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.