Democratic watchman. (Bellefonte, Pa.) 1855-1940, July 27, 1923, Image 2

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(Continued from last week).
R L—Arriving at the lonely
railroad station of El Cajon, New
co, Madeline Hammond, New York
finds no one to meet her. While in
waiting room a drunken cowboy en-
asks if she is married, and departs,
ving her terrified, He returns with a
est, who goes through some sort of
ny, and the cowboy forces her to
fd “SL.” Asking her name and learning
identity the cowboy seems dazed. In
shoo scrape outside ths room a
can killed. The cowboy lets a
1, “Bonita,” take his horse and escape,
en conducts Madeline to Florence
y, friend of her brother.
II.—Florence welcomes her,
her story, and dismisses the cow-
y, Gene Stewart. Next day Alfred
ond, . Madeline's brother, takes
wart to task. Madeline exonerates
of any wrong intent.
CHAPTER III.—Alfred, scion of a
Foality family, had been dismissed from
home because of his dissipation.
Madeline sees that the West has re-
deemed him. She meets Stillwell, Al's
{ployer typical western ranchman.
eline learns Stewart has gone over
the border.
CHAPTER IV.—Danny Mains, one of
Stillwell’'s cowboys, has disappeared,
with some of Stillwell’s money. His
aenas link his name with the girl Bo-
CHAPTER V.—Madeline gets a glim:
of life on a western ranch, gligme
CHAPTER VI.—Stewarc's horse comes
fo the ranch with a note on the saddle
asking Madeline to accept the beautiful
animal. With her brother's consent she
does so, naming him ‘‘Majesty,” her own
pet nickname. Madeline, independently
rich, arranges to buy Stillwell's ranch
$e that of Don Carlos, a Mexican neigh-
CHAPTER VII.—Madeline feels she
has found her right place, under the light
of the western stars.
CHAPTER VIIl.—Learning Stewart had
mn hurt in a brawl at Chiricahua, and
owing her brother's fondness for him,
Madeline visits him and persuades him to
oome to the ranch as the boss of her
CHAPTER IX.—Jim Nels, Nick Steele
and “Monty” Price are Madeline's chief
riders. They have a feud with Don Car-
los’ vaqueros, who are really guerrillas.
Madeline pledges Stewart to see that
peace is kept.
CHAPTER X.—Madeline and Florence,
turning home from Alfred's ranch, run
to an ambush of vaqueros. Florence,
owing the Mexicans are after Made-
line, decoys them away, and Madeline
gets home safely but alone,
CHAPTER XI.—A raiding guerrilla
d carries off Madeline. Stewart fol-
s alone. The leader is a man with
whom Stewart had served in Mexico. He
releases the girl, arranging for ransom.
Returning home with Stewart; Madeline
finds herself strangely stirred.
CHAPTER XII. — Madeline's sister
Helen, with a party of eastern friends,
arrives at the ranch, craving excitement.
CHAPTER XIII.—For the guests’ enter-
talnment a game of golf is arranged.
Stewart Interrupts the game, insisting
the whole party return at once to the
house. He tells Madeline her guests are
not safe while the Mexican revolution is
going on, and urges them to go up to
the mountains out of danger. They de-
cide to do so.
CHAPTER XIV.—The guerrillas leave
uring the night, without making trouble.
Madeline and her guests, with the cow-
boys, go up to the mountains.
CHAPTER XV.—Edith Wayne pleads
with Madeline to return to the East, but
she refuses.
CHAPTER XVI.—Wandering in the
mountains, Madeline sees Stewart with
the girl Bonita, and comes to the worst
conclusions. At camp Stewart offers to
explain. Madeline will not listen. Stew-
in a rage, starts to leave camp. Nels
brings news that Don Carlos and his
followers are coming.
CHAPTER XVII.—The women are con-
cealed, and the approach of the guerril-
las awaited. They come, blustering, but
Stewart's determined attitude cows them,
and they leave hastily. The party at once
begins its return to the ranch.
The Sheriff of EI Cajon.
