THE LOVERS.
The second night the moon, that rode high on the sky, enabled the
little party of white men in Dead Man’s Gulch to detect the Comanches
as they prowled about, and our friends proved their vigilance by
picking off every one who thus exposed himself to their deadly rifles.
For the first half of the night little rest was obtained by either
side--the spitting shots continuing with a rapidity, and in such
numbers, as sometimes to resemble platoon firing--but, shortly past
the turn of night, the Comanches seemed to grow weary of the incessant
din, and being a fair target for the whites so long as they remained on
the hill, where they were brought in fair relief against the sky, they
assumed safer positions, and for a long time perfect silence remained.
By this time, despite the respite afforded by the captured canteen,
the condition of the party was as desperate as it could be. Although
the whites had been very careful in exposing themselves to the aim
of the Comanches, yet so deadly had it been that there were now only
ten men left, including Gibbons. Shortly after midnight two of these
made the attempt to steal through the environing lines, and both lost
their lives, in the manner recorded elsewhere. This left but eight
able-bodied men to continue the defense, and Gibbons began arranging
his flight with Shields, they keeping it a secret from the rest, as
it was feared that there would be a strife as to who should go, every
one being anxious to get out of such a hell as Dead Man’s Gulch by any
means, so long as a suitable pretext could be found.
But one horse was left unharmed. The others were dead, stretched in
different places around the open space, and, under the warm sun, an
odor of the most offensive character was beginning to rise from them.
Worse still, there were men here and there, and some of them in wagons,
to whom the right of sepulture could not be given; and they lay, with
dark, discolored faces, staring up to the sky, happier than were those
who were left behind to struggle and fight on, only to die at last a
still more dreadful death then had come to them.
All was still, and in the large wagons, devoted to the shelter of the
women and children, the latter were sound asleep, as were most of the
former. Lizzie Manning had endeavored to inspire hope in the despairing
ones around her, and was now sitting, with folded hands, upon a
blanket, her shawl gathered over her shoulders, and in that attitude
was awaiting sleep, when she heard a faint footstep near her, and
turning her head, descried the figure of Egbert Rodman advancing, with
a hesitating step, in that direction, his actions indicating that he
felt considerable doubt as to the propriety of that which he was doing.
Believing that he was seeking an opportunity to say something to her,
Lizzie spoke to him in a low, reassuring voice.
“Well, Egbert, is it I that you wish to see? If so, come nearer, where
your voice will not be so likely to be heard.”
“I was wondering whether you were asleep or not,” he replied, making
his way to the rear of the wagon, where her face could be seen looking
encouragingly out upon him. “There is no fighting going on at present;
it won’t do for one to go to sleep, and I was thinking that possibly
you might be awake, and with no ability to close your eyes in
slumber. But, if you have, don’t fail to say so, and I will wait until
to-morrow, or until there is a more favorable opportunity.”
“You need not leave, Egbert,” said she. “I did not sleep a single
minute last night, nor can I do so to-night. I am glad that you have
come, that we may have a chat with each other, without disturbing any
one else. Somehow or other, I feel a strong conviction that this is the
last night that will be spent in the gulch.”
Egbert had thought the same for hours, but he had kept his premonitions
to himself, and it cut him to the heart when the gentle and ordinarily
light-hearted girl spoke of it in such positive and hopeless tones.
Yet nothing was to be gained by denying the existence of such a
desperate strait.
“It does look so, indeed,” he replied, in a low voice, as he leaned
against the wagon in such a posture that his head was brought close
to hers. “It is not likely that any diversion will be created in our
favor, and we can not keep up a successful resistance much longer. _Our
numbers are getting too small._”
“I hope they will end this struggle by firing into and killing us all
together,” returned Lizzie, in her sad, sweet tones, and her heart
gave a great throb as she reflected upon the fate of falling into the
hands of these tiger-like Comanches. “Do you not think they will do so,
Egbert?”
He could not answer in the affirmative, so he did the best thing
possible, making answer:
“You know that we shall keep up the fighting as long as any of us are
left. When our men become so scarce, or are nearly all gone, the women
can take their places, and thus compel the death which I know would be
welcome to all.”
“Well, Egbert,” said she, in tones of Christian resignation, “it is
only a step between this and the other life. Father and mother and
sisters and brothers will mourn when they learn of the death that
Lizzie died, but then she has only gone on before--just ahead of them.”
“Yes,” replied the young lover, who felt soothed, albeit saddened, by
the words of the sweet girl. Reaching up his hand, he took hers, and
with a solemn, sacred feeling, said:
“I suppose, Lizzie, now that we stand in the presence of death, you
will permit me to declare how I loved you the first time I saw you in
St. Louis, and how that love has increased and deepened with every hour
since, until I feel now, like the romantic cavaliers of old, that it
is sweet to stand here, and to die, knowing that I die defending your
honor and your life. Lizzie, my own dearest one, you have all my heart.
None who have seen you can fail to respect your sweetness of character,
and the veriest slave was never held a more helpless captive by his
task-master than I am by you. It would be idle for me to expect any
thing like a similar emotion upon your part, but I am sure you will not
be offended at what I have said. Tell me that.”
“No; I am not--”
Egbert fell her hand tremble in his own, and a strange yearning came
over him to hear what she had checked herself in saying. Could it
be that she felt in any degree the same emotion that penetrated his
whole being? No, impossible; and yet what meant this trembling, this
agitation, this excitement?
But she said not the words he was so anxious to hear, and they talked
awhile longer upon the desperate situation, and then, kissing the dear
hand that he had fondled and held imprisoned in his own, he bade her
good-night, and returned to his post of duty.