FRANCIS LYNDE
| ustrations by IRWIN MYERS |
* SEeIIe000000sssseld
Copyright by Chas. Scribner's Sons
CHAPTER XVII.
oe] pe
The Arrow to the Mark.
Smith, concentrating abstractedly, as
his habit was, upon the work in hand,
was still deep in the voucher-auditing
when the office door was opened and
a small shocked volce sald: “Oh,
wooh! how you startled me! I saw
the light, and ¥ supposed, of course, it
was colonel-daddy. Where Is he?”
Smith pushed the papers aside and
fooked up scowling.
“He was here a minute ago,
Stillings. Said he’d be back.
Tome to take him home?”
She nodded and came to sit
<hair at the desk-end, saying:
“Don’t let me interrupt you, please.
I'll be quiet.”
“I don’t mean to let anything inter-
Tupt me until I have finished what I
have undertaken to do; I'm past all
that, now.”
“I have heard about what you did
{ast night.”
“About the newspaper fracas? You
don't approve of anything like that, of
course, Neither did I, once. But
there Is no middle way. You know
what the animal tamers tell us about
the beasts. I've had my taste of blood.
There are a good many men in this
world wha need killing. Crawford
Stanton is one of them, and I'm not
in a
other.”
ing past him with
veiled.
the gray eyes
them put the steam roller over me?" he
demanded irritably. “Is that your
ideal of the perfect man?”
“What I sald, and what I meant,
yonl High Line and its fight for life,”
she said calmly, reealling the wander-
“l was thinking altogether of
man's attitude toward his world.”
one
In soberly. “I've gone a long way
since then, Corona.”
“I know you have.
daddy come back?”
“He'll come soon enough. You're
not afraid to be here alone with me,
are you?”
“No; but anybody might be afraid
of the man you are golng to be.”
His laugh was as mirthless as the
creaking of a rusty hinge.
“You needn't put it in the future
tense. I have already broken with
whatever traditions there were left to
break with. Last night I threatened
to kill Allen, and, perhaps, I should
Why doesn’t
a dog and dragged his wife and chil-
«dren into it.”
she was lookiftg past him.
“And that isn't all. Yesterday Kin-
zie set a trap for me and bated it
with one of his clerks, For a little
while it seemed as If the only way to
spring the trap was for me to go
after the clerk and put a bullet
through him. It wasn't necessary, as
it turned out, but if it had been—" ~
“Oh, you couldn't!” she broke in
quickly. “I can’t believe that of you!”
“You think I couldn't? Let me tell
you of a thing that I have done.
Night before last Verda Richlander
had a wire from a young fellow who
wants to marry her. He had found
out that she was here in Brewster,
and the wire was to tell her that he
was coming In that night on the det
layed ‘Flyer’ She asked me to meet
him and tell him she had gone to bed,
He is a miserable little wretch: a sort
of sham reprobate ;: and she has never
cared for him, except to keep him dan-
gling around with a lot of others. I
told her I wouldn't meet him, and she
knew very well that I couldn't meet
him—and stay out of jall. Are you
listening?”
“I'm trying to.”
“It was the pinch, and I wasn't big
enough-—in your sense of the word—to
meet it. I saw what would happen.
If Tucker Jibbey came here, Stanton
would pounce upon him at snce: and
Jibbey, with a drink or two under his
belt, would tell all he knew, I fought
it all out while I was waiting for the
train. It was Jibbey's effacement, or
the end of the world for me, and for
anyon! High Line.”
} er Baldwin's daughter was net
of those who shriek and faint at the
apparition of horror. But the gray
eyes were dilating and her breath was
coming in little gasps when she sald:
“I ean'’t believe it! You are not go-
ing to tell me that you met this man
as a friend, and then—"
“No; It didn’t quite come to a mur.
der in cold blood, though 1 thought it
might. | had Maxwell's runabout, and
I got Jibbey lato it. He thought T was
‘going to ‘rive him to the hotel, After
wa got ont of rawn he grew susplelous,
3
*
and there was a struggle In the auto
X=1 had to beat him over the head to
make him keep quiet; I thought for
{ the moment that I had killed him, and
I knew, then, just how far 1 had gone
{onthe road I've been traveling ever
since a certain night in the middle of
{last May. The proof was in the way
| I felt; I wasn't either sorry or horror-
| stricken; I was merely relieved to
| think that he wouldn't trouble me, or
| clutter up the world with his worth-
| less presence any longer.”
“But that wasn't your real self!”
| she expostulated. .
“What was it, then?”
{ © “I don't know—I only know that It
wasn't you. But tell me: did he die?”
i No.”
| “What have you done with him?"
| “Do you know the old abandoned
| Wire-Silver mine at Little Butte?”
| “I knew It before it was abandoned,
yes.”
“} was out there one Suaday after.
noon with Starbuck. The mine is bulk-
headed and locked, but one of the keys
on my ring fitted the lock, and Star-
buck, and I went In and stumbled
{around for a while in the dark tun-
nels, I took Jibbey there apd locked
{him up. He's there now.”
{ “Alone in that horrible place~and
i without food?”
“Alone, yes; but I went out yester-
i day and put a basket of food where he
| could get it.”
“What are you golng to do with
him?"
| business,
80; and T'll go, too.”
| She had risen, and at the summing-
ito
lighted street. When she came back
Was very pale.
“When I was in school, our old
psychology professor used to try to tell
{ us about the underman ; the brute that
{down only by reason and the super-
{ man. I never believed it was anything
{more than a fine-spun’ theory—until
inow. But now I know It is true.”
He spread his hands.
“I can't help it, can I?"
| “The man that you are now can't
{help it; no. But the man that you
be—if he would only come
she stopped with a little un-
i controllable shudder and sat down
covering her face with her
}
i
i
i
i could
{ back—""
{ again,
hands.
| “I'm going to turn Jibbey loose
after I'm through.” he vouchsafed.
| She took her hands away and blazed
jup at him suddenly,
1 aflame,
| “Yes! after you are safe; after there
is no longer any risk in it for you!
{ him-—worse for you, I mean.
| you see? It's the very depth of coward-
ly infamy!”
He smiled sourly.
a coward?
everything else but that in the past
{ few days.”
“You are a coward!” she flashed
(back. “You have proved it. You
daren’'t go out to Little Butte tonight
jand get that man and bring him to
| Brewster while there Is yet time for
{him to do whatever it is that you are
i afrald he will do!"
Was it the quintessence of feminine
“You think I'm
i
}
dignation, that told her how to alm
| the armor-plercing arrow? God, who
{alone knows the secret workings of
{the woman heart and brain, can tell.
Jut the arrow sped true and found its
mark. Smith got up stiffly out of the
{ down at her,
| “You think 1 did It for myself?—
| Just to save my own worthless hide?
“You Are a Coward” She Flashed
Back.
I'll show you; show you all the things
that you say are now impossible. Did
you bring the gray roadster?”
8he nodded briefly.
“Your father Is coming back; I hear
the elevator bell. I am going to take
the car, and I don't want to meet him,
Will you say what is needful?”
She nodded again, and he went out
quickly, It was only a few steps down
the corridor to the elevator landing,
and the stair circled the caged élevator
shaft to the ground floor, Smith halt.
ed In the darkened corner of the stair
way long enough to make sure that
the colonel, with Stillings and a wom.
an in an automobile coat and vell-a
woman who figured for him in the
passing glance as Corona’s mother—
got off at the office floor. Then he
ran down to the street level, cranked
[the gray roadster and sprang in to
send the car rocketing westward,
CHAPTER XIX.
A Little Leaven.
The summer-night stars served only
to make the darkness visible along the
road down the Timanyonl river and
across to the mining camp of Red
Butte. Smith twisted the gray road-
ster sharply to the left out of the road,
and four miles from the turn, shut off
the power and got down to continue
his journey afoot. The mine workings
were tunneldriven In the mountain-
side, and a crooked ore track led out
to them, Smith followed the ore track
until he came to the entrance, and to
the lock of a small door framed in
the bulkheading he applied a key.
It was pitch dark beyond the door,
and the silence was like that of the
grave. Smith had brought a candle on
his food-carrying visit of the day be-
fore, and, groping in {ts hiding place
just outside of the door, he found and
lighted it. There was no sign of occu«
pancy save Jibbey's sultcase lying
where it had been flung on the night
of the assisted disappearance.
Smith stumbled forward into the
black depths and the chill of the place
laid hold upon him and shook him
like the premonitory shiver of an ap-
proaching ague. Insensibly he quick-
ened his pace until he was hastening
blindly through a maze of tunnels and
cross driftings, deeper and still deeper
into the bowels of the mountain, Com-
ing suddenly at the last into the cham-
ber of the dripping water, he found
what he was searching for, and again
the ague chill shook him. There were
i no apparent signs of life in the sodden,
| muck-begrimed figure lying in a crum-
pled heap among the water pools,
“Jibbey !" he called: and then again,
{ignoring the unnerving, awe-inspiring
{ echoes rustling like flying bats in the
cavernous overspaces: “Jibbey!"
