6 HE'S GOING TO. lie hasn't <1on« much as yt, In fact, hi' hasn't h.id a chance— He's really tring hard to get In a position to advance; lie knows he ought to bo to school, 'Twould be the lo st thing he could do— But wait awhile and just keep cool— lie's going to. He knows his ways arc hardly right; In truth, they cause him some regret. He's going to drop the boys to-night, lie's making his last cigarette; lie knows he ought to be a man. He'd be much better so, that's true; But don't get hasty with your plan— He's going to. Week follow.? week, time onward files; Month follows month, the spring is gone The seasons change and summer dies. While chilly autumn passes on. The year is growing late and chill. There's much our old friend ought to do, But wait awhile and just keep still— He's going to. At last—ah, you can guess the last, 'Tis such as you have heard before; The somber autumn long since passed, The heavy winter well nigh o'er. His sun of life is nearly set, His years, perlnips his days, are few; He ought to mend, but don't you fret, He's going to. '—Floyd I>. ltaze in Chicago Inter-Ocean. D'ri and I By IRVING BACHELLER Author of ' Eb*n Holden." "Darrel of the Blessed Isles," Etc. Cw* M I 4Copyright, 1901, by I Rapides du Plats or the wild footed Galloup, two troops of water hurrying to the mighty battles of the sea. We mounted reeling knolls, and ■coasted over whirling dips, and rushed to boiling levels, and jumped foamy ridges, and went galloping in the rush and tumble of long slopes. "Let 'er rip!" 1 could hear D'ri shout ing. once in a while, as he flashed up ahead of me. "Let 'er rip! Consarn 'er pictur'!" He gave a great yell of triumph as we slowed in ;i long stretch of still, broad water. "Judas Priest!" said he, as I came alongside, "thet air 's rougher 'n the bog trail." We came to Paleyville frith time only for a bite of luncheon before dark. We could see no sign of life on the is land or the "Canuck shore" as we turned our bows to the south channel. That everting the innkeeper sat with tts under a creaking sign, our chairs tilted to the tavern-side. I) ri was making a moose-horn of birch-bark as he smoked thoughtfully. When he had finished, lie raised it to bis lips and moved the flaring end in a wide circle as he blew a blast that rang miles away in the far forest. "Ef we heppeti t' git separated in any way, shape er manner 'cept one," said be, as he slung it over his shoulder wich a string, "yo 'll know ptirty nigh where 1 be when ye hear thet air thing " Vou said, 'iti any way, shape er manner 'cepl one,' " I quoted. "What do you mean by that?" My friend expectorated, looking off into the night soberly a moment. "Guess 1 did n't. mean nuthin'," said lie, presently. "When I set out t' say suthin', don't never know where 1 'm goin' t' land. (Jood deal luk settin' .sail without a compass. Thet 's one reason 1 don't never say much 'fore women." Our good host hurried the lagging hours with many a tale of the river and that island we were soon to visit, once the refuge of Tadusac, the old river pirate, so he told us. with a cave now haunted by some ghost. W r e start i r| for the shore near ten o'clock, the innkeeper leading tts with a lantern, its li-'ht flickering in a west wind. The i. / was cloudy, the night dark. Our 3io:;l. lent us the lantern, kindly offer ing i » build a bonfi'e on the beach at 11, to light us home. "Careful, boys," «aid the innkeeper, as we go! aboard. "Aim straight fer th' head o' th' island. Can't ye see it —right ever yer heads there? 'Mem ber, they 's awful rough water below." We pushed off, D'ri leading. I could see nothing of the island, but D'ri had better eyes, and kept calling me as he went ahead. After a few strokes of the padtile 1 could see on the dark sky the darker mass of tree-tops. "Better light up," I suggested. We were now close in. "Hush!" he hissed. Then, as I came up to him, he went on, whispering: " 'T ain't bes' t' mek no noise here. Don' know none tew much 'bout this here business. Do a' cai'late we 're goin't' hev any trouble, but if we dew —Hark!" We had both heard a stir in the bushes, and stuck our paddles in the sand, listening. After a little silence I heard D'ri get up and step stealthily into the water and buckle on his sword. Then I could hear him sinking tlie canoe and shoving her anchor deep into the sand. He did it with no noise that, 50 feet away, could have been distinguished from that of the ever murmurir.g waters. In a moment he came and h?ld my canoe, while I also