On to the Siwash 



From that moment I shall always believe that the 

 stage lost a great tragedian in Wallace. With a 

 magnificent gesture he threw the can of condensed 

 milk at Jones, who was so stunned he did not try to 

 dodge. &quot; Thoughtless man! Murderer! it s too 

 late!&quot; cried Wallace, laying me back across his 

 knees. &quot; It s too late. His teeth are locked. He s 

 far gone. Poor boy! poor boy! Who s to tell his 

 mother?&quot; 



I could see from under my hat-brim that the 

 solemn, hollow voice had penetrated the cold exterior 

 of the plainsman. He could not speak; he clasped 

 and unclasped his big hands in helpless fashion. 

 Frank was as white as a sheet. This was simply 

 delightful to me. But the expression of miserable, 

 impotent distress on old Jim s sun-browned face was 

 more than I could stand, and I could no longer keep 

 up the deception. Just as Wallace cried out to Jones 

 to pray I wished then I had not weakened so 

 soon I got up and walked to the fire. 



&quot; Jim, I ll have another biscuit, please.&quot; 



His under jaw dropped, then he nervously shov 

 eled biscuits at me. Jones grabbed my hand and 

 cried out with a voice that was new to me: &quot;You 

 can eat? You re better? You ll get over it? &quot; 



&quot; Sure. Why, carbolic acid never phases me. I ve 



often used it for rattlesnake bites, I did not tell 



201 



