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AUTHORS "TfieCALL of tf* CUMBERLANDS”
ILLUSTRATIONS {
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CHAPTER XXIV—Continued.
—12—
The school buildings slept in silent
Bhadows, except that from the open
door of the room where her piano
stood there came a soft flooding of
lamplight—a single dash of orange
In the nocturne of silver and gray.
Ho went up very quietly, pausing to
drtok of the fragrance of the honey
suckle. and there drifted out to him.
as he paused, the music of the piano
and the better music of her voice.
She was singing a love song.
Though he had sent no word of his
coming, she was once more in eve
ning dress, all black save for a crim
son flower at her breast and one in
her hair. But this time the sight of
her In a costume so foreign to the
hills did not distress him; it was a
night that called for wonders.
She rose as the man's footstep
sounded on the floor, and then, at
memory of their last meeting, the
color mounted to her cheeks and he
took her again In his arms.
Bho raised her hands to his shoul
ders and tried to push him away, but
he held her firmly. and while she
sought to tell him that they must find
their way back to the colorless level
of friendship, he could feel the wild
flutter of her heart.
“Listen,” she protested. "You mart
liBten.”
But Bad Anse Havey laughed.
“Ever since the first time I saw
yo,” he declared, "I've been listenin’.
It has been a duel always between
yon and me. But the duel’s over now,
an’ this time I win.”
Bhe looked up and her pupils began
to widen with that intense gaze which
IS the drawing aside of the curtains
from a woman's soul, and as though
sbe realized that she could not trust
herself to his eyes, she turned her
face away. Only in its profile could
he read the struggle between mind
afld heart, and what he read filled
him with elation.
“Anse,” she said in a very low
voice, "give me a truce. For one hour
let me think; it involves both our
lives for always; let me at least have
the chance to be sane. Give me an
baur."
The man stepped back and re
leased ber, and she turned and led
tie way out to the porch, where she
Ank down in the hammock with her
face burled In both hands. When at
Ibngth she looked up she was smiling
rather wanly.
"It can t be, dear,- she said. But
While she argued with words and os
tensible reasons, the night was argu
ing, too—arguing for him with all its
sense-steeping fragrance and alluring
cadences and appeals to sleeping fires
in their hearts!
r
; And while she talked he made no
response, but sat there silently atten
tive. At last he looked at his watch
add put It back in his pocket. He
rose and said quietly, but with a tone
of perfect finality:
"Your truce is over."
"But don’t you see? You haven't
answered one of my arguments."
Anse Havey laughed once more
“I didn't come to argue.” he said;
"I came to act.” He drew from his
liocket the license and the ring.
“Brother Anse Talbot is waitin' over
at my house to marry us. Will you
go over there or shall 1 go back an’
t&tch him here?”
She took an involuntary step to
ward him with lifted arms, and then.
With a strong effort, as if struggling
against a spell, she drew back again,
■ad her voice came very low and
broken.
“I can’t—I can’t!” she pleaded.
•Vftit I wish to God I could.”
Then Anse Havey began to speak.
“Ye've talked, an’ I’ve listened to
y%. Ye’ve taken my life away from
iftn an’ made it a little scrap of your
own life—ye’ve let us both come to
used in' each other more than food an’
drink an’ breath. For me there's no
life without ye. In all the earth there's
lost you—you—you! For every true
Wbman in the world a day comes when
there's just one man,. an' for every
■tan there’s just one woman. When
that day comes nothin’ else counts.
That's why all them reasons of yours
den’t mean anything.”
His voice had the ring of triumph
aa he added: “You're goin’ to marry
she tonight. Come!”
He raised both arms and held them
oht, and though for a moment she
bang back, her eyes were still irresist
iBly held by his and the magnetism
that dwelled In them. With a gasp
Iff exclamation that was half surren
der and half echo of his own triumph
■be swept into uis embrace.
As she locked her fingers caressing
ly behind his dark head she wished
for words fine and splendid beyond the
ordinary to tell him of her love. But
Id phrases of eloquence came.
Then she felt his arms grow abrupt
ly rigid and he was pressing her from
htm with a gentle insistence, while his
fbee turned to peer into the moonlight
Wfth the tensity of one who is listen
lag not only with his ears, but with
•Very nerve of his being.
Slowly he drew back, still tenBe
■bd alert, and from his eyes the ten
der glow died until they narrowed -nd
hardened and the jaw angle stiffened
and the lips drew themselves into
their old line of warlike sternness.
