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Mustrations by
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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
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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: