The Man Who Would Not Be Saved | Page 2

felt her heart sink as she realized the situation. She saw
him as he gazed searchingly out over the plain in an effort to discern a
bit of friendly blue, and saw the despair which no man can hope to
conceal, come into his face and snuff out the bit of hope and dignity
brought there by the joy of well fought combat.
Horton carefully examined each precious charge in the pistol, striving
to force himself to think calmly; and all the time an unknown voice
repeatedly asserted that further resistance was entirely useless. Still,
possessed by that wonderful Anglo-Saxon courage which grows more
and more rebelliously firm as the fight goes more and more to the
enemy, he quietly informed the girl that he had only begun to fight, and
by his demeanor attempted to live the lie.
Instinct, however, told the girl that his cheerfulness was entirely
assumed, but by neither word nor look did she betray this knowledge.
Silent, not voicing vain regrets, nor weak vindictives, they stood, living
for the moments that reeled off with fearful regularity, each fraught
with the question of life or death. Occasionally Horton, from force of
habit, glanced at his timepiece, and each time he slightly shook his
head.

The wary Apaches, noting that the white man's terrible rifle was stilled,
had stolen down to the last fringe of rocks that offered them protection,
and were making visible preparations for a rush. Still, they knew that
the blue-shirted cavalryman had an uncomfortable habit of shooting
terribly fast and accurate at short range, with the pistol, and so they still
hesitated.
Horton closely watching their every move and carefully weighing every
circumstance, reluctantly decided that the time had come to make the
girl aware of the hopelessness of their situation.
"It's all up with us now, I'm afraid, Miss Jordan," he said quietly.
"They're getting ready for a rush out there, I see, and when they try that,
I'm afraid I won't be able to hold them off. I'll only have time to fire
probably a couple of shots, then they'll -- "
"I know," she said quickly, as if the privilege of speech was a relief
after the long pulseless wait. "We'll be killed. Well, you'll find that I'm
not afraid to die."
The boy became visibly embarrassed.
"'Tisn't that," he said, drooping his eyes to the floor. "They won't kill
you, you know, Miss Jordan; 'tisn't their style with white women.
They'll -- they'll let you live; you understand, don't you, Miss Jordan?"
For a moment she did not comprehend, then when the revelation
dawned upon her all her composure and self-possession gave way.
"My God, they don't really do that, do they?" she cried.
The boy nodded.
"Oh, it can't be," she said, clasping her hands as the fearfulness of the
boy's disclosures grew upon her. "I'd sooner
die a hundred times." She stopped suddenly, for her eyes, roaming
furtively, had fallen upon the pistol in the boy's hand, the only lethal

weapon remaining to them. Her gaze rose steadily to his frank eyes,
and for a moment they gazed at each other, each fully cognizant of the
other's thoughts. The boy grew sick at heart, for there was a world of
pleading in the girl's eyes.
"You will, won't you?" she said abruptly. "You'll surely spare me the
fate of falling into their hands alive." It was a weak little plea, a plea
which told of all hope for life departed, and only a wish remaining for
decent death.
Horton walked to a loop-hole and scanned the plain in an effort to find
one clue upon which to hang a single thread of hope. But nothing new
appeared to disturb the never-ending monotony of the landscape. Then
the hope died in his breast.
"It shall be as you wish, Miss Jordan," he said simply.
"Thank you," she said.
He stooped and reverently placed her hand to his lips. He would have
also spoken, for they had come to be very close to each other in this
short moment of awful trial, but an unknown odor of sanctity held him
in reserve. He held her hand for a moment, then dropped it and turned
to the door.
It was a pathetically heroic tableau they presented as they stood there,
subdued by the calmness of despair, awaiting the end.
The afternoon sun came slantingly in through the rude windows and
cast strange, golden lights and dark shadows upon them.
Outside the sun shone on the yellow sand and the black rocks as it had
shone from the beginning, and a breath of sun laden breeze coming into
the room mocked them with the song that the world was still good to
live in.
The girl stood with clasped hands, gazing straight towards