She looked again into the face of the
mountaineer, the feudist, of the vild
creature turning to stand at bay.
For a moment they remained mo
tionless, and her fingers rested on
his arms and felt the strain on his
tautened biceps.
"God!” he muttered almost in
audibly.
"What is it?" she whispered, but
he replied only with a warning shake
of the head.
Once more he stood listening, then
gently turned her so that his body
was between her and the outside
world. He thrust her back into the
open door and followed her inside.
"What is it, Anse? What did you
hear out there?” Her face had gone
pallid and she clung to his arms with
a grip that indicated no intention of
release.
“Nothin' much. Just the crackin' of
a twig or two; just some steps in the
bush that was too cautious to sound
honest; little noises that wouldn't
mean much if I didn't know what they
do mean. They weren't friendly
sounds. They're after me.”
"Who? What do you mean?”
Her voice came In a low panic of
whispering, and even as she spoke the
man was listening with his head bent
toward the closed door.
He laughed mirthlessly under his
breath.
“I don't know who they've picked
out to get me. It don't matte;- much,
does it? But I know they've picked
tonight. I've been lookin’ for it, but
it seems they might have let me have
tonight—” His lips smiled, and for
an instant his eyes softened again .0
tenderness. "This was mv night—
our night.”
Suddenly he wheeled and caught
her fiercely in his arms holding her
very close, and now her heart was
beating more wildly than before—beat
ing with a sudden and sickening ter
ror.
He bent low and covered her tem
ples and cheeks and lips and eyes
with kisses.
"God knows, when I came here to
night,” he declared, talking fast and
passionately, "I didn't aim to ever go
away again without ye. Now I've got
to go, but if I come through, an' there s
a breath or a drop of blood left in
me. i'll be back. I'm a cornin' back,
uearesi, u l uve.
Her answer was a low moan.
He released her at last and went
over to the gun-rack.
Standing before her shrine of guns,
in her temple of disarmament, he
said slowly: "Dearest, I was about
the last man to leave my rifle here,
an’ ! reckon I’ve got to be the first
to take it out again. I'm sorry. Will
you give it to me or must I take it
without permission?”
She came slowly over, conscious
that her knees were trembling, and
that ic%water seemed to have taken
the place of hot blood in her veins.
‘‘If you need it,” she faltered, "take
it, dear—nothing else matters— Which
cue shall I give you?”
“My own!” His voice was for the
instant imperious. It was almost as
if someone had asked Ulysses what
bow he would draw in battle. “I
reckon my own gun’s good enough for
me. It has been till today.”
She withdrew the rifle from the
rack herself, and he took it from her
trembling hands, but when he had
accepted it she threw her arms about
him again and clung to him wildly,
her eyes wide with silent suffering
and dread.
The crushing grasp of his arms hurt
her and she felt a wild joy in the
pain. Then she resolutely whispered:
“Go, dearest, go! Time is precious
now. God keep you!”
“Juanita,” he said slowly, “I have
refused to talk to you in good speech.
I have clung to the rough phrases and
the rough manners of the hills, but
I want you to know always, most
dear one. that I have loved you not
only fiercely, but gently too. No ten
derer worship lives in your own world.
If 1 don’t come back, think of that.
God knows I love you.”
“Don’t. Anse!” she cried with a
smothered sob. “Don’t talk like a soft
muscled lowlander! Talk to me in
your own speech. It rings of strength,
and God knows”—her voice broke, and
she added with fierce tenderness, “God
knows, dear, eagle-heart, you need all
the strength of wing and talon to
night.”
Then she opened the back door very
cautiously on the shadows that crept
into inky blackness, and saw him slip
away and melt instantly into the
murk.
CHAPTER XXV.
Out there the moon was setting.
Soon, thank God, it would be dark
everywhere. The man she loved
needed all the chance that the thick
ening gloom could give him. It waB
terribly quiet now, except for an oc
casional whippoorwill call and the qui
etness seemed to lie upon her with
the oppression of something unspeak
ably terrifying. The breath of hill
side and sky was bated.
POSTSCRIPTS
Argentina's breweries rjmually pro
Mce enough beer to give two and a
talf gallons to each resident of that
country.
For emergency use a wooden auto
mobile tire has been in vented, made in
•actions which are bolted to the rim
of a wheel.
