Hi -| There he meets A Romance of | | 1 Braddock: Defeat ; a | aa Dy ¥ HueH PENDEXTER | Dor] Mustrations by lrwin Myers oH THE STORY CHAPTER J—Impoverished by the epen-handed generosity of his father, Virginia gentleman, young Webster Brond is serving as a scout and s)y for the army under General Braddock reparing for the advance on Fort uguesne, He has just returned to Alexandria from a visit to the fort, where, posing as a Frenchman, he nas secured valuable informatiem. Brad- ~“ldock, bred to European warfare, fails to realize the importance of the news. Brond is sent back to Fort Duquesne, also bearing a message to orge Croghan, English emissary among the Indians. CHAPTER IL—Brond joins his friend and fellow scout, Round Paw, Indian chief, and they set out. On.the way they fall in with a typical backswoods- man, Balsar Cromit, who joins them. The party encounters a group of set- tlers threatening a young girl, Elsie Dinwold, whom they accuse of witch- craft. Brond saves her from them. The girl disappears. i CHAPTER I11—Webster delivers his message to Croghan, who expresses un- easiness at the apathy of the Indians to the English cause. Young Col George Washington rescues Brond from bullying English soldiers. He worsts a bully .n a fight, and finds Flsie Dinwold. Brond is sent on a scouting expedition to Fort Duquesne, ard leaves with Round Paw. Cromit Joins them. CHAPTER 1V—They find a French |scouting party besieging an old cabin ‘defended apparently by a single man. {Brond and Cromit make their way to Ithe cabin. The “man” is Elsie Dinwold. | A French officer and an Indian break {in the door. Cromit kills the Indian and {Brond takes the Frenchman alive. Elsis iescapes during the fight. Brond's cap- tive is Lieutenant Beauvais. The scout sends him as a prisoner, with Cromit, | to Braddock’s camp, again taking his way Lo Duquesne, and to seek Elsie, + CHAPTER V—Carrying out his plan to enter the fort unquestioned, Brond iresolves to visit an Indian town which a woman sachem, Allaguippa, controls. She is friendly to the English. The scouts, as French, are plainly unwel- come to Allaquippa. Brond meets a French officer, Falest, whom he had known at Duquesne. Falest is there to win over Allaquippa to the French ‘cause, but he fails. To his astonish- ment, Brond finds Elsie Dinwold, dressed as a man, under Allaquippa’s protection. The girl tells him she has found the English cruel, and is going to the French. Unable to dissuade her, Brond tells her of his mission to Du- quesne, and she promises not to be- tray him. They learn Beauvais has es- caped from Cromit and is on his way «Brond realizes he must be stopped. CHAPTER VI—Cromit comes to Brond while he is waiting to inter- '¢cept Beauvais, and tells him he has killed the Frenchman after he had es- ‘caped from him. Round Paw joins ‘them, and the three return to Alla- quippa’'s town. Cromit has brought dis- quieting news of the demoralization |of Braddock’s army, none of the Eng- {lish officers understanding woods fight- ing, and Braddock hercely resenting ‘advice of the “Provincials”” Cromit, separated from his two friends, is wel- comed by Allaquippa as an English- !man. Leaving him to carry news to the English army, Brond and Round Paw reach Duquesne. Brond is made wel- come, Beaujeu, commander of the fort, {believing him a loyal Frenchman. He |learns Beauvais is not dead, Cromit ‘having killed Falest, taking him for the other French officer, Brond real- {izes he is in deadly peril. He decides to s<t away at once, and tells Elsie, ‘who has come to the fort with Beau- vais, but it is too late. CHAPTER VIl—At a dinner given by Beaujeu to his officers Brond is ‘recognized and denounced by Beauvais ‘as an English spy. He is rescued by | Round Paw. With the Indian, and {| Elsie, Brond escapes by the river, Elsie having destroyed all the canoes she {could reach, to delay pursuit. Leaving the water, Brond sends Round Paw ‘with a message to the army warning ‘of danger of ambush if they take the “Turtle Creek” route to the fort. Then, with Elsie, a great handicap to swift traveling, he takes a different route to !the army, in the hope that either Round | Paw, Cromit, or himself, will get ‘through safely with the warning. CHAPTER VIli—Brond realizes a | party of pursuing Indians is on their {trail. The girl, having reached the i limit of her endurance, has to be car- iried by Brond. They make for the | cabin of a trader, Frazier, hoping with | nis help to stand off pursuers. Reach- {ing the cabin safely, they find Frazier 'away, but Elsie helps greatly in the | cetense of the place. They succeed in beating off the attacking Indians, and | during a heavy rain, which saves them, | escape. Elsie’s bravery and loyalty |make a deep impression on Brond, In {the woods they meet a