About the middle of the forenoon
of that day Madeline reached the
ranch. Her guests had all arrived
there late the night hefore, and want-
ed only her presence and the assur-
ance of her well-being to consider the
last of the camping trip a rare adven-
ture. They reported an arduous ride
down the mountain, with only one in-
cldent to lend excitement. On the
descent they had fallen in with Sher-
1¥ Hawe and several of his deputies,
who were considerably under the in-
fence of drink and very greatly en-
gaged by the escape of the Mexican
¢4 Bonita. Hawe had used insult-
fag language to the ladies and, ac-
@oeding to Ambrose, would have in-
@mmvenienced the party on some pre-
tat or other if he had not been
@arply silenced by the cowboys.
Madeline's guests were two days in
recovering from the hard ride. On
the third day ‘they leisurely began to
prepare for departure. This period
was doubly trying for Madeline. Her
sister and friends were kindly and
earnestly persistent in their entreaties
that she go back East with them. She
desired to go. It was not going that
mattered; it was how and when and
under what circumstances she was to
return that roused in her disturbing
emotion. Before she went Hast she
wanted to have fixed in mind her fu-
ture relation to the ranch and the
West. When the crucial hour. arrived
she found that the West had not
claimed her yet. These old friends
had warmed cold ties.
It turned out, ho wer, that there
need be no hurry aboe? making the
decision. Madeline would have wel-
comed any excuse to procrastinate;
but, as it happened, a letter from Al-
rred made her departure out of the
question for the present. He wrote
that bis trip to California had been
very profitable, that he had a proposi-
tion for Madeline from a large cattie
company, and, particularly, that he
wanted to marry Florence soon after
his arrival home and would bring a
minister from Douglas for that pur-
pose. : :
Madeline went so far, however, 4s
to promise Helen and her friends that
she would go East soon, at the very
latest by Thanksgiving. With that
promise they were reluctantly content
to say goodby to the ranch and to her.
Helen's eyes had a sweet, grave,
yet mocking light as she said: “Maj
esty, bring Stewart with you when you
come. He'll be the rage.”
Madeline treated the remark with
the same merry lightness with which
it was received by the others; but
after the train had pulled out and she
was on her way home she remembered
Helen’s words and looks with some-
thing almost amounting to a shock.
Any mention of Stewart, any thought
of him, displeased her.
“What did Helen mean?’ mused
Madeline. And she pondered. That
mocking light in Helen's eyes had
been simply an ironical glint, a cyn-
ical gleam from that worldly experi-
ence so suspicious and tolerant in its
wisdom. The sweet gravity of Helen's
look had been a deeper and more sub-
tle thing. Madeline wanted to under-
stand it, to divine In it a new reia-
tion between Helen and herself, some-
thing fine and sisterly that might lead
to love. The thought, however, re-
volving around a strange suggestion
of Stewart, was poisoned at its incep-
tion, and she dismissed it.
Upon the drive in to the ranch, as
she was passing the lower lake, she
saw Stewart walking listlessly along
the shore. When he became aware
of the approach of the car he sudden-
ly awakened from his aimless saunter-
ing and disappeared quickly in the
shade of the shrubbery. This was not
by any means the first time Madeline
had seen him avoid a possible meeting
with Her.
pained her, though affording her a
relief. She did not want to meet him
face to face.
It was annoying for her to guess
that Stillwell had something to say in
Stewart’s defense. The old cattleman
was evidently distressed. Several
times he had tried to open a conversa-
tion with Madeline relating to Stew-
art; she had evaded him until the last
time, when his persistence had brought |.
a cold and final refusal to hear an
other word about the foreman. Still-
well had been crushed.
As days passed Stewart remained at
the ranch without his old faithfulness
to his work. Madeline was not moved
to a kinder frame of mind to see him
wandering dejectedly around. It hurt
her, and because it hurt her she grew
all the harder.
A telegram from Douglas, heralding
the coming of Alfred and a minister,
put an end to Madeline's brooding, and
she shared something of Florence
Kingsley's excitement. The cowboys
‘were as eager and gossipy as girls.
It was arranged to have the wedding
ceremony performed in Madeline's
great hall-chamber, and the dinner in
the cool, flower-scented patio.
