With which exceeding bitter whisper Pryor turned himself to the wall.
Out on the parade, the radiant freshness of the prairie morning thrilled Jerry’s young veins with an ecstasy of living, and a sharp pang of compassion stabbed his heart.
Misguided, bewitching,—ah, yes, and loving,—Rosita lay dead in the midst of the summer gladness that seemed akin to her. He pulled his cap over his eyes, and, ignoring some cordial greetings, walked hurriedly to the post-trader’s quarters. Presently Lawless came to him in the little drawing-room, which was unfamiliarly dark and still.
'God bless you!' he said, laying a hand on Jerry’s shoulder. 'Those words do not mean much to me. I’ve wished they did since last night. But you will understand from them that I am grateful. Hush! I have nothing to forgive you. Nor had she. Will you come to see her? She never knew that you were shielding her, or she would have confessed; and she wished you to see her—if she looked pretty.'
Pretty, indeed! Poor flower of a people Christianized just enough to suffer for the savage instincts they do not learn to control! She lay with a crucifix between the hands which seemed so childish, and were so guilty.
'Remember her like this,' Lawless continued. Remember, too, that she loved you; not as the women of our race love, when nature is subdued by civilization and ruled by religion, but with the limitless love of a squaw for her chief, knowing neither right nor wrong in her devotion to him. For under her daintiness and her sweetness Rosita was a squaw.'
Across her grave three men kept silence. There is another regiment at Lawrence now, and when the ——th Cavalry remember what they beheld of this story, they glance at their quiet major with wonder for his fleeting madness. Only the surgeon and one or two ladies murmur to their own thoughts, 'Rosita?'
PERJURED
BY EDITH RONALD MIRRIELEES
A lie well stuck to—
IT began with no more than a word, such as a man might speak and forget he had spoken. At the time of speaking, Robbins Nelson was standing with a group of other youths—lads in their late 'teens and early twenties—on the Sutro Station platform. All their eyes were on the approaching train, and all their tongues were busy with a single topic.
Robbins was the youngest member of the group—barely turned sixteen. Usually he hung somewhat unregarded on its edge, but to-day, bold in the possession of first-hand knowledge, he thrust himself into the heart of the talk.