Lahoma | Page 3

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This etext was prepared by Pat Pflieger

LAHOMA
by John Breckenridge Ellis

CHAPTER I
THE TOUCH OF A CHILD
"I have given my word of honor--my sacred oath--not to betray what I
have discovered here."
At these words from the prisoner, a shout arose in which oaths and
mocking laughter mingled like the growling and snapping of hunger-
maddened wolves.
"Then if I must die," Gledware cried, his voice, in its shrill excitement,
dominating the ferocious insults of the ruffians, "don't kill the
child--you see she is asleep--and she's so young--only five. Even if she
were awake, she wouldn't know how to tell about this cabin. For God's
sake, don't kill the little girl!"
Since the seizure of Gledware, the child had been lying on the rude
table in the midst of a greasy pack of cards--cards that had been thrown
down at the sound of his galloping horse. The table supported, also,
much of the booty captured from the wagon-train, while on the dirt
floor beside it were prizes of the freebooting expedition, too large to
find resting-place on the boards. Nor was this all. Mingled with stolen
garments, cans and boxes of provisions, purses and bags of gold, were
the Indian disguises in which the highwaymen from No-Man's Land
had descended on the prairie-schooners on their tedious journey from
Abilene, Kansas, toward the Southwest.
In the midst of this confusion of disguises, booty and playing-cards,
surrounded by cruel and sensual faces, the child slept soundly, her lips
slightly parted, her cheeks delicately flushed, her face eloquent in its
appeal of helplessness, innocence and beauty. One of the band, a tall
broad-shouldered man of middle-age, with an immense quantity of
whiskers perhaps worn as a visible sign of inward wildness, was,
despite his hardened nature, moved to remonstrance. Under cover of
lurid oaths and outrageous obscenity, he advanced his opinion that "the
kid" needn't be shot just because her father was a sneak-jug spy.
"Shut up!" roared a tremendous voice, not directly to the intercessor, or

to the prisoner, but to all present. Evidently it was a voice of authority,
for comparative silence followed the command. The speaker stepped
forward, thrust his fingers through his intensely red shock of hair, and
continued, with one leg thrust forward:
"You know I am something of an orator, or I guess you wouldn't of
made me your leader. Now, as long as I'm your leader, I'm going to
lead; but, I ain't never unreasonable, and when talk is needed, I'm
copious enough. I am called 'Red Kimball,' and my brother yonder, he
is knowed as 'Kansas Kimball.' What else is knowed of us is this: that
we wasn't never wont to turn loose a spy when once ketched. Here is a
man who says he is Henry Gledware--though God knows if that's so; he
comes galloping up to the door just as we are in the midst of a game. I
stakes all my share of the