So steady are the winds at Curacoa
that thret wireless telegraph stations
depend upon windmills to furnish
their power.
Germany consumes more pork than
any other kind of meat.
American cotton mills are now us
ing more than 5.000,000 bales of cot
ton a year as compared with 1,000,000
bales 45 years ago. /
The seat of a new bathtub rhair
will remain level no matter in what
position the device is attached inside
or outside of a tub.
A motor-driven siren has been in
vented for Are alarm purposes, having
the advantage that it can be operated
from distant points
A* la3t there came to her ears the
sound of heavy feet crashing through
the brush, but he had been gone ten
minutes then. Perhaps they had just
awakened to his escape and were cast
ing aside stealth for the fury of open
pursuit. She even thought she heard
an oath once, and then it was all quiet,
again; quiet for a while, and at the
end of the silence, like the punctua
tion of an exclamation-mark, came the
far-away snap of a rifle.
She had dropped to a chair and
sat there tensely, leaning forward, her
lips parted and her ears straining.
Had she heard one shot and its echo,
or had there been several? Her imag
ination and fears were playing her
tricks now, and she could hardly be
certain of her senses.
The passage of time was a thing of
which she had lost count. Each mo
ment was a century.
Then, with a violent start, she sat
up. Now she knew she heard a sound
—there could be no doubt this time.
It came from out beyond the front
door, and she bent forward, listen
ing.
It was a strange sort of sound which
she could not make out, but in a sub
tle way it was more terrifying than
the clatter of rifles. It was as if some
heavy, soft thing were being dragged
up the steps and rolling back.
She rose and took a step toward
the door, but halted in doubt. The
sound died and then came again, al
ways with halting intervals of silence
between, as though whoever were
dragging the burden had to pause on
each step to rest. Then there was a
scraping as of boot-leather on the
boards and a labored breath outside—
a breath that seemed to be agonized.
She bent forward with one hand
outstretched toward the latch, and
heard a faint rapping. It was seem
ingly the rap of very feeble fingers,
but that might all be part of a ruse.
; Was it friend or enemy out there, just
beyond the thickness of the heavy
panels? At all events, she must see.
She braced herself and threw the
door open. A figure which had been
leaning against it lurched forward,
stumbled over the threshold and fell
in a heap, half in and half out. It
was the figure of Ause Havey.
How far he had hitched himself
along, foot by foot, like a mortally
wounded animal crawling home to die.
she could not tell, but for one horri
fied instant she stood gazing down on
him in stupefaction.
I He had gone out a splendid vital
j creature of resilient strength and pow
i er. He hr 1 come back the torn and
bleeding wreck of a man, literally
shot to pieces, as a quail is shattered
when it rises close to a quick-shooting
gun.
In the next moment she was stoop
ing with her arms around his body,
striving to lift his weight and bring
him in. She was strong beyond all
seeming of her slenderness, but the
man was heavy, and as she raised his
head and shoulders a sound of bitten
off and stifled agony escaped his white
lips, and she knew that her efforts
were torturing him.
It was an almost lifeless tongue
that whispered, "I was skeered—that
I—wouldn't get here.”
Then as she staggered under his
inert bulk he tried to speak again.
“Jest help—drag me."
The few yards into the hall made a
long and terrible Journey, and how
she ever got him in, half hanging to
her. half crawling, stopping at every
step, she never knew. Still it was
done at last, and she was kneeling on
the floor with his head on her breast.
No wonder they had left him for
dead and gone away content. He
looked up and a faint smile came to
his almost unrecognizable face. The
blood which had already dried and
caked with the dust through which he
had crawled was being fed by a fresh
er outpouring, and, as she held him
close to her, her own bosom and arms
were red too, as red as the flower
pinned in her hair.
She must stanch his wounds and
pour whisky down his throat before
the flickering wisp of life-flame burned
out.
“Wait, dearest," she said in a bro
ken voice. “I must get things you
need.”
“It ain't”—he paused a moment for
the breath which came very hard—
“scarcely—worth while—I'm done.”
But she flew to the cupboard where
there was brandy. She tore linen
from her petticoat and brought water
from the drinking bucket that stood
with its gourd dipper on the porch.
But when she pressed the flask to
his lips he closed them and shook his
head a little.
“I ain't never touched a drop In my
life,” he said, “an' I reckon—I might’s
well—finish out—twon't be long. It's
too late to begin now."
