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By Bret Harte, Author of ‘The Argonauts,’ ‘TheLuck of Roaring Camp,’ ‘ Creasy,’ etc.

CHAPTER 11. With the setting of the sun an ominous silence fell. He could hear the low breathing of Suzy, and even fancied he could hea r the beating of his own heart in that oppressive heat of all nature. For the day's march had always been accompanied by the monotonous creaking of wheels and axles, and even the quiet of the night encampment had been always more or less broken by the movement of unquiet sleepers on the waggon beds, or the breathing of the cattle. But here there was neither sound nor motion. Suzy’s prattle, and oven the sound of his own voice, would have broken the benumbing spell, but it was part of his growing self-denial now that ho retrained from waking her even by a whisper. She would awaken soon enough to thirst and hunger perhaps, and then—what was he to do ? If that looked-for help would only come nowwhile she still slept. For it was part of his boyish fancy that if ho could deliver her asleep and undemonstrative of fear or suffering he would be less blameful and she less mindful of her trouble. If it did not come —but he would not think of that yet I If she was thirsty meantime well it might rain, and there was always the dew which they used to brush off the mornifag grass ; he would take off his shirt and catch it in that—like a ship-wrecked mariner. It would be funny, and make her laugh. For himself he would not laugh, {he felt he was getting very old and grown up in this loneliness.

It was getting darker. They should be looking into the waggon now. A new doubt began to assail him. Ought he not, now that he was rested, make the most of the remaining moments of daylight and before the glow faded from the west, when he would no longer have any bearings to guide him? But there was always the risk of waking her—to what ? The fear of being confronted again with her and of being unable to pacify her at last decided him to remain. But he crept softly through the grass, and in the dust of the track traced the four points of the compass, as he could still determine them by the sunset light, with a large pointed rod to indicate the west. This boyish contrivance particularly pleased him. If he had only a pole, a stick, or even a twig on which to tie his handkerchief and ereot it above the clum of mesquite as a signal to the searchers in case he should be overcome by fatigue or sleep, he would have been happy. But the plain was barren of brush or timber, He did not dream that this omission and the very unobtrusiveness of his hiding-place would be his salvation from a greater danger. With the coming darkness the wind arose and swept the plain with a long drawn sigh, This increased to a murmur, till presently the whole expanse, before sunk in awful silence, seemed to awake with vague complainant incessant sounds and low meanings. At times he thought he heard the hollowing of distant voices—at times it seemed as a whisper in his own ear. In the silence that followed each blast he fancied he could detect the creaking of the waggon, the dull thud of the oxen's hoofs, or broken fragments of speech, blown and scattered, even as he strained his ears to listen, by the next gust. This began to confuse his brain, as his eyes had been previously dazzled by the sunlight, and a strange torpor began to steal over his faculties. Once or twice his head dropped 5 then he awoke with a start, A moving fjgure had suddenly uplifted itself between him and the horizon ! It was not twenty yards away—so clearly outlined against the still luminous sky that it seemed even nearer. A human figure—but so dishevelled, so fantastic, and yet so mean and puerile in its extravagance that it seemed the outcome of a chiliish dream. It was a mounted figure, but so ludicrously disproportionate to the pony it bestrode, whose trim legs were stiffly buried in the dust in a breathless halt, that it might have been a straggler from some vulgar wandering circus. A tall hat, crownless and brimless, a castaway of civilisation, surmounted by a turkey's feather, was on its head ; over its shoulders hung a dirty tattered blanket that scarcely covered the two painted legs, which seemed clothed in soiled yellow hose. In one hand it held a gun, the other was raised over its eyes in eager scrutiny of some distant point beyond and east of the spot where the children lay concealed. Presently, with a dozen quick strides of the pony's legs, the apparition moved to the right, its gaze still pinned on that mysterious part of the horizon. There was no mistaking it now. The painted, Hebraio face, the large, curved nose, the bony cheek, the broad mouth, the shadowed eyes, the straight, long, matted locks. It was an Indian I Not the picturesque creature of Clarence's imagination, but still an Indian 1 The boy was uneasy, suspicious, antagonistic, but not afraid. He looked at the heavy animal face with the superiority of intelligence; at the halfnaked figure with the conscious supremacy of dress; at the lower individuality with the contempt of a higher race. Yet a moment after, when the figure wheeled and disappeared towards the undulating West, a strange chill crept over him. He did not know that in this queer phantom and painted pigmy the awful majesty of Death had passed him by. " Mamma!"

It was Suzy's voice, struggling into con< scjousness. Perhaps she had been instinc tively conscious of the boy's gadder fears. "Hush!"