Alfred and his minister arrived at
the ranch in the big white car. They
appeared considerably wind-blown. In
fact, the minister was breathless, al-
most sightless, and certainly hatless.
Alfred, used as he was fo wind and
speed, remarked that he did not won-
der at Nels’ aversion to riding a fleet
ing cannon-ball. The imperturbable
Link took off his cap and goggles and,
consulting his watch, made. his usual
apologetic report to Madeline, ‘deplor:
ing the fact that a teamster and a few
stray cattle on the road had held him
down to the manana time of only a
mile a minute.
Arrangements for the wedding
brought Alfred’s delighted approval.
When he had learned all Florence and
Madeline would tell him he expressed
a desire to have the cowboys attend;
and then he went on to talk about
California, where he was going to take
Florence on a short trip.
On the following day Alfred and
Florence were married. Florence's
sister and several friends from KEI
Cajon were present, besides Madeline,
Stillwell, and his men. It was Alfred's
express wish that Stewart attend the
ceremony. Madeline was amused
when she noticed the painfully sup-
pressed excitement of the cowboys.
For them a wedding must have been
an unusual and impressive event. She
began to have a better understanding
of the nature of it when they cast off
restraint and pressed forward to kiss
the bride. In all her life Madeline
had never seen a bride kissed so much
and so heartily, nor one so flushed
and disheveled and bappy. This In-
deed was .a joyful occasion.
The dinner began quietly enough,
with the cowboys divided between em-
barrassment and voracious appetites
Somehow the act had |
that they evidently feared to indulge.
Wine. however, loosened their tongues,
.and when Stillwell got up to make the
speech everyhody seemed to expect of
him they greeted him with a roar.
Stiliwell was now one huge, moun-
tainous smile. He was so happy that
I»e appeared on the verge of tears. He
rambled on ecstatically till he came
to raise his glass.
An’ now, girls an’ hoys, let’s at}
drink to the bride an’ groom; to their
sincere an’ lastin’ love; to their hap-
piness an’ prosperity; to their good
health an’ long life. Let’s drink to
the unitin’ of the Bast with the West.
No man full of red blood an’ the reai
breath of life could resist a Western
girl an’ a good hoss an’ God's free
hand—that open country out there.
So we claim Al Hammond. an’ may
we be true to him. An’, friends, I
ink {t fittin’ that we drink to h%
sister an’ to our hopes. Heah’s to the
lady we hope to make our Majesty!
Heah's to the man who'll come ridin’
out of the West, a fine, big-heartes
man with a fast hoss an’ a strong
rope, an’ may he win an’ hold her!
come, friends, drink.”
A heavy pound of horses’ hoofs ana
a yell outside arrested Stillwell's
voice and halted his hand in midair.
The patio became as silent as an
unoccupied room,
Through the open doors and win-
dows of Madeline’s chamber burst tie
sounds of horses stamping to a halt,
then harsh speech of men, and a low
cry of a woman in pain.
Rapid steps crossed the porch, en-
tered Madeline’s room. Nels appeared
in the doorway. Madeline was sur-
. i
He Was So Happy That He Appeared '
on the Verge of Tears.
prised to see that he had not been
at the dinner-table. She was dis-
turbed at sight of his face.
“Stewart, you're wanted outdoors,”
called Nels, bluntly. “Monty, you
slope out here with me. You, Nick,
an’ Stillwell—I reckon the rest of you
hed better shut the dors an’ stay in-
Nels disappeared. Quick as a cat
Monty glided out. Madeline heard
his soft, swift steps pass from her
room into her office. He had left his
guns there. Madeline trembled. She
saw Stewart get up quietly and with-
out any change of expression on his
dark, sad face leave the patio. Nick
Steele followed him. Stillwell dropped
his wine-glass. As it broke, shivering
the silence, hig huge smile vanished.
His face set Into the old cragginess
and the red slowly thickened into
black. Stillwell went out and closed
the door behind him.