The sodden heap bestirred (itself
slowly and became a man sitting up
to blink helplessly at the light and
| supporting himself on one hand.
“Is that you, Monty?" sald a volce
| tremulous and broken; and then: “1
jcan see, The light blinds me, Have
{ you come to fi-finish the job?"
i “I have come to take you out of
this; to take you back with me to
| Brewster. Get up and come on.”
The victim of Smith's ruthlessness
struggled stiffly to his feet. Never
by a life of dissipation, the blow on
the head with the pistol butt and the
forty-eight hours of sharp hardship
rand privation had cut deeply into his
| Seanty reserves,
“Did—-did Verda send you to do it?
he queried.
“No; she doesn't know where You
| are. She thinks you stopped over some-
where on your way west. Come along,
if you want to go back with me.”
Jibbey stumbled away a step or two
and flattened himself against the cav-
ern wall. His eyes were still staring
jand his lips were drawn back to show
{ his teeth,
“Hold on a minute,” he jerked out.
jout as easy as that. You've taken
my gun away from me, but I've got
my two hands yet. Stick that candle
in a bole in the wall and look out for
| yourself. I'm telling you, right now,
{that one or the other of us is golug
ito stay here—and stay dead!”
“Don’t be a fool!” Smith broke in.
1 didn’t come here to scrap with you.”
“You'd better—~and you'd better
{make a job of it while you're about
{1t!” shrieked the castaway, lost now
| to everything save the biting sense of
{his wrongs. “You've put It all over
me—knocked my chances with Verda
{ Richlander and shut me up here in this
hell-hole to go mad-dog crazy! If you
{let me get out of here alive I'll pay
you back, If it's the last thing I ever
do! You'll go back to Lawrenceville
with the bracelets on! You'll—" red
rage could go no farther in mere
echoes again with frantic, meaningless
maledictions,
Smith did not strike back ; wrapping
the madman in a pinioning grip, he
held him helpless. When it was over,
and Jibbey had been released, gasping
and sobbing, to stagger back against
the tunnel wall, Smith groped for the
candle and found and relighted it.
“Tucker,” he sald gently, “you are
more of a man than I took you to be
a good bit more. Now that you're giv-
ing me a chance to say it, I can tell
you that Verda Richlander doesn't fig-
ure In this at ail. I'm not going to
marry her, and she didn’t come out
here In the expectation of finding me.”
“Then what does figure in It?" was
the dry-lipped query.
“It was merely a matter of self-pres-
eérvation, There are men in Brewster
who would pay high for the informa-
tion you might give them about me.”
“You might have given me a hint
and a chance, Monty. I'm net all dog.”
“That's all past and gone. I didn't
give you your chance, but I'm going
to give It to you now. Let's go—if
you're fit to try It.”
“Walt a minute, If you think, be
cause you didn’t pull your gun now
add drop me and leave me to rot in
this hole, If you think that squares
the deal"
“I'm not making any conditions”
Smith interposed. “There are n nums
ber of telegraph offices In Brewster,
and for at least two days longer 1
shall always be within easy reach.”
Jibbey's anger flared up once more,
“You think I won't do it? You
think I'll be =o gind to get to some
place where they sell whisky that I'll
forget all about it and let yon off?
Don’t yon make any mistake, Monty
head and lock me up as if I were a yel-
low dog. I'll fix you!”
Smith made no reply.
free arm in
through the
Linking his
mazes, stopping at the
and to pick up Jibbey's suitcase, In
the open alr the freed captive tramped
in sober silence at Smith's heels until
they reached the automobile, At the
bassooning deep-toned among
bowlders, was near at hand, and Jib-
bey spoke for the first time since they
left the mine mouth.
“I'm horribly thirsty, Monty. That
water In the mine had copper or some-
You didn’t know that, did you-—when
you stop the car and let me go and
stick my face in that river?”
The car was brought to a stand and
river bank in the starlight,
some Inner prompting which he did
“If You Think That Squares the Deal.”
not stop to analyze, Smith left his seat
behind the wheel and walked over to
the edge of the embankment where
Jibbey had descended. With the glare
of the roadster’s acetylenes turned the
other way, Smith could see Jibbey at
the foot of the slope lowering himself
face downward on his propped arms to
reach the water, Then, in that Instant
Jibbey, careless in his thirs?® lost his
and went headlong into the
| balance
torrent.