veteran Vir- | ginia forest fighter, Stephen Gist, re- | turning from a scouting expedition. CHAPTER IX—Gist repeats Cromit’s tale of demoralization among the Eng- |1ish regulars. Round Paw joins the | party and they reach the army. Elsie | refuses to seek safety in the rear, in- | sisting on ‘taying and sharing Brond’s | dangers. Braddock ignores Brond's | warning of danger. Brond again meets {Colonel Washington, who confesses his misgivings of the success of the expedition. Attacked in the forest by ractically invisible enemies, the Eng- ish regulars are thrown into con- fusion. A disorderly retreat begins when Braddock is killed. Washington and his Virginians hold back the en- emy, preventing annihilation. Brond finds a place of safety for Elsie. Round Paw and Cromit are both killed, Brond, badly wounded, escaping with the other fugitives. He is unable to find | Elsle in the confusion. CHAPTER X-—The provinces are ; by the news of the disaster. ‘ihe English army is withdrawn to New York, leaving the provincials to b the victorious savages, drunk with victory. Brond recovers from his wounds and joins in the de- fense of the frontier. The situation is not relieved until General Forbes fights his way through to Duquesne. Then Brond continues his search for Elsie Dinwold, realizing he loves her, and believing his love returned. In g hamlet he finds one of the men (n whose charge he had left the girl, He tells Brond Elsie went to Alexandria, and Brond at once leaves for that city. a boyhood friend, Josephine IIewitt. She has befriended Elsie and given her a home. Brond seeks her, and finds a happy ending of his quest when Elsle, in his arms, whispers, “Oh, mister. You've come pack i al The Red Rodd os aD ph / 2 a 5 2 | g R 277080 [] A ge 2 7 7% h © 7 7 2] Se— = Der Hexenkop! X After "passing through the! ridge I felt as if my visit to All dria had taken place in a dreant place here for gay coats and rufileg shirts and silken hose; and what mockery would the undergrowth make of my dainty lady’s exquisite attire! A buzzard quartered the sky, and I knew there would be many of them before long following the army. ® ® ® ® ® ® ® Round Paw of the Wolf clan bare- ly glanced up as I stood beside his small fire, and yet he had discovered me coming or else he would not have been seated with his scarlet blanket covering him from head to foot. 1 dropped on the ground and laid aside my rifle He filled and lighted his pipe and passed it through the blue smoke. After a few whiffs I returned it. Finally be remarked: . “My white brother has come from the home of his father.” “My father is a ghost. There is no home for me in Alexandria. My fa- ther’s house belongs to another.” He was silent for-a few minutes, then asked: “You carry belts for Onas?” governor of Pennsylvania.) “I carry a talking-paper to George Croghan,” I told him, tapping the breast of my hunting shirt, “The big chief from over the stinking water has asked me to get men with long rifles for his army. And I have said I would go to Duquesne again. Does the man of the Wolf go with me?” He rose and allowed his blanket to drop down on his loins, During my absence he had repainted white tne paw on his chest, the totem mark of his clan, and he was oiled for war. XY knew he was eager to be deep in the (The forests beyond the Alleghenies and was even now ready to start. Al- though leg-tired I did not unpack my blankets, but signified my readiness to travel. He produced some smoked meat and parched corn for me to eat and after I had finished he made up his travel-bundle, and we were off. As I walked behind him, as much of an Indian in appearance as he if not for my disheveled hair, I described the gallant appearance of the army as it marched out of Alexandria. His only comment was: “Big noise. The Swannock—Eng- lishmen—cannot shoot with drums.” I answered that the soldiers would have no chance to use their guns be- cause of the weak condition of the fort and garrison. A year earlier, “My White Brother Has Come From the Home of His Father.” when Mr. Washington marched out of Fort Necespeity, the situation might have been different. Then Duquesne was garrisoned by close to a thousand men under the command of veterans. Twelve months had seen a change in conditions. The portage at Niagara had slowed up the arrival of stores from Canada. The horses expected from Presqu’ isle had not been deliv- ered. The garrison had been weak- ened by the sending back of troops to Canada. Those bringing supplies from Can- ada arrived attired in rich velvets and genial from rare wines, but with their sacks empty. Waste and confusion had blighted the fine spirit of Du- quesne’s defenders. I had learned this much from Captain Beaujeu who had readily accepted me as a loyal French- man. Round Paw was never a