm
his suspicions of soul play was found. Hughes
is a man of strong constitution, but it will
probably take several days to quiet his nerves.
Life Insurance Decision.
The following important decision was re
cently rendered by the Circuit Court of the
United States for the Western District of
Tennessee:
CIRCUIT COURT OF THE UNITED STATES FOR THE
WESTERN DISTRICT OF TENNESSEE.
W. E. Taitetal., Heirs of Dr. Samuel Bond,
deceased, vs. New York Lifo Insurance Cos.
Commonß, J.
A policy of insurance which indemnifies a
public enemy against loss in time of war is
unlawful; and where entered into before hos
tilities, is abrogated when they occur. The
relations it establishes are illegal between bel
ligerents.
Where a life policy provides that it shall be
void upon the non-payment of premiums
within the time prescribed, sucb payment is
a condition precedent: time is of the essence
of contract, and there can be no recovery if
punctual payment is omitted.
Where the performance of a condition pre
cedent becomes unlawful, or by the act of
God, impossible, this will not authorize a re
covery upon the contract without performance.
Such case distinguished from those in which
subsequent impossibility and illegality are re
lied upon as a defense.
A contract of insurance, the continuance of
which depends upon tho election and acts of
the iusured, is not like a debt, the obligation
of which is absolute, and which is suspended
only by war.
The relations between the members of a
corporation for mutual insurance present all
tho evils and are dissolved by war for the
same reasons as those between ordinary
copartners. *
The reasons for the dissolution of executory
contracts by war are not alone such contracts
involve inter-communication across the lines,
or that they relate to property liable to cap
ture; but more especially because their execu
tion increases the resources of the enemy.
A court of equity has no authority to de
cree the specifio performance of an agree
ment in favor of a party who has failed to
perform a condition which is of the essence
of the contract, although prevented by its
becoming subsequently illegal or impossible
by act of God.
A court of equity will not relieve a party
from the effect of omitting to perform an act,
although the omibsion was caused by subse
quent illegality or impossibility arising from
the act of God, where such act wa3 merely
optional, and the other party had no right to
enforce its performance.
Tho agency of one representing an insur
ance company, authorized to receive premi
ums and renew policies, becomes unlawful
when the insured and insurer become public
enemies.
Humes & Boston, for plaintiff; Randolph,
Hammond & Jordan, for defendants.
The two female members of tbe Wydihiug
Legislature are said to have already acquired
great profioiency in the art of throwing ink
| stands and dodging law books.
“SPEC’S” FIRST.
SOTES FROM THE “CITY O.F MAGNIFI
CENT DISTANCES.''
Hotels and Boarding Houses—Tile City
Filling Rapidly—Congressmen and
Newspaper Men—Cuba and the War
with Spain—The Currency Question
“The Sage of Liberty Hall”—The Or
ganization of the House—The Mexican
Veterans—Arrivals from the South.
Special Corretpondence ol the Herald.
Washington, D. C., Nov. 26, 1873.
WASHINGTON BOARDING HOUSE KEEPERS
are once more happy over the anticipated
harvest of "Spinner's promises to pay.”
Prices of grub and gruel have fearfully “riz.”
First class hotels, like Willard’s, the Arling
ton and the Ebbitt, charge now according to
tho room occupied and the appearance of the
victim, while such bedding traps as the Im
perial and National whisper five dollars a day
as soothingly in your ear as if “money grew
on trees.” They claim that “now is the accept
ed time” to “grab” their “back pay." Store
okepers, hackmen, saloonists, in tact everybody
and the “balance of the world” in Washing
ton refuse to recognize the panic and pop
prices on you that startle and “bust” yon.
THE CITY FILLING UP RAPIDLY.
Tbe city is filling up rapidly with the usu
al winter citizenry, office seekers, plunder
ers, lobbyists and hariots. Willard’s at night,
with its brilliant gas jets, fine dressed men,
and silk-clad women remind us of the “times
of tbe war,” when to the hangers on all things
went “smoothly as a marriage bell,” and dol
lars were thick as black berries in spring time.
CONGRESSMEN LINGERING BY THE WAYSIDE.
Members of Congress are slow in arriving,
lingering, doubtless, by their virtuous and re
ligious firesides to partake of the good old
“thanksgiving dinner." Bnt one “class”
have as yet arrived in full force, and they the
persevering, untiring denizens of “Newspaper
Row,” ready to “interview,” dine, wine, play
draw, anything in fact, for the “special use
of the Smithville Enterprise.”
CUBA AND THE WAR WITH SPAIN.