A battling had passed before
Smith, battered, beaten and half-
strangled, succeeded In landing the un-
conscious thirst-quencher on a shely-
ing bank three yards below
the stopped automobile. After that
there was another son in which he
forgot his own brulsings
while he worked desperately over the
drowned man, raising and lowering the
limp arms while he strove to recall
more of the resuscitative
given In the Lawrenceville
club's first-aid drills,
In good time, after an interval
long that it seemed endless to the de
spairing first.alder, the breath came
back into the reluctant lungs. Jibbey
choked, gasped and sat up
His teeth were chattering, and he was
chilled to the bone by the sudden
plunge into the cold snow-water, but
ha was unmistakably alive.
“What-—what happened to me, Mon-
ty?" he shuddered.
“You did, for a fact."
“And you went in after me?”
“Of course.”
“No, by gad!
not by a long shot! All you had to
do was to let me go, and the score—
your score—would have been wiped
out for good and all.
{do It?"
“Because I promised somebody that
I would bring you beck to Brewster
{ tonight, alive and well, and able to
{send a telegram.”
Jibbey tried to get upon his feet,
conidn’'t quite compass it, and sat
down again.
ean
hundred
completely
directions
Athletic
80
coughed,
mumbled, loose-lipped. “You
because you're not so danged tough
and hard-hearted as you thought you
were,” And then: "Give me a lift
Monty, and get me Into the atto. I
guess—I'm about—all in.”
Smith half led, half carried his
charge up to the road. A final heave
lifted him into his place, and It 1s safe
to say that Colonel Dexter Baldwin's
roadster never made better time than
the glow of the Brewster town lights
reddening against the eastern sky.
At the hotel Smith helped his drip
ping passenger out of the car, made a
quick rush with him to an elevator,
and so up to his own rooms on the
fourth floor.
“Strip!” he commanded; “get out of
those wet rags and tumble Into the
bath. Make it as hot as you can stand
it. I'll go down and register you and
have your trunk sent up from the sta-
tion. Yeu have a trunk, haven't you?"
Jibbey fished a soaked card baggage
check out of his pocket and passed
it over, v
“You're as bad off as I am, Monty,”
he protested. “Walt and get some dry
things on before you go.”
“I'l be up again before you're out
of the tub, I suppose you'd like to put
yourself outside of a big drink of
whisky, just about now, but “that's
one thing I won't buy for youn. How
would a pot of hot coffee from the
cafe strike you?
“You could make it baby food and
Td drink it If you sald so.” chattered
the drowned one from the inside of
the wet undershirt he was trying to
pull off over his head,
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
60D FRUITS FOR
i
i
(Prepared Bpecially by the United States
Department of Agriculture.)
The fruits which are so plentiful in
many parts of the country this season
may be saved by preserving as well
a8 by canning. Preserves and simli-
lar products differ from canned fruit
in that much larger proportions of
sugar are used in preparing them, in
that they are cooked longer, and In
that special sterilization in containers
is not necessary in all cases. Because
of this many of these products may
be packed In larg-necked bottles sand
ginsses, and sealed with cork, paraffin,
ete. Tight-sealin may be
saved for cann
or
»
ing.
Jams, marmalades,
differ among themselves In the propor.
tion of sugar used, the degree of cook-
ing employed, and the consistency of
the finished product Though less
economical prepare .than canned
fruit of the relatively large
amounts of sugar used, preserves and
similar preparations ffirnish a variety
in the ways of putting up fruits and
make valuable additions to the winter
ration of sweet foods.
Sirups in Preserving.
When preserves are properly made
the fruit keepy Its form, is plump, ten-
jer, and of good color, the sur
rounding sirup being also clear and of
proper density. In making preserves
the object is to have the fruit per
mented with the sirup and this can be
accomplished only by careful proced-
ure. In order to prevent shrinkage it
Jars thus
Preserves, ete.
to
beciuse
'
CiPAr
thin sirup and Increase its density
slowly by boiling the fruit in the sirup
or by alternately cooking and sallow
ing the product to stand immersed in
the sirup. If at any time the fruit
water,
To make these sirups boll sugar and
water together in the proportion giv-
en below until sugar is dissolved.
Strain all impurities out of the sirup
; before using :
Sirup No. 1—Fourteen ounces sugar
to one gallon water.
* Sirup No. 2
sugar to one gallon water.
Sirup No. 3-—-Three pounds
| ounces sugar to one gallon water.
Sirup No. 4—Five pounds,
ounces sugar to one gallon water.
Sirup No. 5—8ix pounds, 13 ounces
sugar to one gallon water.