Then there was a blank silence. The
enjoyment of the moment had been:
rudely disrupted. Madeline gldnced
down the lines of brown faces to see
the pleasure fade into the old familiar
. “What's wrong?’ asked Alfred, rath-
er stupidly. The change of mood had
been too rapid for him. Suddenly
he awakened, thoroughly aroused at
the interruption. “I'm going to see
who's butted in here to spoil our din-
ner,” he sald, and strode out.
He returned before any one at the
table had spoken or moved, and now
the dull red of anger mottled his fore
“It's the sheriff of El Cajon!” he
exclaimed, contemptuously. “Pat
Hawe with some of his touch dep-
uties come to arrest Gene Stewart.
They've got that poor little Mexican
girl out there tied on a horse. Con-
found that sheriff!”
Madeline calmly rose from the table,
eluding Florence's retreating hand,
and started for the door. The cow-
boys jumped up. Alfred barred her
progress. va
“Alfred, I am going out,” she said.
“No, I guess not,” . he replied.
“That's no place for you. Maybe
there’ll be a fight. You can do noth-
ing. You must not go.”
“Perhaps I can prevent trouble”
she replied.
As she left the patio she was aware
that Alfred, with Florence at his sde
and the cowboys behind, were start-
ing to follow her. When she got out
of her room upon the porch she heard
several men in loud, angry discussion.
Then, at sight of Bonita helplessly
.and cruelly bound upon a horse, pale
and disheveled and suffering, Made-
line experienced: the thrill that sight
or mention of this girl always: gave
breast—that live pain which ‘so
shamed her. -But almost instantly, as
a second glance showed an agony in
Bonita’s face, her bruised arms where
the rope bit deep into the flesh, her
It ylelded to.a hot pang in her |
little brown hands stained with blood,
Madeline was overcome by pity for
the unfortunate girl and a woman's
righteous passion at such barbarous
treatment of one of her own sex.
The man holding the bridle of the
herse on which Bonita had been bound
was at once recognized by Madeline
as the big-bodied, bullet-headed guer-
rilla who had found the basket of wine
in the spring at camp. Redder of
face. blacker of beard, coarser of as-
pect. evidently under the influence of
liguor, he was as fierce-looking as a
gorilla and as repulsive. Besides him
there were three cther men present.
all mounted on weary horses. The
one in the foreground. gaunt, sharp-
featured, red-eved, with a pointed
heard, she recognized as the sheriff of
E! Cajon.
Stillwell saw Madeline. and. throw.
ing up his hands, roared to be heard
This quieted the gesticulating, quar
reling men.
“Wal now, Pat Howe, what’s drivin
you like a locoed steer on the ram-
page?” demanded Stillwell.
“Keep in the traces, Bill,” repiled
Hawe. “You savvy what I come fer.
I've been bidin' my time. But I'm
ready now. I'm hyar to arrest a crim-
The huge frame of the old cattle
man jerked as if he had been stabbed.
His face turned purple.
“What criminal?”
The sheriff flicked his quirt against
his dirty boot, and he twisted his thin
lips into a leer.
“Why, Bill, 1 knowed you hed a no-
good outfit ridin’ this range; but I
wasn’t wise thet you hed more’n one
“Cut that talk! Which cowboy are
you wantin’ to arrest?”
Hawe’s manner altered.
“Gene Stewart,” he replied, curtly.
“On what charge?”
“Fer killin’ a Greaser one night last
“So you're still harpin’ on that?
Pat, you're on the wrong trail. You
can't lay that killin’ onto Stewart.
The -thing’s ancient by now. But if
you insist on bringin’ him to court, let
the. arrest go today—we're havin’
some fiesta hyar—an’ I'll fetch Gene
in to El Cajon.”
“Nope. I reckon I'll take him when
I got the chance, before he slopes.”
“I'm givin’ you my word,” thun-
dered Stillwell.
“l reckon I don’t hev to take your
word, Bill, or anybody else's.”
Stillwell’s great bulk quivered with
his rage, yet he made a successful ef-
fort to control it.
“See hyar, Pat Hawe, I know what's
reasonable. Law is law. But in this
country there always has been an’ is
now a safe an’ sane way to proceed
with the law. Mebbe you've forgot
that. I'm a-goin’ to give you a hunch.
