Argosy, Volume XXIII — Index Page, 1897 — page 16: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

586 | A CAMPAIGN OF STRATEGY. his sombrero above his head in greeting. The other responded and the two were drawing near each other:when a fearful thing occurred. Despite his long experience in the Southwest, Beebe had failed to notice several hummocks of sand, making the very oversight that Atwood did under similar circumstances, although the danger was from another point. He was riding forward at his leisurely pace, when from those same piles of sand several jets of fire spouted and the poor fellow lurched out of his saddle, without uttering a word, dead before he struck the earth. Had Kingsford been a few minutes earlier, he would have met his friend at the precise point where both would have been shot. As it was, he escaped by almost a hair’s breadth. He saw Beebe’s pony galloping over the plain, terrified by the occurrence, but not an Apache was in sight. Having de- livered their fatal shots, they remained burrowed in the sand, as if they ex- pected the second horseman to ride up and meet his doom in the same manner. But brief as was the sojourn of Kingsford in the neighborhood, he had learned fast and well. He knew what the death of that single man signified. It was not the result merely of a whim on the part of the miscreants, but meant that a band of renegades, despite the watchfulness of the military authorities, had ridden off the reservation and started on one of their periodi- cal raids of plunder and murder. He could form no idea of their number, but they were usually less than a dozen—numerous enough to spread terror and consternation over an area of several hundred square miles. All the ranches were in peril, for those murderous wretches always struck before the - news of their coming could reach all the endangered points. ‘The ranches ' of Bozeman and Gannet, as well as many others, were in danger, and Kings- ford’s heart almost stopped beating at the thought of what might befall that home which was his destination. | These fears passed through his mind like a flash, but he made a natural mistake. He supposed several of the men were at home. They were watch- ful and vigilant, and almost sure to detect the approach of the miscreants, unless stealthily made in the night. Had he suspected the actual truth—that the women were alone—he would have ridden his pony to death, if necessary, to reach the spot in time to give some help. But he was much nearer Gannet’s ranch. Only two men were there. The probabilities were that they could not make a successful defense. Better, therefore, that they should leave, while the oppertunity was theirs, and hurry to the help of Bozeman and his friends. If the Apaches chose to run off some of the cattle, they could not well be prevented, but they were not likely to pause to do that, when so much more attractive ‘‘ game’”’ offered. Nothing less than murder satisfied them, and to that they would give their undivided energies. . One fact, however, was self evident—time was of the first importance. The hot afternoon was drawing to a close, and the suffocating night was at hand. He must not lose a moment in notifying Gannet and Atwood, and securing their help for those who perhaps were unconscious of their danger, a dozen miles to the northward. —) comicbooks.coni™4