took up my trusty blade, stepping out of the canoe into the shallow water. Then he shoved her off a little, and sank her beside the other. I knew not his purpose, and made no question of it, following him as he strode the shore with measured paces, the lan tern upon his arm. Then presently lie stuck his paddle into the bushes, and mine beside it. We were near the head of the island, walking on a reedy strip of soft earth at tile river margin. After a few paces we halted to listen, but heard only the voice of the water and the murmur of pines. Then we pushed through a thicket of small fir trees to where we groped along in utter darkness among the big tree trunks on a muffle-footing. After a moment or so we got a spray of light. We halted, peering at the glow that, now sprinkled out through many a pinhole aperture in a fairy lattice of piue needles. My heart was beating loudly, for there was the promised lantern. Was I not soon to see the brighter light of those dear faces? It was all the kind of thing I enjoyed then —the atmos phere of peril and romance —wild youth that I was. It is a pity, God knows, I had so little consideration for old D'ri; but he loved me, and —well, he himself had some pleasure in excitement. We halted for only a moment, pushing boldly through a thicket of young pines into the light. A lantern hung on the boiu;h of a tall tree, and beneath it was a wide opening well carpeted with moss and needles. We peered oil into the gloom, but saw nothing. D'ri blew out a thoughtful breath, looking up into the air coolly, as he filled his pipe. "Consarned if ever I wanted t' have a smoke s' bad 'n all my born days," he remarked. Then he moved his holster, turned his scabbard, and sat down quietly, puffing his pipe with some look of weariness and reflection. We were sit ting there less than five minutes when we heard a footfall near by; then sud denly two men strode up to us in the dim light. 1 recognized at once the easy step, the long, lithe figure, of his lordship in the dress of a citizen, sav ing sword and pistols. "All, good evening, gentlemen," said he, quietly. "How are you?" "Better than —than when we saw you last," 1 answered. D'ri had not moved; he looked at me with a sympathetic smile. "1 presume," said his lordship, in that familiar, lazy tone, as he lighted a cigar, " there was—ah—good room for improvement, was there not?" "Abundant," said I. thoughtfully. "You were not in the best of health yourself that evening." "True," said he; "I —I was in bad fettle and worse luck." "How are the ladies?" "Quite well," said he, blowing a long puff. "Ready to deliver them?" I in quired. "Presently," said he. "There are— some formalities." "Which are—?" I added quickly. "A trifle of expenses and a condi tion," said he, lazily. "How much, and what?" I inquired, as D'ri turned his ear. "One thousand pounds." said his lordship, quickly. "Not a penny more than this matter has cost me and his majesty." "What, else?" said I. "This man,"he answered calmly, with a Utile gesture aimed at D'ri. My friend rose, struck his palm with the pipe-bowl, and put up his knife. "Kf ye 're goin' t' tek me," said he, "better begin right off, er ye won't hev time 'fore breakfust." Then he clapped the moose-horn to his lips and blew a mighty blast. It made the two men jump and set the near thicket reeling. The weird bary tone went off moaning in the far wastes of timber. Its rush of echoes had begun. I put my hand to my sabre, for there in the edge of the gloom I saw a thing that stirred me to the marrow. The low firs were moving toward us, root and branch, their twigs falling. Cods of war! it made my hair stand for a jiffy to see the very brush take feet and legs. On sea or land I never saw a thing that gave me so odd a feeling. We stood for a breath or two, then started back, our sabres flashing: for, as the twigs fell, we saw they had been decorating a squad of Hie British. They came on. I struck at the lantern, but too late, for his lordship had swung it away. He stumbled, going to his knees; the lantern hit the earth and went out. I had seen the squad break, running each way, to surround us. D'ri grabbed my hand as the dark fell, and we went plunging through the little pines, hit ting a man heavily, who fell grunting. We had begun to hear the rattle of CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, APRIL 20, 1905 boats, a shouting, and quick steps on the shore. We crouched a moment. D'ri blew the moose-horn, pulling me aside with him quickly after