FICTION.

Lyttelton Times, Volume LXXVI, Issue 9609, 30 December 1891, Page 3

FICTION.

ONE TOUCH OF NATURE.

It was in the early Seventies, andl and my two partners were running a cattle-ranch located on the Big Medicine River in southwestern Kansas. The then recently finished Pacific railroads to - the north of us had driven the buffalo pretty well out; of the southern country, and the millions of acres of rich grasses, which had pastured countless thousands of these animals for untold ages past, now lay open to ,the herds of the cattlemen. I

Wa were among the first ranchers who entered the new field, but at the time of which I write nearly one hundred cowcamps had been established within a radius of fifty miles of orira, One of the most recent arrivals in the neighbourhood was a quiet, rather delicatelooking fellow named Bailey, of about thirty-five, who, a yea* before, had come on the range, bought a'iouple of hundred head of cattle, and located a ranch on the Noith Fork, about twenty miles west of our camp. Bailey was a shy, reserved sort of man, and, although hospitable enough when visited, evinced but little of that wholesouled, fraternal sociability which generally characterises the lordly riders of the range. This made him very unpopular, and, with the exception of an old Mexican herdsman, who served him in the capacity of cowboy, he had few friends and no intimates.

We are all entirely too ready to believe the worst of anyone whom we dislike, and cowboys are no exception to the rule. So when, one autumn afternoon, big Jim Smith, the chief herder of the circle bar ranch, came thundering up, with his pony all a-foam, and told me that Bailey was running off a bunch of steers in which there were a lot of strays, belonging to other ranchers, and that the boys had gotten wind of it and were, organising a pursuing party to catch and hang him for cattle thieving, 1 did not doubt the accused man’s guilt. Ten minutes later I had belted on my revolver, saddled my pony, and was gallop* ing like the wind for the appointed rendezvous, all too ready to take my part in the anticipated “hanging-bee.” We were a wild, rough-looking set who met that evening at the.2-X ranch, and started out on poor Bailey’s trail. There were fifteen in the company altogether, for the most part owners, or part owners, of ranches, and the rest cowboys. Wo were all well mounted, and each was armed with knife and revolver, while from every saddle horn hung the over-present lariat, the all-important item, next to hia pony, of a cowboy’s equipment. Tom Anderson, a strapping Missourian, who ran the 2- X brand, and who was the acknowledged master-spirit of the range, foil naturally into the lead upon this occasion, as he did upon all others where intrepid daring and unyielding firmness were required. Tom was what the cowboys call a “holy terror.” He did nob kndW what fear was; but, though relentlessly fierce and cruel when enraged, he had a heart that was as tender as a child’s in some of its moods.

Our party rode over sixty miles that night, and just as it began to grow light next morning we came up with Bailey. He and his old herder were engaged in cooking breakfast over their camp-fire when we appeared upon the scene, and wo did not wait for them to finish, their meal before explaining our business. , Fierce and.haggard from our hard night ride, we were an ugly-looking craw, and it was little wonder that poor Bailey looked scared as he rose and timorously greeted us with a “ Good morning, gentlemen !” as we advanced and drew up around the fire.

His salutation was received with grim, ominous, silence. “ Just take care of him boys, while I ride out to the cattle and see that- there is no mistake about the strays. We want to be certain he’s guilty before going any further,” said our leader; arid, as he spoke, he and several others of the party started .towards a bunch of cattle that wore grazing upon the prairie not far off, while the rest of us kept guard over Bailey, who had now grown pale as death, and was trembling in every limb. In a moment Tom and the others returned, and, as they approached, Tom said, “ It’s truo, boys. There’s a dozen strays in the lot, and no mistake,” and turning, without more ado, to the cowering culprit, he added with a harsh abruptness that was simply terrible, “ You, Bailey, are a cattle thief, and wo have corns after you to hang you. You knew the law of the range when you broke it, so you must abide by it, You shall have an hour, and an hour only, to prepare for death.” .

As hia doom was thus spoken,' Bailey, poor wretch, . waa completely overcome with terror and dismay.* “O boy}, boys, don’t hang me! You mustn’t hang me! ” he cried, piteously, failing auppliaptlyupon his knees. “I swear lam innocent! I call on my Maker to witness that I intended to pay you for your cattle. Oh, have mercy, and don’t hang me!” and he broke completely down, and wept like a child. But it waa no use; not a syllable of dissent was uttered when our leader said sternly, “Mercy from us you will not receive. You had best pray for it from your Maker. In an hour's time you will be in His presence.” As Tom spoke, the poor wretch gave one despairing look at the unrelenting faces of the men grouped on their ponies about him, and, meeting with ; not. a sign of pity, fell, with a hopeksu grbiin, face downward upon the grass. , , ■ -:I reckon we' had better leave him by himself fur a while,’ boys. If ho has any prayin’ to .do, P allow hp kin -do it better without an aujiohcef';:aQ ; let’a’draw off apiece till his time’s up.” > 1 ‘ : This most opportune And delicate suggestion came from old Jake Lape, and it was acted upon with alacrity. We immediately moved off for a distance of a hundred yards or soj and - left the doomed man alone to make his final preparations for death. Although we fully intended to hang him, we all felt that it was no mote than right to show him all the politeness and courtesy admissible under the circumstances.

