Tales of Aztlan; The Romance of a Hero of Our Late Spanish-American War, Incidents of Interest from the Life of a Western Pioneer and Other TalesHartmann, George
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Tales of Aztlan; The Romance of a Hero of Our Late Spanish-American War, Incidents of Interest from the Life of a Western Pioneer and Other Tales
Hartmann, George
Short stories, American; Spanish-American War, 1898 -- Fiction; Western stories
The next day we witnessed a most horrible and distressing sight.
Willingly would I surrender several years of my allotted lifetime on
earth if I could thereby efface forever the awful impression of this
pitiful tragedy from my memory. Alas I that I was fated to behold the
shocking sight! For days thereafter we plodded on, a sad-looking,
sober, downhearted lot of men, grieved to distraction, and there I left
the innocence of boyhood--wiser surely, but not better! We neared the
still smoking ruins of what had once been a happy home. As I approached
to gratify my curiosity, I met several of my companions, who were
returning and who implored me not to go nearer. An old Mexican,
ignorant, rough, and callous as he was, begged me, with tears streaming
down his face, to retrace my steps. Alas, when would impulsive youth
ever listen to wise counsel and take heed! I entered the ruins and saw
a dark telltale pool oozing forth from under the door of a cellar. Oh,
had I but then overcome my morbid curiosity and fled! But no! I must
needs open the door and look in. I saw--I saw a beautiful whiskey
barrel, its belly bursted and its head stove in!
The trip across the plains was a very healthful and pleasant experience
to me. During the greatest heat and while the moon favored us, we often
traveled at night and rested in daytime. By foregoing my rest, I found
opportunity to hunt antelope and smaller game. I was very fond of this
sport and indulged in it frequently. One day I sighted a band of
antelope--these most beautiful and graceful animals. I tried to head
them off, in order to get within rifle-shot distance, and drifted
farther and farther away from camp until I must have strayed at least
five miles. Like a rebounding rubber ball, their four feet striking the
ground simultaneously, they fled until at last they faded from sight on
the horizon, engulfed in a shimmering wave of heat, the reflection from
a sun-scorched ground. Reluctantly I gave up the chase, as I could by
no means approach the game, although they could not have winded me.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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