Pat, you're not overliked ‘in these
parts. You've rid too much with a
high hand. Some of your deals hev
been shady, an’ don’t you overlook
what I'm sayin’. But you're the sher-
iff, an’ I'm respectin’ your office. I'm
respectin’ it this much. If the milk
of human decency is so soured in your
breast that you can’t hev a kind feel-
in’, then try to aveid the onpleasant-
ness that'll result from any contrary
move on your part today. Do you get
that hunch?”
“Stillwell, you're threatenin’ an of-
ficer,” replied Hawe, angrily. “I come
to arrest him, an’ I'm goin’ to.”
“So that's your game!” shouted
Stillwell. “We-all are glad to get you
straight, Pat. Now listen, you cheap,
red-eyed coyote of a sheriff! You don’t
care how many enemies you make.
You know you'll never get office again
in this county. What do you care
he shouted,
now? It's amazin’ strange how earn-
est you are to hunt down the man who
killed that particular Greaser. 1
reckon there's been. some dozen - ot
more killin’s of Greasers in the last
‘year. Why don’t you take to trailin’
some of them killin’s? I'll tell you
why. You're afraid to go near the
border. An’ your hate of Gene Stew-
art makes you want to hound him an’
put him where he’s never been yet—
in jail. You want to spite his friends.
Wal, listen, you lean-jawed, skunk-
bitten coyote! Go ahead an’ ry to
arrest him!”
Stillwell took one mighty stride off
the porch. His last words had been
cold. His rage appeared to have been
“Senor Gene!” She Moaned. “Help
Me! | So Seek.”
transferred to Hawe. The sheriff
had begun to' stuttér sand shake a
lanky red hand at the cattleman when
Stewart stepped out.
“Here, you fellows,
chance to say a word.”
give me a
a ———————————————
As Stewart appeared the Mexican
girl suddenly seemed vitalized out of
her stupor. She strained at her bonds.
as if to lift her hands beseechingly.
A flush animated her haggard face,
and her big eyes lighted.
“Senor Gene!” she mvaned. “Help
me! 1 so seek. They beat me, rope
me, ‘mos’ keel me. Oh, help me, Senor
“Shut up, er I'll gag vou,” said the
man who held Bonita’s horse,
“Muzzle her, Sneed, if she blabs
again,” called Hawe.
Madeline felt something tense aud
strained working in the short silence
Was it only a phase of her thrilling
excitement? Her swift glance showed
the faces of Ne!s and Monty and Nick
te be brooding, cold, watchful. She
wondered why Stewart did not look
toward Bonita. He. too, was now
dark-faced, cool, quiet, with something
ominous about him.
“Hawe, I'll submit to arrest without
any fuss,” he said, slowly, “if youl
take the ropes off that girl.”
“Nope,” replied the sheriff. “She
got away from me onct. She’s hawg-
tied now, an’ she'll stay hawg-tiea."
Madeline thought she saw Stewart
give a slight start. But an unaccount-
able dimness came over ner eyes, &t
brief intervals . obscuring her keen
“All right, let’s hurry out of here.”
said Stewart. “You've made annoy-
ance enough. Ride down to the cor
ral with me. I'll get my horse and go
with you.”
“Hold on!” yelled Hawe, as Stewart
turned away. “Not so fast. Who's
doin’ this? You'll ride one of iny
pack-horses, an’ you'll go in irons.”
“You want to handcuff me?” queried
Stewart, with sudden swift start of
“Want to? Haw, haw! Nope, Stew-
art, thet jest my way with hoss-
thieves, raiders Greasers, murderers,
an’ sich. See hyar, you Sneed, git off
an’ put the irons on this man.”
The guerrilla called Sneed slid off
his horse and began to fumble in his
Stillwell was gazing at Stewart in a
kind of imploring amaze.
“Gene, you ain’t goin’ to stand fer
them handcuffs?” he pleaded.
“Yes,” replied the cowboy. “Bill,
old friend, I'm an outsider here.