For a while he lay gasping, then
spoke again, weakly:
“Just kiss me—dearest—thet's what
1 come for."
After a pause he spoke again.
“There’s one thing—I've got to ask
ye: Why did ye swear—ye didn’t care
for me—in court?"
Her head came up and she an
swered steadily:
"Dearest, I'd never asked myself
that question until the lawyer asked
it. I didn’t know the answer myself,
but if I did love you, I meant to tell
you first; it was our business, not his.
I was there to help you, and it
wouldn't have helped you to tell them
that I was fighting for my own heart.
And, besides, I didn't know then,
quite.”
She went on bathing and stanching
his wounds as best she could, but a
spirit of despair settled on her. There
were so many of them, and they were
so deep and ragged!
“I didn't—come for help,” he told
her, and through the grime and blood
flashed i. gnost of his rare and boyish
smile. 'I'm past mendin' now. 1
came because—I'm dyin’—an' I wanted
to die in your arms!"
“You shan't die,” she breathed
fiercely between her teeth. “My arms
shall always be around you.”
Eut he shook his head and his fig
ure sagged a little against her knees.
“I know—when I’m done,” he said
slowly. “It’s all right now—I've done
got here. That’s enough—I loves ye.”
For a time she wondered whether
he had lost consciousness, and she
laid him down slowly and brought
cushions with which to soften his po
sitfon. It was almost daybreak now.
She sat there beside him, and as her
heart beat close to him he seemed to
draw from it some of its abundant vi
tality, for he revived a little, and
though his eyes were closed and she
had to bend down to catch his words,
his voice grew somewhat stronger.
"1 ain't never felt lonesome—before.
But out there—dyin’ by myself—the
last of my family—I had to come.
Dyin' ain't like livin'—1 couldn't die
without ye.”
“You aren't dying," she argued des
perately. “You shan't die."
“It ain't that—” His breath came
with great difficulty. “They'll come
back here. They'll get me yet—an' I'd
ruther die first."
She laid his head very gently on the
pillows and rose to her feet. In the
instant she stood transfigured. Deep
in her violet eyes blazed such a blue
fire as that which burns at the hot
test heart of a flame. Around her lips
came the grim set of fight and blood
lust.
The crushed flower on her bosom
rose and fell under a violent tempest
of passion. The skirt of her evening
gown had been torn in her effort to
carry him. Somehow one silk stock
ing was snagged above her slipper
His blood reddened her white arms
and bosom. She drew a deep breath
and clenched her hands. The dis
ciple of peace was gone, and there
stood there in its stead the hot
breathed incarnation of some valkyr
hovering over the din of battle and
urging on the fight.
Yet her voice was colder and stead
ier than he had ever heard it. She
pointed to the door.
“Get you!” she exclaimed scorn
fully. "No man but a Havey crosses
that threshold while I live. I'm a Ha
vey now and we live or die together.
Get you!” Her voice broke with a
wild laugh. “Let them come!”
No bitterly bred daughter of the
hills was ever so completely the
mountain woman as this transformed
and reborn girl of the cultured East.
She moved about the place with a
steady, indomitable energy. With
strength borrowed of the need, she
upset the great oaken table and bar
ricaded the door, laughing as she
heard the clatter of pedagogic vol
umes on the floor. Fox’s "Book of
Martyrs” fell at her feet, and she
kicked it viciously to one side.
tone went ana stooa Deiore ner racK
of guns, and her lips curled as she
caught up a he,avy-calibered repeater
with all the tierce desire of a drunkard
for his drink. She stood there loading
rifles and setting them in an orderly
line against the wall. She devastated
her altar of peace with the untamed
joy of a barbarian sacking a temple.
Then she turned and saw in the
man's eyes a wild glow of admiration
that burned above his fever, and she
said to him once more, "Now let ’em
come.”
He shook his head, but strangely
enough her love and awakened feroc
ity had strengthened and quickened
him like brandy, and he pleaded:
"Drag me over where 1 can get just
one shot.”
Then Juanita blew out the lamp and
stood silent in the hush that comes
before dawn. She did not have to
wait long, for soon she heard hoof
beats in the road, and they stopped
just at the turn.
“Hello, stranger!” she shouted, and
it took all her strength to command
her voice. "Halt where you are.”
There was an instant’s silence in
the first misty gray that was bringing
the veiled sunrise.