the blast. Lights were now flashing near. I could see little hope for us, and D'ri. 1 thought, had gone crazy. He ran at the onconurs. yelling, "Hey Rube!" at, (he top of his lungs. I lay low in the brush a moment. They rushed by me, D'ri in the fore with fending sabre. A lawny hound was running in the lead, bis nose down, baying loudly. Then I saw the truth, and made after them with all the speed of my legs. They hustled over the ridge, their lights flashing under. For a jiffv I eonld see only, here and there, a leaping glow in the tree-tops. I rushed on, passing one who had tumbled headlong. The lights below me scattered quickly and stopped. I heard a great yelling, a roar of muskets, and a clash of swords. A hush fell on them as I came near. Then I heard a voice that thrilled me. "Your sword, sir!" it commanded. "Stop," said I, sharply, coming near. There stood my father in the lantern light, his sword drawn, his gray hair stirring in the breeze. Before him was my old adversary, his lordship, sword in hand. Near by the squad of THERM STOOD JIV FATIIEIt IN THE LANTERN LIGHT, HIS SWORD DRAWN. British, now surrounded, were giving up their anus. They had backed to the liver's edge; 1 could hear it lap ping their heels. His lordship sneered, looking at the veteran who stood in a gray frock of homespun, for all the world, 1 fancy, like one of those old yeomen who lought with Cromwell. "Your sword, sir," my father re peated. "Pardon me," said the young man, with a fascinating coolness of man ner, "but I shall have to trouble you—" He hesitated, feeling his blade. "How?" said my father. "To fight for it," said his lordship, quietly. "Surrender—fool!" my father an swered. "You cannot escape." "Tut, tut!" said his lordship. "I never heaid so poor a compliment. Come in reach, and 1 shall make you think better of me." "Give up your sword." "After my life, then my sword," said he, with a quick thrust. Before 1 could take a step, their swords were clashing in deadly com bat. I rushed up to break in upon them, but the air was full of steel, and then my father needed no help. He was driving his man with fiery vigor. I had never seen him fight; all I had seen of his power had been mere play. It was grand to see the old man fighting as if, for a moment, his youth bad come back to him. I knew it could not go far. His fire would burn out quickly; then the blade of the young Britisher, tireless and quick as I knew it to be, would let his blood before my very eyes. What to do I knew not. Again I came up to them; but my father warned me off hotly. He was fighting with terrific energy. 1 swear to you that in half a minute he had broken the sword of his lordship, who took to the water, swimming for his life, i leaped in, catching him half over the eddy, where we fought like madmen, striking in the air and bump ing on the bottom. We were both near drowned when D'ri swam out and gave me his belt-end, hauling us in. I got to my feet soon. My father came up to me, and wiped a cut on my forehead. "Damn you, my boy!" said he. "Don't ever interfere with me in a matter of that kind. You might have been hurt." We searched tlie island, high and low, for the ladies, but with no suc cess. Then we marched our prisoners to the south channel, where a bateau— the same that brought us help—had been waiting. One of our men had been shot in the shoulder, another gored in the hip with a bayonet and we left a young Briton dying on the shore. We took our prisoners to Paley ville, and locked them overnight in the blockhouse. The channel was lighted by a big bonfire on the south bank, as we came over. Its flames went high, and made a great sloping volcano of light in the darkness. Alter the posting of the guard, some gathered about my father and began to cheer him. It nettled the veteran. He would lake 110 honor for bis defeat of the clever man, claiming the latter had no chance to fight. "He had no foot-room with the boy one side and D'ri t.' other," said he. "I had only to drive him back." My father and the innkeeper and D'ri tnd 1 sat awhile, smoking, in the warm glow of the bonfire. "You're a long-headed man," said I, 1 turning to my comrade. "Kind o' thought they'd be trouble," I said D'ri. "So I tuk 'n ast yer father t* come, over noesbatr with hef a dozen good men. They got three more et the tavern here, an' lay off 'n tIK-t air bateau, waitin' fer the moose caul. 1 eal'lated I did n't want no more slid in' over (here 'll Canady." After a little snicker, he added: "Hed all t' wits good fer me the las' time. 