There’s no call for Miss Hammond and
—and her brother and Florence to be
worried further about me. Their
happy day has already been spoiled
on my account. I want to get out
“Wal, you might be too d—n consid-
erate of Miss Hammond's sensitive
feelin’s.” There was now no trace of
the courteous, kindly old rancher. He
looked harder than stone. “How about
my feelin’s? I waut to know if you're
goin’ to let this sneakin’ coyote, this
last gasp of the old rum-guzzlin’
frontier sheriffs, put you in irons an’
hawg-tie you an’ drive you jail?”
“Yes,” replied Stewart, steadily.
“Wal, by Gawd! You, Gene Stew-
art! What's come over you? Why,
man, go in the house, an’ I'll 'tend to
this feller. Then tomorrow you can
ride in an’ give yourself up like a
“No. I'll go. Thanks, Bill, for the
way you and the boys would stick to
me. Hurry, Hawe, before my mind
His voice broke at last, betraying
the wonderful control he had kept over
his passions. As he ceased speaking he
seemed suddenly to become spiritless.
He dropped his head. :
When the man Sneed came forward,
jingling the iron fetters, Madeline's
blood turned to fire. She would have
forgiven Stewart then for lapsing into
the kind of cowboy it had been her
blind - and sickly - sentiment to abhor.
This was a man’s West—a man’s game.
At that moment, with her blood hot and
racing, she would have gloried in the
violence which she had so deplored:
she would have welcomed the action
that had characterized Stewart's treat-
ment of Don Carlos; she had in her
the sudden dawning temper of a wom-
an who had been assimilating the life
and nature around her and who would
not have turned her eyes away from
a harsh and bloody deed. ;
But Stewart held forth his hands t:
be manacled. Then Madeline heard
her own voice burst out in a ringing,
imperious “Wait!”
Sneed dropped the manacles. Stew-
art's face took on a chalky whiteness.
Hawe, in a slow, stupid embarrass
ment beyond his control, removed his
sombrero in a respect that seemed
wrenched from him.
“Mr. Hawe, I can prove to you that
Stewart was not concerned in any way
whatever with the crime for which you
vant to arrest him.”
The sheriff's stare underwent a blink-
ng change. He coughed, stammered,
ind tried to speak. Manifestly, he had
seen thrown completely off his bal-
J:.ance. Astonishment slowly merged
nto discomfiture.
“It was absolutely impossible for
stewart to have been connected with
that assault,” went on Madeline, swift-
y, “for he was with me in the waiting
room of the station at the moment the
1ssault was made outside. The door
was open. I heard the voices of quar-
reling men. The language was
Spanish. I heard a woman's voice
mingling with the others. It, too, was
Bpanish, and I could not understand.
But the tone was beseeching. Then I
heard footsteps on the gravel. Just
putside the door then there were
hoarse, furious voices, a scaffle, a muf-
filed shot, a woman's cry, the thud of a
falling body, and rapid footsteps of a
man running away. Next, the girl
Bonita staggered into the door. She
was white, trembling, terror-stricken.
She recognized Stewart, appealed to
him. Stewart supported her and en-
deavored to calm her. He asked her
if Danny Mains had been shot, or if
he had done the shooting. The gir}
said no. She told Stewart that she had
danced a little, flirted a little with
vaqueros, and they had quarreled over
her. Then Stewart took her outside
and put her upon his horse. I saw tlie
girl ride that horse down the street to
disappear in the darkness.”
While Madeline spoke another change
appeared to be working in the man
Hawe. His sharp features fixed in an
axpression of craft.
“Thet's mighty interestin’, Miss Ham-
wond, 'most as Interestin’ as a story
book,” he said. “Now, since you're sc
obligin’ a witness, I'd sure like to put
a question or two. What time did you
arrive at El Cajon thet night?”
“It was after eleven o’clock,” replied
“Nohody there to meet you?”
“The station agent an’ operator bath
“How soon did this feller Stewart
snow up?’ Hawe continued, with »
wry smile.
“Very soon after my arrival. I think
—perhaps fifteen minutes, possibly =
iittle more.”