gossip. We had traveled together for two years .the two of them! ‘Lord's law! -But they would look com- ‘road pound for Philadelphia. there?” ‘query with a clever slash apiece. them right. tempted to steal again. . you company to the mill.” 1 we RR ye, {Tne TT MEE Lr gr \ MEYERSDALE, PA., THURSDAY, JANUARY 17, 1929 and there had been many days when he barely. spoke. We first met on Lake Erie’s southern shore when a pack of Hurons and a few Frenchmen were giving me a hard rup and on the point of catching me. It was Round Paw’s fierce war cry, the ter- rible defiance of the Onondagas, and his deadly arrows that had caused my pursuers to slow up the chase, fear- ing an ambuscade. In silent companionship we followed the valley of the Shenandoah and crossed the Potomac two miles west of the Conococheague and made camp in a grove of oaks. While the squir- vels were broiling over the coals. Round Paw again renewed the white paint on his chest. It struck me as peculiar that he should be so per- sistent in making himself fit for war when for once the Western country wus safe for the English and with but little likelihood of the French and their red allies ever being able to bring us the red hatchet. The campaigns against Crown Point md Niagara might fail for a time, but onquest of Duquesne was assured. that stronghold in our hands, we d be freed from fear from the of the Ohio to Lake Erie. Even jose Indians in western Pennsylvania who were inclined to help the French dare not take the warpath until they knew the outcome of Braddock’s expe- dition. So, if ever there was a time when the back-country settlers felt warranted in staying by their spring crops and leaving the blockhouses un- occupied it was now. ‘Yet Round Paw kept his paint fresh and was most particular in dressing his hair. At the risk of violating his sense of etiquette, I remarked on the use- lessness of it all. Without ceasing his labors he told me: . “Onas and Onpontio—the governor of Canada—are om a red path that is very long. More than ome hunting- snow-mid-October—will come before the hatchet is buried.” [ did not believe it. We were up at sunrise and soon had crossed the creek and turned north to make McDowell's place. We had cov- ered a mile or so when we came upon a most interesting spectacle. Two men, with horse-bells around their necks and their arms tied behind them, were harnessed together with rawhide thongs, and were being driven like a team of horses by a tall ungainly youth. The driver held the lines in one hand and flourished a drover’s long whip in the other. His light red- dish hair escaped in all directions from his ragged fur hat and gave him the appearance of being hugely sur- prised. “What have the men done?” I in- quired, pausing and leaning on my rifle. “Ding them most mortally! But they've done enough,” he cried, with a side glance of curiosity at the Indian. “And I don’t have to tell every wild man of the woods what I’m doing, or why I'm doing it.” “That’s true,” 1 agreed. “But we can see what you're doing. My friend here says they are Frenchmen and ‘that he believes you will boil and eat ‘them.” The poor devils set up a most dolor- ous howling. The redhead scowled with his eyes and laughed with his big mouth. He hardly knew whether to .approve of us, or take offense. But the terror of his prisoners decided ‘him, and with a loud guffaw he cried: “That would be a fetching joke on B’iled in a kettle! ical jammed in a kettle!” Now that his temper was softened he explained further: “These infernal scoundrels stole two bells from Ben the Great cove drover at the mill last night. I’m working ‘for him. The fools could ’a’ got away if they’d know’d enough to hide the bells somewhere while they kept hid. .But they took the bells along with them and I follered the noice and caught them early this morning. Now they're taking the bells back. Whoa, hish! Stand still there, you devil, or I'll tan your jacket nineteen to the dozen!” And to bind his promise he cracked the whip and elicited a rare yell. “In God’s great mercy, sir, help us!” bleated the prisoner on the offside. “We was about to follow the Carlisle we'd have no need for bells after we'd reached Shippensburg or Carlisle. We did but borrow them. He would have found them waiting for him when he came back.” “Not need my bells, you d—d res- cals! What would Philadelphia folks think of me driving horses along their road without bells? How would I find them if they strayed while I was And he punctuated each “If they stole your bells, you serve Thieves should be well whipped, so their welts will burn when We'll keep He now took time to explain how be had hired out two day: before to go with the drover, who was driving some cattle through the Eastern set- tlements. ; “I'm Balsar Cromit,” he added. *I