The Man Who Would Not Be Saved | Page 2

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 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