The Man Who Would Not Be Saved | Page 3

from where
the fatal bullet would come, perfectly resigned and fearless to meet her

God; the boy with bowed head, subdued by the duty imposed upon him,
stood facing the door, idly rolling the cylinder of the revolver between
his thumb and finger, waiting, waiting.
When the first naked braves bounded up to the door with rifles held at
ready, he fired twice, quickly, at the foremost, then as more came
forward to take the fallen's places, he turned and skillfully shot her
through the heart. When he turned to meet his fate Horton feared for a
moment that his senses had left him.
The foremost Apache fell a wriggling heap in the doorway as if struck
down by a swift and powerful hand, and almost simultaneously one
more fell likewise.
It was some seconds afterwards that the rifle reports coming up from
the mountain pass where Lieutenant Thompson and his troop --
traveling towards Fort Pratt -- were firing, dismounted, told Horton that
he was saved.
For a moment the new lease on life fairly exhilarated him. Then his
eyes fell upon the form of the girl, as she, a white, still heap upon the
mud floor, lay beside him.
After all, Thompson and his men were too late. He was not to be saved.
The girl was dead, and he had no right --
The first trooper to enter was a lightly-mounted private, and he found
them lying almost side by side.
Lieutenant Thompson, when he saw them, remarked that there would
be two more scores for Horton's company to even up when it came
their day to reckon face to face with Suilateau's Mescaleros.
2 RTEXTR*ch

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