live at the mill, or two miles below fit, with Richard and John Craig. Made it look bad when these rascals stole the bells right after I took service with Ben. It hurt my feelings most dingly.” Qur presence proved to be a favor to the rogues, for Cromit became 80 interested in asking questions that he forgot to swing the whip. That Cromit had great confidence in his physical powers was shown by nis eager offer £2 wager three months pay against my puwder-horn that he could eoutshoot me, outrun me or pin me to the ground (n wrestling. “You should be with Braddock’s army,” I told him. “Three pounds if you enlist. A fine red coat and a fine sew musket.” “A rifle’s worth more’n all the mus kets ever made,” he said. “A rifle them. The army needs men who know the woods. Or you could drive a wagon.” “If old Braddock can wait till 1 git pack from Philadelphia, mebbe I'll help him. But if he’s one of them sass-an’- pepper men, ‘him and me won’t pull together at all.” McDowell’s settlement consisted ot the mill and half a dozen cabins scat- tered along the horse-path that struck into the Shippensburg, Carlisle and Harris’ Ferry road a short distance beyond the Craig place. Cromit halted his prisoners near the Widow Cox’s house, close by the mill. A man with a beard that reached to his waist was lounging under a tree. On our approach, he rose to his feet and stretched his long arms and lounged toward us, saying: “So you've fetched em back, Balsar. You're going to be a likely helper.” “] went a-purpose to fotch ‘em back,” grinned Cromit as he untied the prisoners’ hands and ordered them to replace the stolen bells. The thieves did their work with all the alacrity their benumbed fingers would permit; and, while they fran- tically bestirred themselves, the drover leisurely peeled off his “warmus,” or sleeveless undercoat, and remarked: “Too bad McDowell and his men ain’t here to see the fun, but word was brought right after you left last night, Balsar, that there is to be some rare witch-hunting in Great cove and every one’s gone over the mountains to see how the job’s done.” Stretching his arms to limber up his powerful muscles, he examined two long whips and tested them. Cromit grinned at me and nodded toward his employer. To the badly frightened rogues, he softly advised: “Let's see how fast you can make your heels fly.” They were off the moment he fin- ished, racing madly over their back- track. The drover heard the scuffling of their fleeing feet and turned about just as the two turned one side and dived into a bush growth. Bawling wrathfully for them to halt, he started on a lumbering run but soon gave it up and came back to where we stood. Cromit was unable to conceal his glee. “Why did you let them sarpents ran loose, Balsar?’ demanded the draver. “Lor’, Ben! hey've been licked and walloped almost every step of a good tv mile.” “And who be you, you worthless lout, to say when thieves have had their comeuppance?’ bellowed tke drover, letting his rage run wild “Stand clear of them two men.” “Now, Ben, don’t you do it,” ad- vised Cromit, his reddish brows work- ing up and down. “I'm telling you, don’t you do it. ‘I ain’t no nigger, or thief. I shan’t take it kindly, Ben. I'll hate it most mortally.” With an animal howl the drover drew baek his long arm and lashed at the tall awkwlird figure. With the scream of a panther making a night kill, Cromit’s long body shot through the air, his blue eyes burning with “] Told You Not to Do It, Ben” murder, his wide mouth opened to its fullest extent. As he crashed against the drover he half-laughed, half-sobbed : “J told you not to do it, Ben.” They went down in the dirt, a most bewildering swirl of legs and arms. but they had kicked up the dust for only part of a minute before Cromit was erect again, grinning and spit ting blood., The drover remained on his back and looked as if Braddock’s army, heavy guns and all, had marched over him. His face was cov- ered with blood and there were bloody finger-pripts on his dark throat. Believing the man was dead, | kneeled to examine him. Cromit kept up his chattering laugh as he watched me. ~Round Paw glided forward and stared at the damaged visage and wounded throat and gave a loud “Yo- hah !”