A stifled murmur of voices came
from the road, and she caught the
words. “He’s in tliar all right." A
moment later someone called out sul
lenly from the shadows:
“We gives ye three minutes ter
leave thet house. We’re a-comin’ in.
an’ we’d rather not ter harm ye. Git
out quick.”
"Ye can’t save me. dearest. It’s
too late. For God’s sake, go out,”
pleaded Anse Havey tensely.
Her answer was to cry out into the
dawn in a voice that could not be mis
understood. “Anse Havey’s in here.
Come and get him,” and for added em
phasis she crouched behind the over
turned table and fired a random shot
out toward the voice that had offered
her amnesty.
From the earlier happenings of the
evening the men out there knew that
the school property was empty save
for the man and the girl, and they
knew that the man was terribly wound
ed.
Their peering eyes, in the dim gray,
could just make out an empty door.
Back of it was one woman, and they
were five men. Ordinarily they would
have moved slowly, coming up from
several sides, but now every minute
was worth an hour at another time.
It behooved them, when full daylight
came, to be well away from sure ven
geance. The obvious demand of the
exigency was to rush the place.
Killing women was, even to them,
distasteful, but they had offered her
immunity, and she had declined.
At a whispered word they started
forward.
She saw figures climbing the fence
CONDENSATIONS
Japan is exporting flour to the South
Sea islands.
In the Japanese military air #errlce
there are 12 aeroplanes and two dirigi
bles.
Turkey at present has about 987,900
men in the army in addition to the ter
ritorial force.
A company of Indians has been re
cruited in Canada and sent across the
water to be used for scouting pur
poses.
Inclusive of all ranks, 68,000 men
are serving In the navy of the United
States of America.
Idaho established new high records
last year, for its production of silver,
lead and zinc.
Baron Stephen Burian von Rojez,
appointed to succeed Count Leopold
von Berchtold as American minister
of foreign affairs, has been Hungarian
minister at the imperial court, and
was formerly minister of finance and
chief of administration for Bosnia and
Herzegovina.
| in shadowy, almost Impalpable shapes,
and as the first dropped inside and
started on at a crouching trot she
aimed quickly but steadily and fired.
A little cry of primitive and savage
joy sprang from her lips as she saw
the man plunge forward In the half
light and lie there rolling on the
ground.
But at that warning the others
leaped down and came on at a run.
The tempo quickened and became con
fusing. They were firing as they ran
and their answering bullets pelted
against her barrier and over her head
on the walls. She heard window panes
shivering and glass falling, and yet
her elation grew—two more advancing
figures had crumpled into inert
masses. Unless there were re-enforce
ments she would stem their oncoming
tide. Even a mountain marksman can
not target his shots well while he is
running and under fire. It takes
championship sprinting to do fifty
yards in five seconds—on the smooth
ness of a cinder path.
Up-hill in a constant spit of fire
and lead it requires a little longer.
There were only two left now, and
one of them suddenly veered and
made for the cover of a hickory trunk
off to one side—he was in full flight
But the other came on, throwing the
rifle away and shifting his heavy mag
azine pistol to his right hand.
It wras easy now, thought the girl—
she could take her time and be very
sure.
Yet she shot and missed, and the
man came on with the confidence of
one who wears a talisman and fears
no harm. Now he was almost at the
steps and his pistol was barking vi
ciously—then suddenly something in
the mechanism of Juanita’s rifle
jammed and it lay useless and dead
in her hands. She struggled with it,
frantically jerking the lever, but be
fore she had conquered its balking
obstinacy she saw the oncoming figure
leap up the steps at one stride and
thrust his weapon forward over the
table. She even caught the glitter of
his teeth as a snarling smile parted
his lips
Then a rifle spoke behind her—a
rifle in the hands of the man who had
dragged himself to the firing line, and
with his foot on the threshold Jim
Fletcher reeled backward and rolled
lumberingly down the steps to the
ground.
“You got him!” she screamed. “You
got him, Anse!"
It had been perhaps five minutes
since she had called out to the men
in the road, but it seemed to her that
she had sustained a long siege. She
saw the man who had fled crossing
the fence and disappearing. Then
very slowly she rose and turned to
the room again.
Anse Havey was lying on liis face
and the gun with which he had killed
Jim Fletcher lay by his side, but his
posture was so rigid and his limbs
so motionless that the girl caught at
her breast and reeled backward. She
would have fallen had she not been
supported by the table. Had the fight
been lost, after all?
