A DRUNKEN WILLIAM TELL, OR A FATAL SHOT.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1056, 26 May 1892, Page 13

A DRUNKEN WILLIAM TELL, OR A FATAL SHOT.

BY -WILLIAM WALLACE COOK, IN THE DETROIT FREE PRESS. ‘Ben, whose boy ’re you 1 ?’ The voice was thick and husky. * You’rn, pop.’ ‘An’ whose the best shot in these parts, Ben 1 Tell these fellers.’

The man’s dull eye 3 fixed themselves on the boy. The little fellow’s face lightened up and he answered, looking around defiantly : ‘My pop’s the best shot in Montanny.* A silence fell over the crowd, and something of pride gleamed from the whiskydimmed eyes of old Billman. Then ho said, handing the boy an apple : ‘ These fellows ’low I’m no good, Ben, au’ I’m just gain’ to do our Willyum Tell act an’ show ’em that Jim Billman kin drew“ ■as fine a bead now as ever he could.’ Billman patted his son’s head with a trembling hand, and the boy drew himself up proudly as he took the apple from his father. ‘ Go over to that tree, Ben,’ commanded Billman, at last, and the boy walked with a fearless step to tho place indicated, turned his back to the tree, removed his hat and balanced the apple on his head, then placed his hands behind him. There was not a quiver in hi 3 face, not a shadow of fear. His father, whom he loved and who loved him, was the marksman. Old Billman raised his gun to his shoulder. The weapon shook in his nerveless hands like a reed. Uttering an imprecation he lowered the guti and brushed his sleeve across hi 3 eyes. Then be tried again, but still without success. ‘ I know what’s the matter,’ he mat tered, and took a drink from a bottle in his pocket. ‘Now, then all right, Ben V

‘ All right, pop.’ A short moment the gun trembled in Billman’a hands, and then — Sping ! It was a strange, dull sound, not like the crash of a bullet through oak, but more like — Great God ! the smoke had cleared away and the boy was lying in a lifeless heap on the ground—killed by his drunken father ! A cry as of a wild beast, a rush, and old Billman had the bloody form in his arms. ‘ Kill me !’ shrieked ihe old man, rocking to and fro, ‘kill me !’ but the miners passed silently away one by one. and left the old man alone with his grief and his dead.