Of course the first great topic is Cuba and
the war with Spain. “Specs” lias done his
part in the "hobnobbing” and, “interviewing”
line and sagely arrives at the conclusion
this morning that there will be no war with
Spain. The Government is making a big
show ot getting ready, which, by the way, is
well enough in giving employment to thou
sands ot hard working mechanics, in a desti
tute condition, bat beyond this no sane man
seeing the drift of events here believes there
will be war. Spain will apologize; blood
money will be paid the families of the butch
ered victims; Fish will temporize; Castelar
will pay in prolific promises and Sickles will
continue to flirt and frolic with the dark-eyed,
hot-blooded Senoritas of Spanish land. Thus
will pass away the visions of “grim visaged
war.”
THE CURRENCY QUESTION.
Western members are on hand with a pro
position that will be backed almost solidly by
that section for the rapid and heavy inflation
of the currency. General Hawley, who has
the bill in charge, is ready and profuse with
his arguments to Southern members that the
West and South need more banks—more
currency. It is understood that the kings of
Wall street, and the moneyed men of the East,
will favor contraction. The fight promises
to be heavy and interesting.
HON. ALEXANDER H. STEPHENS
arrived on Monday night, accompanied by
his private secretary, Mr. W. H. Hildell, a
most genial and intelligent young gentleman,
and his old and faithful body servant, Harry.
He has taken quarters at the “National,” and
has been called upon by hundreds of his old
time friends, prominent officials of all par
ties, etc. “Little Aleck” is quite a lion here,
and will re-enter the Honse with a prestige
and ectol, seldom accorded to American
statesmen. That he will sustain his old
time reputation, none can donbt, who look
apon the sparkle of his eye, and the conscious
smile of power, which ever and anon plays
upon his lip.
A LIVELY FIGHT
is anticipated over the organization of the
House of Representatives. Blaine, however,
will distance Maynard for Speaker; MoPher
son will be Clerk; Ordway, Sergeant at Arms;
and Buxton, Door-Keeper. For the Postmas
tership of the Honse there is a lively strug
gle. Ohio presents two candidates, Michigan
one. It seems to be generally conceded, how
ever, that the place will be accorded to the
South, in which event I think Perce, of Mis
sissippi, will be the man, although Virginia
has a candidate in the person of Mr. Clem
ens, while the usual candidacy of Sam Bard,
from Tennessee, Georgia and Louisiana, ' ‘ap
pears.” Bard has no showing in the world
for the place.
He made some “enquiries” on arrival, re
lative to Dunning’s place, but the plain,
straight-forward, honest and manly course of
Mr. Dunning, under so many embarrass
ments, has made him steadfast friends here,
and there is no probability whatever of his
being displaced to m.ike room for Bard or any
one else.
THE MEXICAN |VETERANS
are making great preparations for their “Na
tional Convention," to be held here on the
15th of January. Railroad presidents are of
fering the “usual reduction,” charging only
“halt fare.” Joe Brown was the first Rail
road president in the United States to offer
tho “half fare.”
ARRIVALS FROM THE SOUTH
are “few and far between," eo far. Mr. Wal
bury and wife, Georgia; Houston Chirch and
wife, Georgia, and John G. Stokes, Alabama,
are at Willard's. J. R. McClintock, Mobile ;
li. Wilson and M. J. Hughes, Tennessee, are
at tho “Continental.” E. R. Johnson, Ala
bama; L. M. Ogletreo and W. L. Oinberg,
Georgia, are at the Metropolitan.
“ Specs ” now doffs his hat to the Herald
readers for the season, and will try and spico
his correspondence to suit facts and the most
fastidious tasto. “Specs.”
A correspondent of tbe Eveuing Post re
cently gave a description of “Thomas Nast’s
Home and Studio,” at Morristown, N. J. We
clip a few lines in reference to the studio:
“Three windows afford light, and near one
is placed a plain table, at which Mr. Nust
works. On the table are newspapers in pro
fusion. A well-used volume of Shakespearo
is the only book within reach. Around the
walls are a large number of pictures in colors,
drawings, and sketches for studies, while upon
brackets are busts and figures. A glass case
contains a complete skeleton. It is so per
fectly hung on wires, and each joint so pivot
ed that every motion of the liviug man can bo
copied on the skeleton.
A cabinet contains the photographs of
nearly every important person in this country
and abroad. He draws directly upon tbo
wooden block, and never first sketching Hi”
dea upon paper. His ideas are generally
unformed when he begins to sketch, having
in his mind only a rough outline of what ho
wishes to portray. He works rapidly, as
may bo interred from bis multitudinous cari
catures. If visitors are in his study, ho con
verses freely as ho works, and his children
play around without annoyance to him; in
; deed, one is often on his kneo as ho works.
I Several of his drawings of children are por
■ traits of his own, and the little ones are
proud of being taken to sit for their pictures.
5