Slowly, and in a daze of reaction
and fright, she moved forward and
turned his body over and laid her ear
to his heart.
It was still beating. The rifle had
only jolted his weak and pain-racked
body into unconsciousness, and as she
held his head to her breast her eyes
went about the room, where the pal
lid light was stealing now, and by the
mantel she saw hanging the horn that
Jerry Everson had given her.
Why had she not thought of that be
fore? she asked herself accusingly.
Why had she not sent its call for
hetp out across the hills long ago?
Then there came back to her mind the
words of the mountain man when he
had brought it over and had imitated
the Havey battle-call.
“Don't never blow thet unlessen ye
wants ter start hell. When them calls
goes out acrost the mountains every
Havey thet kin tote a gun’s got ter
git up an’ come.”
If ever there had been a time when
every Havey should come it was this
time. She laid Anse's head once more
on the cushions and went to the man
tel. Then,.standing in the door, she
drew a long breath.
She set the horn to her lips and
blew. Out across the melting vague
ness of the dim world floated the three
long blasts and the three short ones.
She waited a little while and blew
again. That signal could not reach
Anse Havey’s own house, because the
ridge would send it echoing back in a
shattered wave of sound. It would be
better heard to the east, and after a
time there came back to her waiting
ears, very low and distant, yet very
clear, an answer.
It came from the house of Milt Mc
Briar. and Juanita’s heart, torn and
anxious as it was, leaped, for she
knew that for the first time in the
memory of man the Havey call to
arms had been heard and was being
answered by a chief of the McBriars,
and that as fast as horses could carry
them he and his men would bring suc
cor.
An hour later, when the mountain
slopes were unveiling in miracles of
iridescence and tender color, young
Milt McBriar and his escort flung
themselves from their steaming
mounts.
The girl was weeping incoherently
over an insensible figure and crooning
to it as a mother sings to quiet a
wakeful child, and on the floor at her
side lay a piece of paper reddened and
spotted with blood — a marriage
license.
"Milt,” she cried out. "get Brother
Anse; get him quick!” and she waved
the piece of smeared paper in the
boy's face.
Kneeling with her on the floor. Milt
took tbe license from her hand, and
Mortality Measure* Intelligence.
Sir Arthur Newsbolme, eminent j
English physician, said that Infant'
mortality is the most sensitive index
we have of social welfare. “If babies
were well born and well cared for,
their mortality would be negligible.
The infant death rate measures the
intelligence, health, and right living
of fathers and mothers, the standards
of morals and sanitation of communi
ties and governments, the efficiency
of physicians, nurses, health officers,
and educators."
when he saw what It was he shook
his head.
“I'm afraid,” he told her gravely,
"I'm afraid hit's too late. He kain’t
hardly live.”
“Get Brother Anse.” she insisted
wildly. "Get him quick. I’m going to
be his wife.” Her voice broke into a
deep sob as she added: “If I can’t be
anything else, I’m going to be the
Widow Havey.”
And when Brother Anse came he
found Anse still alive, smiling faintly
up into the face of the woman who
sat with his head in her lap.
"I’m sorry,” said the missionary
simply, “thet ye hain't got a preacher
tliet kin marry ye with due ceremo
nies, but I reckon 1 hain't never been
gladder ter do nothin' in my life—ef
only he kin git well.”
“Brother Anse,” Juanita Havey told
him, as she put a hand on each rough
shoulder, “I had rather it should be
you than the archbishop of Canter
bury."
CHAPTER XXXVI.
People in the mountains still talk
of how, while Anse Havey lay on a
white cot in the little hospital, young
Milt McBriar set out toward Peril. He
stopped for a moment at the house of
Bad Anse Havey, and within twenty
minutes the hills were being raked.
Young Milt killed a horse getting to
Jeb McNash’s cabin on Tribulation
and Jeb killed another getting to
Peril. Then from Lexington came two
surgeons as fast as a special train
could bring them, and, thanks to a
dogged life spark, they found Anse
Havey still lingering on the margin.
When they removed him from the
operating table back to his cot and
he opened his eyes to consciousness,
the sun was coming through the shad
ed window, but even before he knew
that, he saw her face bending over
him and felt cool fingers on his fore
head.