'S a leetle tew swift." "(lets rather scary when you see the bushes walk," I suggested. "Seen wlr.it wtis up 'fore ever they ired a move," said D'ri. "Them air bushes did u't look jest es nat'ral es they 'd orter. Bet ye they 're some o' tl.em bushwhackers o' Fitzgibbon. (Jot loops all over their uniforms, so ye c'u'd stick 'em full o' boughs. Jerushy! never see nut bin's' joemiglit lul ei.r'us 'n all my born days—never." lie stopped a breath, and then added: "Could n't be nut bin' cur'user 'n thet." CHAPTER XXI. We hiied team and wagon of the innkeeper, and a man to paddle up river and return with the horses. I had a brief talk with our tall pris oner while they were making ready. "A word of business, your lord ship," 1 said as he came out, yawning, with the guard. "Ah, well," said he, with a shiver, "I hope it is not so cold as the air." "It is hopeful; it is cheering," was my answer. "And the topic?" "An exchange—for the ladies." He thought a moment., slapping the dust off him with a glove. "This kind of thing is hard on the trousers," he remarked carelessly. "I will consider; I think it could be ar ranged. Meanwhile, I give you my word of honor, you need have no worry." We were off at, daybreak with our prisoners; there were six of them in all. We put a fold of linen over the eyes of each, and roped them all to gether, so that they could sit or stand, a~> might, please them, in the wagon box. "It's barbarity," said his lordship, as we put on the fold. "You Yankees never knew how to treat a prisoner." "Till you learnt us," said D'ri, quick ly. "Could n't. never fergit thet lesson. Ef I hed my way 'bout you, I 'ri haul ye up t' ili' '.op o' Vbet air dead nine over yender, 'n' let ye silde dewr.." "Rather too steep, I should say," said bis lordship, wearily. "Ye would n't need no grease," said D'ri. with a chuckle. We were four days going to the har bor. My father and his men came with us, and lie told us many a tale, that journey, of his adventures in the old war. We kept our promise, turn ing over the prisoners a little before sundown of the 16th. Each was given a great room and every possible com fort. I ai ranged soon for the release of all on the safe return of the ladies. In the evening of the 17th his lord ship sent for me. He was a bit nerv ous, and desired a conference with the general and me. De Chaumont had been over to the headquarters that dav in urgent, counsel, lie was weary of delay and planning an appeal to the French government. Gen. Brown was prepared to give the matter all furtherance in his power and sent quickly for the Englishman. They brought him over at nine o'clock. We uncovered his eyes and locked the door, and "gave him a crack at the old Ma deira," as they used to say, and made him as comfortable as might be at the cheery fireside of the general. "I've been thinking," said his lord ship, after a drink and a word of cour tesy. I never saw a man of better breeding or more courage, I am free to say. "You may not. agree it is possi ble, but anyhow, I have been trying 10 think. You have been decent to me. I don't believe you are such a bad lot, after all; and while I should be sorry to have you think me tired of your hospitality. I desire to hasten our plans a little. I propose an exchange of — of —" He hesitated, whipping the ashes off his cigar. "Well —first of confidence," be went on."1 will take your word if you will take mine." "In what matter?" the general in quired. "That of the ladies and their relief,' said he. "A little confidence will will —" "Grease the wheels of progress?" the general suggested, smiling. "Quite so," he answered lazily. "Tc begin with, they are not 30 miles away, if I am correct in my judgment of this locality." There was a moment of silence. "My dear sir," he went on presently, "this ground is quite familiar to me. I slept in this very chamber long ago. But that is not here nor there. Day after to-morrow, a little before mid night, the ladies will be riding on the shore pike. You could meet, them and bring them out to a schooner, I sup pose—if—" He stopped again, puffing thought fully. "If wo could agree," he went on. "Now this would be my view of it: You let me send a messenger for the ladies. You would have to take them by force somehow; but, you know, I could make it easy—arrange the time and place, 110 house near, no soldiers, no resistance but that of the driver, who should not share our confidence no danger. 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