The Man Who Would Not Be Saved

The Man Who Would Not Be Saved
Oyen, Henry
1902
AN almost dismantled, forsaken, adobe house stood alone near the edge of the sand-plain in the midst of a world of sand, sun and mountains.
To the east a range of squalid black rocks rose into a precipitous mountain range, striving with their dark and foreboding presence to subdue the exuberant gladness of the brilliant sunshine. To the west the monotonous yellow level stretched out like a tawny carpet, to where a slight rise in the land caused it to meet the sky as sharp and distinct as a placid lake meets the sandy beach.
On the side of the shack nearest to the mountain side stood a new freshly-painted army ambulance; a note of modernity interluded in a world-old symphony of sand, rocks, and atmosphere.
Crosswise on the tongue of the vehicle, limp as a half-filled grain bag, lay the form of a man clad in the stripeless trousers of a private soldier, and near him, in a tangle of gear and harness, lay a pair of the mule team that he had but recently driven.
At first glance it was easily discernible that man and mules were but recently dead from gunshot wounds, and here and there a bullet had torn its way through the sides of the ambulance, ripping off splinters and exposing the white wood beneath the dark paint. On every hand were unmistakable signs of strife.
Within the adobe house Second Lieutenant Horton, recently Cadet Horton of West Point, now stationed at Fort Pratt, was hurriedly making preparations to resist the band of Apaches who swarmed amongst the black rocks and took occasional pot shots at the house, until the officers at Fort Pratt would become alarmed at the non-appearance of the ambulance, and send a force over the trail and rescue him and the girl who was with him.
The devoted mascaleros who squatted behind the rocks were in no haste to rush in and finish the game which they had so securely trapped.
They had two mute witnesses up there among the rocks, two who were just as dead as the private who lay across the ambulance tongue, to testify to the markmanship of the man in the house, and the rest were in no frame of mind to risk their lives by exposing themselves to his fire. There was much time. There was but one man in the house -- and a woman. Long before the troop had arrived from Fort Pratt they could have easily disposed of the man, looted the ambulance, and scattered out over their almost untraceable trails among the mountains. And the woman? Well, Suilateau, their chief, would probably accept her as his share of the loot and add her to his already generous list of wives.
So they crouched closely down behind their shelters, and leisurely satisfied their instincts for long-range shooting.
Horton, quite well aware that the trait of self-preservation -- the terrible dislike to be the "first through the breach" -- was exceptionally well-developed in the race to which those among the rocks belonged, hoping that by giving them an exhibition of his shooting he might cause them to delay their attack at close quarters until the dark afforded them a cloak, and by that time -- well, if the men from Fort Pratt had not put in appearance before then, there would be a vacancy in the line of Second Lieutenants.
So Horton carefully directed the girl to a corner where the walls appeared strongest and hastily began to cut loopholes, and organized himself into a garrison of one to fight a score.
The bright sunlight which caused every speck on the mountain side to stand out wonderfully vivid, materially aided him, and after he had found the correct range he managed by carefully shooting at every exposed redskin to force a very wholesome fear into the soul of the enemy.
The girl, entirely inefficient to render any aid, sat silently watching with a wonderful kind of interest the boy who was doing all that man could do to save his life and her own. Occasionally a bullet bored through the mud walls and sent the dry mud flying in their faces, but the range was great and the walls stopped the majority of the bullets.
The hours seemed to come and go, to them; a dozen times Horton had momentarily ceased his fire to listen for the welcome thud of hoofs, and as often was disappointed. It was in reality but an hour before he suddenly discovered that his supply of rifle ammunition had been expended, and that the six charges in his pistol were his only remaining articles of defense. The girl saw this as he discarded the rifle and drew the pistol, and felt her heart sink as she realized the situation. She saw him as he