—his way of expressing amaze- ment or approval. With .a fiendish finger-strength, Cromit had all but torn the man’s throat open. “He will make a warrior,” gravely said Round Paw as he resumed his stolid bearing and stepped back to show the spectacle had no further in- terest for him. “Td have had his gullet open like the split craw of a fowl in another jiffy,” whined Cromit. “But he’ll be owing me two days and one night of work and I want my pay [I asked him not to do it, but he was ever a masterful man.” The Widow Cox appeared from somewhere, and with the border-wom- an’s quickness of perception she wasted no time in asking questions. but brought a noggin of rum which we poured down the injured throat. Then followed a bucket of water over the shaggy head. With a groan the drover regained his senses. He glared feebly at Cromit, who shook his head and said: “It'll be a l'arning to you, Ben. 1 told you not to do it.” “You devil!” gasped the drover. “Then all the more reason why I should be quittance with you. I'm off to march with Braddock’s army. [I've worked two days and a night for you —a whole night gitting the bells back —three days’ work. You pay me and drive your own cattle.” Moaning and sighing, and taking on like one badly broken, the ~drover crawled to his feet, fished a bag of coins from the bosom of his shirt and counted out a small sum into Cromit’s palm. Cromit turned to me and said: “Now I'm ready to show old Brad- dock’s army how to fight.” The Widow Cox spoke up and shrilly upbraided him: “Shame on you, you lumbering doit! You've hurt a most proper man.” “He'll be properer now, Mother Cox.” “Why didn’t these two strangers stop your bloody work? At least the white man, if he be white. If George Croghan had been here, he'd ‘a’ stopped you quick enough.” ‘“Mebbe so, mebbe not, Mother Cox. But Croghan’s in Great cove. So it's no good talking his name, Mother Cox,” bantered Cromit. “How do you know he’s in Great cove?” | demanded. The widow eyed me with stern dis approval, but was quick to take the words from Cromit’s mouth and told me: “He was here three days ago and bound for there.- Some of his drat- ted Indians are straying ‘round the country, and he’s looking ’em up. And when he ain’t hunting up his Injuns. he’s trying to hire our men to work on Braddock’s road. Let the red- .coats make their own road, I say. When our men-folks go to the Ohio they don’t have no road laid down for ’em to walk on. They just git up and git.” “Where is McDowell and his men? Where are the Craigs?” I asked. “McDowell's folks is in Great cove, 1 told you,” huskily reminded the drover. “And the Craig brothers are on the! road to Shippensburg,” said the widow. “McDowell’s gone to help . drive out some witches.” * “But he and his men haven't time .to help drive out the French,” I said. She eyed me blankly, and then be- ‘rated me: ~~ “Of all the numbskulls! There ~ain’t no French near’'n Fort Duquesne. ‘They can’t hurt us with Braddock’s army going agin’ ’em. But witches right among us can ‘spell’ our cattle ‘and send sore pains to our children. Merciful land! What good to drive the French from the Allegheny if witches can work their evil spells in’ our homes?” “If it wa'n’t for these beeves, I'd go back and help clean out the devil's nest,” muttered the drover. “There’ll be no tormenting of poor people on the charge of witchcraft if George Croghan is in the cove,” I told them. I walked up the horse-path toward Parnal’s Knob with Round Paw at my heels. We covered a quarter of a mile when a yell behind caused us to look back. Cromit was coming on the run and his legs carried him rap- idly. I expected trouble and handed »my rifle to Round Paw. Cromit halt- ed and informed me: “I ain’t no call to sell my soul to the devil. I don’t hanker to see no witches, but I'll go with you. Just stopped to git my knife. Old Brad- dock will give me a new gun, but he might be stingy with his Knives.” + And he patted a large butcher knife . worn without a sheath, Did he trip and fall it would be a miracle if he escaped inflicting a severe injury on himself. "The belief in witches and wizards in western Pennsylvania and Virginia was widespread. The Old world im- ‘migrants had brought along their su- perstitions as well as their Bibles. Once they had ventured into the un- ‘broken forests and made a clearing and felt the solitude closing about them like a wall they worked new fancies into the old tales. If there were ‘werwolves in Europe, why should there not be as bad, or worse, dia- bolic agencies in this new land of gloomy ancient forests, weird water- falls and wild mountains? What with the Palatine Germans and their grewsome beliefs, the Irish with their fairies, the Scotch with their gnomes and other strange hill creatures, and the English with their devotion to ghosts, it was small wen- der that almost any community along the frontiers should possess those who implicity believed in witchcraft. Nor was this delusion lacking in New Eng- lang and other colonies. As we drew clear of the hills we beheld two-score men and women grouped at the foot of a low hill on which stood a log cabin. RR rey “ “ig "1 walked to it and looked inside. The door of the cabin was open but I saw none of the occupants. Nor were the people at the foot of the hill giving much heed to the cabin as we came up. Their interest