*“An’ what time was the Greaser
shot?” queried Hawe, with his little
eyes gleaming like coals.
“Probably close to half past one. It
was two o'clock when I looked at my
watch at Florence Kingsley’s house.
Directly after Stewart sent Bonita
away he took me to Miss Kingsley's.
So, allowing for the walk and a few
minutes conversation with her, I can
pretty definitely say the shooting took
place at about half past one.”
Stillwell heaved his big frame a step
closer to the sheriff,
“What 're you drivin’ at?” he roared,
his face black again.
“Evidence,” snapped Hawe.
Madeline marveled at this interrup-
tion; and as Stewart irresistibly drew
her glance she saw him gray-faced as
ashes, shaking, utterly unnerved.
“lI thank you, Miss Hammond,” he
said, huskily. “But you needn't answer
any more of Hawe’s questions. ‘He's—
he’s— It’s not necessary. I'll go with
him now, under arrest. Bonita will}
corroborate your testimony in court,
and that will save me from this—this
man’s spite.”
Madeline, looking at Stewart, seeing
a humility she at first took for cow-
ardice, suddenly divined that it was not
fear for himself which made him dread
further disclosures of that night, but
fear for her—fear of shame she might
suffer through him.
Pat Hawe cocked his head to one
side, like a vulture about to strike with
his beak, and cunningly eved Madeline.
“Considered as testimony, what
you've said is sure important an’ con-
clusive. But I'm calculatin’ thet the
court will want to hev explained why
you stayed from eleven-thirty till one-
thirty in thet waitin’ room alone with
His deliberate speech met with what
Madeline imagined a remarkable re-
ception from Stewart, who gave a tiger-
ish start; from Stillwell, whose big
hands tore at the neck of his shirt, as
if he was choking; from Alfred, who
now strode hotly forward, to be
stopped by the cold and silent Nels;
from Monty Price, who uttered a vio-
lent “Aw!” which was both a hiss and
a roar.
In the rush of her thought Madeline
could not interpret the meaning of
these things which seemed so strange
at that moment.. But they were por-
tentous. Even as she was forming a
reply to Hawe's speech she felt a chilt
creep over her.
“Stewart detained me in the walt-
Ing room,” she sald, clear-voiced as a
bell. “But we were not alone—all the
For a moment the only sound follow-
ing her words was a gasp from Stew-
art. Hawe’s face became transformed
with a hideous amaze and joy.
“Detained?” he whispered, craning
his lean and corded neck. “How's
thet?” :
“Stewart was drunk. He—"
With sudden passionate gesture of
despair Stewart appealed to her:
“Oh, Miss Hammond, don’t! don't!
dont?! . . .»
Then he seemed to sink down, head
lowered upon his breast, in utter
shame. Stillwell’s great hand swept to
the bowed shoulder, and he turned to
“Miss Majesty, I reckon you'd be
wise to tell all,” sald the old castle
man, gravely. “There ain't one of us
who could misunderstand any motive
or act of yours. Mebbe a stroke of
lightnin’ might clear this murky air.
Whatever Gene Stewart did that on-
lucky night—you tell it.”
(To be continued).
Superintendents ‘to Meet at State
The annual gathering of public
school superintendents of the State,
held in connection with the summer
session of The Pennsylvania State
College, will take place this year dur-
ing the week of August 6 to 11. Ac-
cording to dean Will Grant Chambers,
of the college school of education, a
greater attendance than ‘ever before
is anticipated. There were 150 at the
conference last year.
State Superintendent A. S. Cook, of
Maryland, and Dr. Lee L. Driver,
head of the bureau of rural education
of the Pennsylvania State Department
of Public Instruction, will lead the
conference and discussions, while Dr.
S. Parkes Cadman, of Brooklyn, noted
publicist and lecturer, will give a se-
ries of lectures during the week. Oth-
er members of the State Department
of Public Instruction will discuss
phases of school administration of in-
terest to the superintendents. A con-
ference for attendance officers under
the direction ‘of W. S. Denison, director
of the Atteridance Bureau of the State
Department, will also be held during
the same week.