Palisadian. [volume], July 01, 1907, Page 6, Image 6

About Palisadian. [volume] (Cliffside Park, N.J.) 1906-current

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“Coyote=That= Bites. ”
By Bailey Millard.
For the Palisa/dian.
Not every Apache can get his fill of
blood before sun-up and his fill of mes
cal before noon. Yet Coyote-That-Bites
had managed to achieve both of these
delightful ends, and of all the happy
savages on the desert he was the most
riotously, tumultuously happy. With
What delight he had drawn his sharp
blade across the throats of Jose Sanchez
and his wife after he had stolen into
their wagon in the gray dawn, and what
thrills of joy shot through his breast
when he silenced the yells of their two
little children with the butt-end of their
father’s own rifle. And then, when he
had taken what gold was in thf Mr -
can’s bag and what mescal was in his
demijohn, and had strapped Jose s
rather loose-fitting cartridge belt about
his sun-brown belly, with what fierce
pleasure he stole away from the scene
of his bloody work. With the Mexican’s
rifle on his shoulder he wandered far
down the dry arrovo, sipping from the
demijohn the stupefying juice of the
agave from time to time, until he felt
that he was growing drowsy.
Then he dragged his uncertain way
along until he came to the railroad. He
stared stupidly at the bright steel rails
and looked up at the humming wires,
awed. He would like to lie there be
hind the rocks, he thought, until some
one should come along the track and
then try a shot at him with his newly
acquired weapon. 1 he demijohn wats
growing light and the rifle was getting
heavy. Well, it was nearlv noon and
rather warm, even for an Apache, and
he would lie down in the shade of the
rocks there and rest.
The humming of the wires is a sooth
ing sound, and no sooner had his
head touched the earth than sleep took
a mighty hold upon him and wiped out
his realizing sense of joy, as sleep has a
way of doing with everybody who has
anything to be joyful for. And hv
with the rifle by his side, and his hide
ous face turned up toward the blue that
arched the desert.
Such a face! Hard, uncouth, with a
big sharp beak of a nose. thin, cruel
lips that closed to a straight crack of a
mouth, and brows like brushes. Sleep
softens some faces, but it seemed to
harshen his, if that was possible. Feroci
ty sat upon every feature, and was
heightened by the fringing tangle of
coarse coal-black hair.
It was quiet there and restful—no
sound save the music of the wires. Stay,
there were sounds, but they came some
time after Coyote-That-Bites had
thrown himself upon the sand and gone
off to the land of Nod. 1 hey came
faintlv at first and mingled with the
murmurings of the wires. They were
the voices of children.
Had the red beast been awake he
mi ht have imagined that they were the
haunting cries of the wee Mexicans
whose blood he had so ruthlessly shed
that morning, but he heard them not.
! hev were verv far from being ghostly
voices anyway—those tones that now
piped forth so merrily as Dubs and
Gay, the station agent's children, trudged
down the line. They were walking in
the scoop-out along the road-bed—not
on the track, for that was forbidden.
There were other things that were
forbidden too. and one of them was
straying so far away from the station;
but Dubs was taking good care of his
three-year-old sister, and in the pride
of his six large years he was equal to
the care of half-a-dozen such as Gay.
To give Dubs all due credit, he did
not know he was a half-mile from
home, and anyway he was going to turn
back pretty soon. But the children
- - - * - •-*-;ng and beauti-:
tut unrigs to claim their attention. First
there had been a chase after a young
owl that could not fly, and that made
its way along in the most haphazard
manner imaginable. Then a horned toad
had been captured and Dubs had drag
ged the disgusted prisoner along by a
string until he had tired of the sport
and had let him go again, more happy
but less horned than before.
Then, always keeping close to the
railroad, they had entered a great held
of cacti, where Dubs had tried very
hard to pick “toonies" without getting
insidious, needle-like spines in his lingers.
He was fairly successful, but he w'ould
not let the fruit of the cactus go into
his sister's chubby hands until it had
been stripped of its dangers by his ready
jackknife.
‘ h on y had turn matchus to build
a fire wiv,” sighed Dubs, “I’d burn off
vese prickles, just like ve Injuns does.”
They moved a little farther from the
track.
“Oo!“ came suddenly from under
I Gay's checkered sunbonnet. “Wot's
' dat?”
"Wy, it's a jug." and Dubs left the
I toonies and started toward the pile of
rocks where lay the Coyote’s demijohn,
* *■ ’• ■ ^',vn'C himself,
l lie two trudged up the little slope,
| and Dubs grasped the handle of the
demijohn, only to let it drop again and
soring back quickly with Gay in his
arms, for he had caught sight of the
Coyote, and he was smitten with a sud
den desire to go home.
But he saw that the Indian did not i
move, and so lie became brave. The
creature was certainly sound asleep and
no more to be feared than papa when
| he lay on the lounge in his midday re
j pose. Then, too, Dubs was quite sure
| he was a “worky Injun." like the,
\ aquis who shoveled and picked on the
railroad; and so his mind became
wholly at ease.
I lie Coyote's cartridge belt, which
had been so loosely strapped, had fallen
off and lay by his side. 1 here were a
hundred very interesting bits of brass
sticking in it. and the children soon had
these scattered all about in the sand by
the snoring Apache. In the scramble1
I for her share of the innocent toys Gay
let one of them drop on the Coyote's
; leg. Perhaps the mescal’s influence was
| on the wane, for a big brown knee
I clutched the ugly knife at the Coyote's
side; but the hand fell again and the
noble red man snored on.
Dubs tried on the cartridge belt and
became an Indian all but the indispens
able knife, and lie concluded to borrow
that from the sleeper, whose finger
had lost their grip on the buckhorn
handle.
"It’s bigger'n mommie s butcher knife,
ain't it. Gay?" the young savage asked,
as lie grasped the handle of the devilish
looking blade. "Now you 'tand over
there and I'll get 'hind vis work. Yen
you turn along an’ I’ll jump out and
kill you.”
Gay demurred.
“Oh, it’s on’y make b’lieve. Vese
kind o' Injuns don’t kill nobody,” and
he stuck a contemptuous finger toward
the innocent Coyote. MIt’s o’ny ’Paches
'at kills, an’ vey’s none yound here,
mornmie says. I'm a ’Pache, so you bet
ter look out!”
It was dubious sport for Gay, and
when it came to the killing part she
screamed lustily.
(Continued on Seventh Page.)
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