As his eyes opened her smile greet
ed him, and she brushed his lips with
her own. Then, in a tone of com
mand, she said: “You mustn’t talk.
The doctors say you may get well if
you obey orders and fight hard. It’s
partly up to you, Anse.”
Once more there hovered around
the man's lips that occasional boyish
smile.
"I reckon,” he said slowly, ‘‘they’ll
have the hell of a time killin’ me
now!" Then he added in a tone of
more grimness: "Besides, there’s a
score or two to settle.”
The girl shook her head and smiled.
Her fingers rested caressingly on the
dark hair that fell over his forehead.
“No, Anse,” she told him. “I settled
most of them myself.”
• •***««
Even the detachment of the murder
squad that had played its part in the
woods and started for Peril before
the five turned back did not reach
their destination, but scattered into
the hillsides. When morning brought
the news of their attempt they tried
to make their escape across the moun
tains to Virginia.
But there was a grim and relentless
system about the movement of two
posses that set out to comb the tim
ber. Daring to approach no house for
food, the fugitives united and took up
their stand in a stanch log cabin
which had been deserted, and died
there, grimly declining to surrender.
Of course the railroad came up Trib
ulation and crossed through the notch
in the mountains at the gap, but the
railroad came on terms quite different
from those which Mr. Trevor and his
ilk had planned.
One day there rode away from the
college a gay little procession on its
way to the McBriar domain. At its
head rode Young Milt, and on a pil
lion behind him, as mountain brides
had always ridden to their own
houses, sat Dawn McBriar. That was
some years ago, and at the big log
house there is a toddling, tow-headed
young person now whose Christian
name is Anse Havey, though his fa
ther insists he is to be ultimately
1 known as "Bad Anse” McBriar.
One autumn day, when the air was
j as full of sparkle as champagne, and
I the big sugar tree just outside the
hospital window was flaming in an ec
stasy of color, Miss Dawn Havey
opened her eyes on the world and
found it acceptable.
Jeb McNash was riding through the
country that October seeking election
to the legislature.
He drew his horse down by the
fence.
anse, ne sum iu 111s slow arawi,
"it's a pity she's a gal now, hain’t it?"
Anse shook his head. “I reckon,”
he said, "she’s got more chance to be
like her mother. Her mother made
these hills better for being here, and
besides—”
He looked cautiously about and
dropped his voice, as if speaking of a
forbidden subject, yet into it crept a
note of pride, "Besides, young feller,
have you got any more notches on the
stock of your gun than she has?”
THE END.
Dyes for Carpets.
Aniline dyes have not added to the
reputation of the carpets of Persia,
lately invaded by the Turks. At one
time the only dyes used in the Persian
carpet industry came from indigo, mad
der and vine leaves. From these were
evolved many delicate shades impervi
ous to the action of sunlight. With
aniline dyes the colors fade much
more rapidly. In Persia you may see
new rugs spread on the floors of ba
zaars, so that many feet may tread on
them. By such hard wear—provided
the colors are fast—the genuine arti
cle improves in appearance, acquiring
an attractive gloss. A Persian carpet
of the best kind has a marvelous num
ber of stitches, and a hearth rag of
pure silk may cost hundreds of dollars.
Scientific Advance.
The chemical engineer of the United
States bureau of mines has discovered
a new method for producing gasoline.
He has also found a way to manufac
ture toluol and benzol from petroleum.
These last-named products are used In
making smokeless powder.
Small Amount.
Mrs. Meyser—Could you give me a
little money, my dear?
Mr. Meyser—Certainly, my dearl
About how little?
FROM ONE lEAR’S CROP
HE PAID FOR HIS UNO
IN WESTERN CANADA
Remarkable as are the reports of
the yields of wheat in Western Canada,
the marketing of which is now under
way, they are none the more interest
, big than are those that are vouched
for as to the value of this grain crop
to the farmers of that country
Some months ago the Department
of the Interior, at Ottawa, Canada,
wrote to those in the United States
who were owners of land in Western
Canada that was not producing, ad
vising that it be put under crop. The
high prices of grain and their probable
continuance for some years should
be taken advantage of. Cattle and all
the produce of the farm commanded
good figures, and the opportunity to
feed the world was great, while the
profits wrere simply alarming The
Department suggested that money
could be made out of these idle lands,
lands that could produce anywhere
from 25 to 65 bushels of wheat per
acre. A number took advantage of
the suggestion. One of these was an
Illinois farmer. He owned a large
quantity of land near Culross, Mani
toba. He decided to put one thousand
acres of it under wheat. His owu
story, written to Mr. C. J. Broughton,
Canadian Government Agent at Chi
cago, is interesting.
"I had 1,000 acres in wheat near
Culross, Manitoba. I threshed 34,000
bushels, being an average of 34 bush
els to the acre. Cast Spring I sold
my foreman, Mr. F. L. Hill, 240 acres
of land for $9,000, or $37.50 per acre.
He had saved up about $1,000, wrhich
he could buy seed with, and have the
land harrowed, drilled and harvested,
and put in stook or shock.
As a first payment 1 was to take
all the crops raised. When he
threshed he had 8,300 bushels of
wheat, which is worth in all $1.00 per
bushel, thereby paying for all the land
that was in wheat and more, too, there
being only 200 acres in crop. If the
240 acres had all been in wheat he
could have paid for it all and had
money left.”
That is a story that will need no
corroboration in this year when, no
matter which way you turn, you learn
of farmers who had even higher yields
than these.
G. E. Davidson of Manitou, Manito
ba, had 36 acres of breaking and 14
acres older land. He got 2,186 bush
els of wheat, over 43 bushels per
acre.
Walter Tukner of Darlingford, Man
itoba, had 3,514 bushels off a 60 acre
field, or over 58*4 bushels per acre.
Forty acres was breaking and 20 acres
summer fallow.
Wm. Sharp, formerly Member of
Parliament for Lisgar, Manitoba, bad
80 acres of wheat on his farm near
Manitou, Manitoba, that went 53 bush
els per acre.
One of the most remarkable yields
in this old settled portion of Manitoba
was that of P. Scharf of Manitou, who
threshed from 15 acres the phenom
enal yield of 73 bushels per acre.
These reports are but from one dis
trict, and when it is known that from
almost any district in a grain bell
of 30,000 square miles, yields while
not as large generally as these quoted,
but in many cases as good, is it any
wonder that Canada is holding its
head high in the air in its conquering
career as the high wheat yielder of
the continent? When it is pointed out
that there are millions of acres of the
same quality of land that has pro
duced these yields, yet unbroken, and
may be had for filing upon them as a
homestead, or in some cases may be
purchased at from $12 to $30 an acre
from railway companies or private
land companies, it is felt that the op
portunity to take part in this marvel
ous production should be taken ad
vantage of by those living on land
much higher in price, and yielding
infinitely less.—Advertisement
Not Handicapped There.
“And what is your son William do
ing, Mrs. B Jones?” asked the visitor.
“Oh, Willie, he's an actor and doing
very well.”
"William an actor?” said the visitor.
“Why, I thought he was deaf and
dumb?”
“He is,” said Mrs. BJones, ' hut that
doesn't make any difference. He’s
playing Hamlet this week in the
movies."—New York Times.
For a really fine coffee at a mod
erate price, drink Denison’s Seminole
Brand, 35c the lb., in sealed cans.
Only one merchant in each town
sells Seminole. If your grocer isn’t
the one, write the Denison Coffee Co.,
Chicago, for a souvenir and the name
of your Seminole dealer.
Buy the 3 lb. CaniBter Can for $1.00.
—Adv.
Expensive Roofing.
“Nice hat you have. How much did
it cost you?”
“Can’t say yet. I’ve had it three
weeks, and it’s cost about $14. 1
suppose it will stand me a couple of
hundred before I get through.”
“Couple of hundred?”
“Yes, getting it back every day from
the tip boy at the restaurants.”
Mot Gray Bairs bat Tired Eyas
make us look older than we are. Keep
your Eyes young and you will look young.
After the Movies Murine Your Eyes. Don't
tell your age. Murine Eye Remedy Cb.
Chicago, Sends Eye Book on request.
Yet Many Take It.
“A poor journey, I call It.”
“What Is?”
“Going from bad to worse.”
Diplomacy After Midnight.
Officer—Go home.
Outlate—Gimme shafe conduct.—
New York Sun.
To Prevent the Grip
Cold: cause Grip — Laxative Bromo Quinine re
moves the cause. There is only one "Bromo
Quinine." B. W. GROVE’S signature on boa. ajc.
Marrying a man to reform him ia
like making a good omelet out of a
bad egg. Maybe it can be done.