was confined to a woman groveling on the grass and making a great outcry. I pushed my way through the crowd and looked down on the young woman. She was having a fit of some kind. “What's the matter here?” 1 asked. “This young woman is witched, sir.” cried a gray-haired woman “Witched by Elsie Dinwold,” growled a man; and he turned to shake nis clinched hand at the cabin on the hill “But she’ll witch us no more! Welly burn that nest. Fight the devil with fire! Der Hexenkopf has bred witches long enough. We've sent for John Hokes, sir. He’s a rare wizard. He'll soon take the spell off this poor suf- ferer.” “Is George Croghan in the valley?” “Gone yesterday for Will's creek.” The sufferer did not fancy any shift- ing of attention and renewed her screaming and kicking. “The devil hates water. a bucketful,” I commanded. I rolled up the wide sleeves of my hunting shirt as if intending to bathe my hands’ before attempting even a partial cure. A bucket of water was placed before me. |[ picked it up and dashed it over the woman. Spitting like a cat she came to a sitting pos ture. When she could get her breath she began calling curses down on my head. “The devil hates cold water,” | re peated. “The woman is all right mow if she will keep out of the moonlight for three nights.” “Then you are a wizard and can remove spells?” eagerly asked the gray-haired woman. Others were star- ing at me with much respect. Bring me “Some spells,” [I admitted. “Now tell me bow this woman was ‘spelled.’ ” It seemed that Elsie Dinwold, who lived with her uncle in the cabin on Der Hexenkopf, or the Witches’ Head, as the little hill was called, had laid a most malevolent trap for the woman now hobbling to- her cabin for a dry shift. It consisted of a barrel and a witch snake. The narrator was here interrupted by several, who insisted Elsie Din- wold had changed herself into a snake, or had entered the body of the snake —preferably the latter as the snake was still in the barrel and the ac- cused was in her cabin. The victim had been induced by some magic arts to pause and look into the barrel. She. beheld a large rattlesnake with Elsie Dinwold’s eyes. The barrel was pointed out to me. My flesh crawled as I encountered the re- lentless malignity of the serpent’s staring eyes. I directed the men to kill the snake and would have remained to make sure it was done had not the appear- ance of a slim figure in the cabin door set the crowd into a wild uproar. The woman Stepped outside and was fol lowed by a man badly crippled, for he walked with difficulty even while using two canes. Some in the gather- ing began gesticulating, and then they were sweeping up the hill, a frantic mob. “Why all this fuss over a snake in a barrel?” 1 asked, fearing some harm would be inflicted on the woman and the cripple. . “She is a woman of Der Hexen- kopf!” accused a woman, pointing a trembling finger. “She comes of a foul brood,” ex- citedly explained a man. 1 took time to look more closely. The woman, scarcely more than a girl, had suddenly taken alarm for the man’s safety, and had interposed her slim figure between him and her ac- cusers. Her loosened hair was blow- ing about her face and haif-veiling her thin features. She leaned forward as she watched us, her body lithe and wiry as a bey’s, her lips parted in a little feline snarl. Knowing me to be a stranger and yearning for an impartial judge, she centered her wild gaze on me and panted: “I’m no witch. These folks be fools! 1 live here alone with my uncle. He is old, a cripple with rheumty pains. Several years ago the beastly Ger- mans named this place Der Hexen- kopf. My poor mother died from fear and sorrow. My two sisters, older’n me, were driven out of the valley. 1 am last of the women to live on the Witches’ Head, and they won't let me live in peace.” “Keep your wicked jaws closed tight, or we'll pin ’em together,” roared the red-faced man. I waved my hands for silence and requested: “Will some of you good folks tell me what she has done besides putting the snake in the barrel?” It was the old man, her uncle, who enlightened me. “They say she sent a sickness to Oscar Kluck’s white horse,” he trem- ulously explained. “Oscar Kluck came here this morning early and asked me to pay four pounds for the hurt done the animal. I had no money.” “He was a good hoss, my white one. I refused four pounds for him,” cried Kluck. “Now she’s spoiled him—the d—d spawn!” Some one tugged my elbow. It was Cromit. His face was weak from fear, and his voice trembled as he whispered : “I've been looking at the white horse. I know horses. He's old and oughter be shot. He was never worth four pounds. Four shillings would be nearer.” He scuttled back to the Onondaga. The cripple was speaking aor vg Let | a Page Sevea “If she confesses and