If no wseales are avallable, the
amounts of sugar may be approximat-
| ed by measuring, using one pint for
| each pound and ‘16 tablespoonfuls to
| the half-pint. For the recipes which
i follow all measurements are level and
| the standard measuring cup holding
| half-pint 1s used.
| For fruits like peaches, pears, wa-
¥
Cooking —8ince long cooking 1
| Jures the color and flavor of fruits
it Is desirable to cook delicate fruits
such as berries for as short a time
as possible. Cooling rapidly after
| cooking gives preserves a better color
and flavor than ean be secured when
they are packed Standing im-
mersed In sirup cooking also
helps to plump them. If berry pre
| serves are covered for a brief time
before removing from fire and the ves
left covered while the
product will be more plump.
hot.
after
wel cooling,
For cooling, shallow enamel trays
or pans are desirable. Tin {8 not de
sirable because fruits will discolor in
Pack preserves cold, bring the
sirup in which they have stood to boil
test by observing thickness wher
poured Yrom a spoon, and if of proper
density pour over the packed pre
serves, paddling with thin wooden pad-
dle or knife blade to remove all alr
bubbles. If not of the right density
for packing, the sirup must be concen-
| trated by bolling. To seal properly
and to insure safety from mold it is
desirable that all preserves be pro-
cesspd. Tight-sealing jars must be
used, therefore, for these products,
Since they can be sterilized below the
bolling point, processing at simmering
(88 degrees CC.) for 80 minutes is pre-
ferable to boiling, because this tem-
perature will give better color.
1
it.
Te
ng
ing
{ The general directions given may be
‘applied to practically any fruit to
make preserves. For additional con-
venience, however, the following spe-
cific recipes are given for products
most likely to be abundant during the
remainder of the season.
Gingered Watermelon Rind.—To
each pound of rind cut into ldnch
squares, add two quarts of water and
{| one ounce slaked lime. Let stand in
lime water overnight. Next morning
drain and let star2 Sne to two hours
in fresh, cold water. Drain well and
boll rapidly in strong ginger tea (one
| ounce ginger to one quart water) for
| 15 minutes. Drain, put Into No. 3
| sirup made by ubing one pint strained
ginger tea with one quart water and
| one and a half pounds of sugar. Cook
until tender and transparent (about
After boiling
{a half-hour add half a lemon sliced
| thin. Place in shallow pans to cool,
| having the rind well covered with si-
| vup. When arrange pleces at-
| tractively in Jars, cover to overflowing
| with sirup. Cap, clamp, and process,
| The density of the packing sirup for
{preserved and gingered watermelon
| rind (also figs and peaches) should be
| between that of No. 5 and No. 8.
| Peach Preserves.—Boll three pounds
|
sugar and three quarts water together
Strain out all
{ one and a half hours).
cool
until sugar Is dissolved.
| termelon rind, ete. preserving should | impurities. Have four pounds peaches
| be begun In sirup not heavier than No. | well sorted so that all are sound and
| 8. Juley fruits like berries can be put | firm. Peel the fruit after immersing
| at the beginning into a heavier sirup, | for about one minute (or until the
about No. 4, because the abundant | #kin slips off easily) into boiling wa-
julce of the fruit quickly reduces the | ter—then into cold. If desired, cut
density of the sirup before shrinking | the fruit into halves, or thinner cres-
can take place. When the preserves | cent-shaped slices. Add the peaches
are finished and ready for packing, the | to the sirup and cook until clear and
density of the sirup should have !ran<parent. Remove fruit to shallow
reached that of No. 4 or No. 5. Sirup | tray, cover with sirup and let stand
made with very acid fruits can be
made heavier than pure sugar sirups
eonking will not crystallize readily.
Dotted Silk for Sailor Mats.
One of the most practical and attrac.
tive fashions of the present is the
sallor hat, banded in polka-dotted fou-
lard. The soft swathing of dotted silk
softens the high, somewhat harsh
erown which is trying to so many faces,
The sallor hat belongs with tallor
clothes—blue serge sults, silk sweat:
ers, plain jersey dresses, or the severe
type of sports clothes carry it off
smartly. Blue banded in white foulard,
with big blue dots or blue with white
Jotx, 1s the prime favorite, But white
Pack the preserves in sterflized jars,
cover to overflowing with sirup, which
should be further reduced by boiling
if not thick enough. Adjust lid and
combined with green, scarlet with
white, beige with brown, and black and
white claim a place for themselves,
too,
Working 24 Mours a Day.
A Chicago plumber has been arrest.
ed for leading a double life. By day
he plied his trade, abd by night he
Wis a robber. We don't know much
about the robber business, but we
have had some experience with plumb.
ors, so we arise to ask the question
where his double life comes in, —Grit,