The Island Trapper

One stood near the fire, turning, with a strange desperation, the crank of a new hand-organ, such as the beggarly sons of Italy grind on the streets of our metropolis to-day. Long playing had almost exhausted him, his cheeks were flushed with fever, his breathing came by gasps, and great blue veins stood forth on his hands and forehead like whip-cords. He partially leaned against the organ for support, and his eyes were upturned to a great red star that seemed to pity him from the heavens. His companion was dancing for dear life near by, ready to sink to the ground, and die beneath the reeking tomahawks of the savages, who grinned and congratulated each other on the tortures they were inflicting on the American boys.