promises never to do it again, shall she be left unharmed?” “Let her say she is a witch and then leave the valley this day, oever to come back, and she shan’t be whipped,” 2 man promised. “But I can’t go,” wailed the girk “Who would take care of my uncle? The dear God knows I would gladly go and never look toward this piace again if my uncle could go with me!” “Never mind me, little Elsie, Yom must not be whipped,” groaned her uncle. “Teach the d—d brat we can break her spells!” screamed a woman, “She threatens us with the devil’s power! She should be burned and her ashes scattered at midnight,” loudly declared a man in English but speaking with a thick accent. I interposed: “Enough. There will be no burning, nor whipping. She is scarcely more than a girl. You peo- ple talk like crazy folks.” “And who be you, mister, to come to Der Hexenkopf and say what we'll do and what we won't?” a woman fiercely demanded of me, “] am recruiting for Braddock’s army. Three pounds sterling to every man who enlists. A fine red coat and a fine new musket. This man beside me is Balsar Cromit from McDowell’s mill. He has enlisted. My red friend back there is an Onondaga Indian. He will bring an ax in his hand if I call. I have this rifle, which makes a good club. The young woman shall not be whipped.” “Horoor! No whipping!” yelled Cromit, and he stretched forth his half-closed hands and began turning on his heel in search of any who might care to argue the point more intimately. I had no intention of getting into & rough-and-tumble fight with the set- tlers, so I threw up the rifle and held them back. While they were hud- dled together the Onondaga let out a& war-whoop and came charging up the hill, bounding high and swinging his ax. The women screamed and fell back ; the men forgot me to cover the retreat of the women. I yelled for the Indian to halt and for the settlers to listen. When I had secured their at- tention I said: “Drop back a bit and let me talk with the woman alone. This is no place for either her or her uncle. Per- haps it can be arranged for both to leave this valley.” 4 With much grumbling and man loud threats they accepted the truce and retired some distance down the hill. Cromit and the Onondaga had no wish to draw closer to the cabin, so I went to the forlorn couple alone. The man was seated on a log, leaning forward by resting on his canes, and breathing heavily. His eyes were bulg- ing in a fashion I did not like. The girl glared at me, unable to believe § could be a friend, yet puzzled at my defiance of her neighbors. “You have nothing to fear from child,” 1 told her. “Child!” she bitterly repeated. “Puy an old woman. | stopped being =m child when very small. My mother was pretty. Till they called her & witch her hair was as brown as mine. My father went over the mountains, where no one had been, and never came back. That was when I was a baby. My uncle lived here with us and supplied us with meat. Then. they called my mother a witch, and she died. “There are two or three men im this valley and as many more in Lit- tle Cove who will not work, They pretend to be witch-masters, and tkey, get their keep by pretending to undo the mischief the Dinwold women were said to do. After my mother’s death, and after they named this place ‘Der Hexenkopf’® my sisters would not live here. They knew men were drawing our pictures on stumps and shooting them with silver bullets; and they went away, and only I was left. Those: fools down there burn marks on their dogs and cattle to cure them of my, spells. Every time a worthless scamp strips an udder they say I milke their cows. God help those who m live among fools!” CONTINUED NEXT WEEK Our modern internationalists, who think that everything good originates in Europe would like to substitute for “Pan America,” the slogan “ean America.” The Peasant Party won an over- whelming victory in the elections in Roumania. Now let’s wait and see whether they get any farm relief over there. A noted chemist says that a gas has been discovered which is too ter- rible even to be used in war. Pre- bably the bootleggers can make some- thing out of it. We are more practical than wg used to be, and if we were just now getting married we would much pre- fer a ton of coal as a wedding pres- ent to a cluster of American beauties or a piece of Italian pottery. Of course there will be several wo- men in the next Congress but we doubt whether that can increase the amount of conversation to any appre- ciable extent. A Pittsburgh man hugged a woman against her will and the jury awarded her $12,500 damages. Next time maybe he will be a little more care- ful about his pressing engagements. The trouble with most tips on the market is that they are too tipsy:
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers