At eleven——
“Baa! Baa!” I hear the sheep—— No; it is—— What is it? I cannot see—— Something is being pressed down over my eyes, shutting out the light. My arms—my feet are being tied—I cannot move. Help! Something is closing on my neck—I cannot breathe. It is tightening—choking—— I hear the bleating of the sheep—— God! God! I am strangling! The rope—— It is the rope—and Death.
May God have mercy on my Soul!
BY THE OIL SEEP UNDER THE BLUFF
JON LANDIS turned the bit of black rock over and over in his hand as he held it under the searching Nevada sunlight. The lids of his light blue eyes narrowed as he looked, and he chewed nervously at the corner of his long upper lip under its cropped reddish mustache. Finally, as though wholly satisfied with the close scrutiny he had given it, he nodded his head slowly.
“You think he good? All same like that other kin’ you show um me?”
The young Paiute was peering into his palm, too.
“I guess so, Nick,” answered Landis; “Anyway, you no tell um ’nother man ’bout this. Savvy?”