1 Shortly after we rode off, Bailey rose dejectedly to his feet, thrust his hand into hia bosom, and drawing forth what looked, from a distance, like a letter, dropped upon bis knees and pressed it again and again to his li|)B with Impassioned fervour. Afterward* he replaced it in his bosom, and, bowing his head, spent the remainder of his lat e hour seemingly in silent prayer. When the time had finally expired, and we drew near the kneeling culprit to finish out dread work, he arose to meet us with an air so calm and gentle, so utterly changed, that it astounded us, for we had expected to meet with tears and supplications and struggles. He offered not the slightest resistance when we bound his hands securely behind him, and, lifting him upon his horse, drove with him down to the creek bottom, where a scraggy cottonwood had already been selected to serve as a gallows. Bailey was driven under the tree; the noose of a lariat was quickly placed about his neck, and the other end thrown across an overhanging limb, and made fast to the trunk. Old Lape had his “quint ” raised in readiness to bring it down across the flank of the doomed man’s pony at the word of command; all was ready for the final act, when Bailey raised his head and Tom Anderson to his side, he said, “To m » will you do a favour for a dying nian ?” VWhat is it ? ” was the gruff reply. « I want you to promise to see that my family gets what little property I leave. They are poor, and will need it badly, Tom; a0 ’ pi ease prorate. I know you’ll do it if you say you will.” «‘We'l, Bailey, I’ll do it if that’s all you want* You may rest easy on that score ; I promise/’ answered Tom, in a softened ta «Thank you, Tom; and now^jushone

thing more, please,” continued the prisoner eagerly, “ reach into my bosom and get the picture that’s there, and let me have another look at my wife and children before I die.”

We are all of na , sat grouped about on our ponies under the cottonwood during this scene, and, as Tom Anderson complied with Bailey’s request, and, taking a picture from the prisoner’s bosom, held it before him so that he could look at it, the surrounding group of rough cowboys became utterly absorbed in the scene. With a look of unspeakable tenderness, Bailey glued his eyes upon the photograph and held them there for fully a minute. Then hia head dropped suddenly upon his breast and, with a groan, he cried out, in despairing accents: “ O boys, boys! it’s hard to die and leave them all alone; and to die in such a way, too! It will kill poor Mary, if she’s not dead already ; I know it will.” He no longer looks at the picture, but Tom Anderson himself was gazing at it instead. Long and earnestly he looked at it, bat did not speak a word. Then he handed it to old man Lape, and it passed from hand to hand until every man in the party had taken a long look at it. A sweet, gentle woman’s face looked smilingly forth from the midst of the card, while over each of her shoulders peered a chubby face filled with childish glee and innocence. On the border of the card was written, in a clear, delicate hand, “ Come home soon, papa; we’re so lonely without you.” When the picture had gone the rounds, and Tom Anderson returned it reverently to Bailey’s bosom, the culprit raised his head and said—

“ It was for their sake, boys, I drove the cattle off in such a hurry. I got word yesterday that my wife was dying, and I took the first steers I could find in order to get the money to go home to see her. It was wrong, I suppose, but I would have paid you for every head I took when 1 came back.”

Like a flash Tom Anderson’s knife was out of its sheath. A quick stroke, and the rope about the prisoner’s neck was severed. Instantly Bailey’s pony bora him aside, and in his place, facing the crowd, on his mustang sat Tom, with uplifted hand and his eyes fairly blazing with fierce excitement, while we were too much amazed to either speak or move. “That man speaks the truth!” he shouted. “He never intended to steal them cattle. Bat whether he did or not, it’s all the same to me ; the man that lays finger on him must do it over my dead body. If I had a wife like that lady in the pictur’ an* she was sick, I’d steal every critter on the range to git to her; an’ the man’s a dog that wouldn’t. If any man here thinks different I’m ready to fight it out with him light here and now.” For a moment there was no response, then old man Lape spoke up. “Well, Tom,” said ha, “ye needn’t talk so mighty fierce, as no one’s goin’ to fight ye, I guess. Not that we’re sheered peyTom: -Ye mustn’t flatter yourself by thinkin’ that at all, but we all feel about the same as you do in this matter. Leastwise I do, and, to show Bailey that I believe he’s innocent, I hereby make him a present of them three steers o’ mine that’s in hia bunch.”

“Bully for you, old man! them’s my sentiments; and I’ll chip in the steers that belong to me, too!” shouted Bill Smith. "Same here!” yelled Dutch. Prank, rubbing two big tears off hia cheeks with his grimy fiat. “ I’m with you, boys!” shouted another. “ Me, too!” said another, and a minute later every one of the “ strays ” that had caused all the trouble belonged as much to Bailey as if the flank of each of them bore his brand and no other.

Such of us as owned none of the “ strays ” actually felt mean, and jealous of those who did; until Tom Anderson suggested a way in Y/hich wo, too, might give vest to our generous impulses. , “ Boys,” said he, “there’s none o’ my critters in Bailey’s bunch, but next spring I’m a-goin’ to brand twenty calves for that little girl, iu the pictur’, and it’s my intention to take care of them and their increase for her until she’s growed up.” “ Now you’se-shoutir.’, Tom ! I’ll do the same,” chimed iu another. “ I’ll go twenty for the little boy ! ” shouted another; and so it went, until each man of us had made & liberal contribution.

Poor Bailey waa entirely overcome, he tried to express his feelings coherently, but could not; and we left him in the midst of his tears and protestations of gratitude, and rode off to the ’ nearest ranch to procure food and rest for ourselves and our ponies before starting on our homeward journey. * * * * *

Bailey ia at present one of the wealthiest and most popular cattle-men in the southwest. 4 His wife did not die, but recovered, and now resides with him at hie ranch on the North Fork.

Wo cowboys kept our word; and the spring after the lynching affair saw several hundred calves branded with the initials of Bailey’s son and daughter and turned loose on the range. With hia share of them and their progeny, the boy has stocked a big ranch of his own; while the share of the little girl, who ia, by the way, one of the loveliest prairie flowers that ever graced the plains, makes her one of the richest heiresses in the State.