He had just turned, the objective point of the Indian's gaze. There was something! A dark line was moving along with the gathering darkness. For a moment he hardly dared to voice his thought even to himself. It was a following train overtaking them from the rear; and, from the rapidity of its movements, a train with horses, hurrying forward to evening camp. He had never dreamed of help from that quarter. And this was what the Indian's keener eyes had been watching, and why he had so precipitately fled. The strange train was now coming up at a round trot. It was evidently well appointed, with five or six large waggons and several outriders. In half an hour it would be here, Yet he refrained from waking Susy, who had fallen asleep again, his old superstition of scouring her safety first being still uppermost, He took off his jacket to cover her shoulders, and rearranged her nest. Then he glanced again at the ooming train. But for some unaccountable reason it had changed its direction, and, instead of following the track that should have brought it to his side, it had turned off to the left, In ten minutes it would pass abreast of him a mile and a-half away ! If he woke Suzy now he knew she would be helpless in her terror, and he could not carry her half that distance. He could rush to the train himself, and return with help, but he would never leave her alone in the darkness. Never ! If she woke she would die of fright perhaps, or wander blindly and aimlessly away. No! The train would pass, and with it that hope of rescue ! Something was in his throat, but he gulped it down and was quiet again, albeit he shivered in the night wind. The train was nearly abreast of him now. He ran out of the tall grass, waving his straw hat above his head in the faint hope of attracting attention. But he did not go far, for he found to his alarm that when he turned back again the clump of mosquite was soarcely distinguishable from the rest of the plain. This settled all question of his going. Even if he reached the train and returned with someone, how would he ever find her again in this desolate expanse ? He watched the train slowly pass—still mechanically, almost hopelessly—waving his hat as he ran up and down before the mosquite as if he were waving a last farewell to his departing hope. Suddenly it appeared to him that three of the outriders who were preoeding the first waggon had changed their shape, They were no longer sharp, oblong, black profiles against the horizon, but had become at first blurred and indistinot, then taller and narrower until at last they stood out like exolamation points against the sky. He continued to wave his hat, they continued to grow taller and narrower. He understood it now—the three black spots were the outriders ooming towards him.

Thia is what he had seen— This is what he saw now—- ! I I He ran back to Susy to see if she still slept, for his foolish desire to have her saved unconsciously was stronger than ever now that safety seemed so near. She was still sleeping, although she had moved slightly. He ran to the front again. The outriders had apparently halted. What were they doing ? Whv wouldn’t they come on ?

Suddenly a blinding flash of light seemed to burst from one of them. Away over his head something whistled like a rushing bird and sped off invisible. They bad fired a gun ; they were signalling to him, Clarence, like a grown-up man. He would have given his life at that moment to have had a gun, or even a little cannon, to have replied with. But he could only wave his hat frantically. One of the figures here bore away and impetuously darted forward again. He was coming nearer—powerful, gigantic, formidable, as he loomed through the darkness. All at once he threw up his arm with a wild gesture to the others, and his voice, manly, frank, and amusing, came ringing before him.

" Hold up! Good God ! It'B no Injin—it's a—child !"

In another moment he had reined up beside Clarence and leaned over him, bearded, handsome, powerful, and protecting. "Hallo 1 What'B all this? What are you doing hero ?" "Lost from Mr Silsbee's train," said Clarence, pointing to the now darkened west.

"Lost, how long?" "About three hours. I thought they'd come back for us," said Clarence apologetically to this big, kindly man. "And you kalkilated to wait here for 'em?"

" Yes, yes—l did—till I saw you." " Then why in thunder didn't you light out straight for us instead of hanging round here and drawing us out ?" The boy hung his head, He knew his reasons were unchanged, but all at once they seemed very foolish and unmanly to speak out. " Only that we were on the keen jump for Injins," continued the stranger, "we wouldn't have seen you at all, and might hev shot you when we did. What possessed you to stay here ?" The boy was still silent. " Kla'uns," said & faint, sleepy, syrupy voice from the mosquite, " take me." The rifle shot had awakened Suzy. The Btranger turned quickly towards the sound. Clarence started and recalled himself, "There," he said bitterly, "you've done it now ; you've wakened her ! That's why I stayed; I couldn't carry her over there to you ! I couldn't let her walk, for she'd be frightened. I wouldn't wake her up, for she'd be frightened, and I mightn't find her again. There ! " He had made up his mind to be abused, but he was reckless now that she was safe.

The men glanced at each other. " There," said the spokesman quietly, "you didn't strike out for us on account of your sister?"

"She ain't my sister," said Clarence quickly. " She's a little girl. This is Mrs Silsbee's little girl. We were in the waggon and got down. It's my fault. I helped her down." The three men reined their horses closely round him, leaning forward from their saddles with their hands on their knees and their heads on one side. " There," said the spokesman gravely. " You just reckoned to stay here, old man, and take your chances with her rather than run the risk of frightening her or leaving her, though it was your one chance ol getting away ?" " Yes," said the boy, scornful of this feeble grown-up. "Come here."

The boy came doggedly forward. Tht man pushed back the well-worn straw hat from Clarence's forehead, and looked into his lowering face. With his hand still on the boy's head he turned him round to the others, and said quietly: " Something of a pup, eh ?" " You bet," they responded. The voice was not unkindly, although the speaker had thrown his lower jaws forward so as to pronounce the word "pup" with a humorous suggestion of a mastiff Before Clarence could make up his mind if the epithet was insulting or not the man put out his stirruped foot and with a gesture of invitation said : " Jump up." "But Suzy," Baid Clarence, drawing back.

" Look, she's making up to Phil already." Clarence looked. Suzy had crawled out of the mosquite, and with her sunbonnet hanging down her back, her curls tossed around her face, still flushed with sleep, and Clarence's jacket over heir Shoulders, was gazing up with grave satisfaction in the laughing eyes of one of the men who was with outstretched hands bending over her. Could he believe his senses? the terror-stricken, wilful, unmanageable Suzy, of self-abnegation, whom he would have translated unconsciously to safety without this terrible ordeal of being

awakened to the loss of her home and parents at any sacrifice to himself—this ingenuous infant was absolutely throwing herself, with every appearance of forgetfulness, into the arms of the first newcomer. Yethis perception of this fact was accompanied by no sense of ingratitude. For her sake he felt relieved, and with a boyish smile of satisfaction and encouragement vaulted into the saddle before the stranger. (To be continued,J

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Bibliographic details

A WAIF OF THE PLAINS., Issue 8054, 2 November 1889, Supplement

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A WAIF OF THE PLAINS. Issue 8054, 2 November 1889, Supplement

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