MEYERSDALE COMMERCIAL, THURSDAY, APRIL 4, 1929
A Romance of
Braddock: Defeat
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Dy | Wi
Hu6H PENDEXTER ©
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Mustrations
lawn Myers
by
Copyright by Hugh Pendexter. >
THE STORY
CHAPTER ljiDoverfendd by the
open-handed ‘generosity of his father,
Virginia gentleman, young Webster
Brond is serving as a stqut. and spy
for the army under General Braddock
reparing for the advance on Fort
uquesne.” He has just returned to
Alexandria from a visit to the fort,
where, posing as a Frenchman, he nas
secured valuable information. Brad-
dock, bred to European warfare, fails
to realize the importance of the news.
aiso bearing a message to George
Croghan, English emissary among the
Indians.
chief, and they set out. On the way
they fall in with a typical backswoods-
"The party encounters a group of 'set-
craft. Brond saves her from them. The
girl disappears.
CHAPTER III—Webster delivers his
message to Croghan, who expresses un-
easiness at the apathy of the Indians
to the English cause. Young Col
George Yashington rescues Brond
from bullying: English soldiers. He
worsts a bully .n a fight, and finds
Elsie 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
the cabin. The “man” is Elsie Dinwold.
|A French officer and an Indian break
iin the door. Cromit kills the Indian and
{Brond takes the Frenchman alive. Elgi®
escapes 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
ne, and to seek Elsie.
way to Duques
CHAPTER V—Carrying out his plan
|to enter the fort unquéstioned, Brond
resolves to visit an Indian town which
a woman sachem, Allaquippa, controls.
She is friendly to the English. The
scouts, as French, are plainly unwel-
come to Allaquippa. Brond
French officer, -
to win over «Allaquippa to the French
cause, but he fails. To his astonish-
‘ment, 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 ndt to be-
(tray him. They learn Beauvais has es-
jcaped from Cromit and is on his way
to Duquesne. ‘Brond realizes he must be’
stopped.
CHAPTER VI—Cromit comes to
Brond while he is waiting to inter-
‘cept Beauvais, and tells hi he has
killed the Frenchman after He had es-
icaped from him, Round Paw joins
them, and the three return to Alla-
quippa’s town. Cromit has brought dis-
‘quieting news of the demoralization
iof Braddock’s army, none of the Eng-
{lish officers understanding woods fight-
ing, and Braddock fiercely resenting
‘advice of the “Provincials.” Cromit,
separated from his two friends, is wel-
jcomed by Allaquippa as an English-
iman. 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 get away at once, and tells Elsie,
who has come to the fort with Beau-
vais, but it is too late.
CHAPTER VII—At
|by Beaujeu to his officers RBrond is
jrecognized 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 VIII—Brond realizes a
(party of pursuing Indians is on their
trail. The girl, having reached the
limit of her endurance, has to be car-
ried by Brond. They make for the
cabin of a trader, Frazier, hoping with
his help to stand off pursuers. Reach-
ing the cabin safely, they find Frazier
away, but Elsie helps greatly in ‘the
defense of the place. They succeed in
beating off the attacking Indians, and
during a heavy rain, which saves them,
escape. Klsie'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-
lish 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
Fradaack | OTe ii rongs
of danger. Bron
thine Washington, who confesses
the success of the
expedition. Atiacked in Bi forest by
ractically invisible ene y
heh 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
Eisle in the confusion.
CHAPTER X—The provinces are
stunned by the news of the disaster.
‘the English army is withdrawn to
iNew York, leaving the provincials to
|hold back 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
| Blgie Dinwold, realizing Je loves he
i s love r .
‘and believing h gel 1m
. He
a dinner given
{There he
Josephine
| Blsie and
se=ks her,
his quest
whispers,
back!”
She has befriended
given her a home. Brond
and finds a happy ending of
when Elsie, in his arms,
“Oh, mister. You've come
CHAPTER IL—Brond joins his friend |
|and. fellow scout, Round ‘Paw, Indian ;
tiers threatening a young girl, Elsie |
Dinwold, whom they accuse of witch- |
Brond is sent back to Fort Duquesne, |
dd
5
CHAPTER X
The Long Trail Ends
It was thirteen days after the bat-
tle that Dunbar the Tardy arrived at
Fort Cumberland on Will’s creek with’
three hundred wounded soldiers. It
is impossible to picture the amaze
ment and consternation that smoth-
ered the colonies when it was definite
ly known that the army had been de-
feated and broken. There had been
; no concern in the public mind as to
| the outcome of the campaign.
man, Balsar Cromit, who joins them.’
The first uncertain news was re-
ceived by Colonel James Innes, com-
mander at Fort Cumberland, This
was on July eleventh, two days after
the battle. He immediately started
expresses to the neighboring provinces
to announce his grave fear that the
army had met with reverses. While
these messengers were carrying the
astounding news the wagoners, who
had first fled the bloody field, were
beginning to reach the outlying settle-
ments. Governor Morris was at Car-
lisle when a half-starved, half-mad
wagoner flogged his exhausted mount
into the settlement and began crying
out that Braddock had been defeated.
that ‘the entire army had been anni-
hilated, and that he, the wagoner, was
the only surviver.: Fix 5
The provinces were stunned. On
the sixteenth , another . messenger
brought: further details. General Brad-
dock was dead and had been buried
at Great Meadows on the fourteenth,
and the army and Dunbar’s wagons
had passed over his grave to hide it
from the savages. On the day this
man brought his dismal budget, Gov-
ernor Morris sent out a call for the
assembly to meet him in Philadelphia
on the twenty-third, so as to permit
Dunbar to take the offensive ang. pre-
vent the triumphant enemy. from over-
running our frontiers and from bring-
ing the ax to the eastern settlements.
Dunbar promptly announced his de-
termination to be done with forest
fichting; and he marched his twelve.
hundred soldiers to Philadelphia and:
left three hundred wounded men at.
Will’s creek. His army went into
camp on Society hill, and in vain did
Governor Morris urge him to send a
few men to patrol the Susquehanna.
Enough refugees came in to swell the
army to fifteen hundred, and without
raising his hand to protect the border
Dunbar the Tardy sailed with this’
force for New York in October. .
Stupefaction was replaced by dis-
may as this, the only fighting force in
the south, was withdrawn, In very
truth were the colonies aroused to’
the realization that they must protect
themselves by doing their own fight-’
ing, and no longer depend upon over-’
seas armies, Once Dunbar’s inten-
tions to withdraw from the province
became known, Governor Dinwiddie]
urged Pennsylvania and Maryland to.
unite with Virginia in building a’
strong fort at the Great crossing or
on Great Meadows. This wise plan
for protecting the border came to
nothing because of the colonies’ in-
ability to overcome factional jealous-
jes and to agree as to the division of
the expense, labor and the like. So
we drifted into three years of rapine
and slaughtet.
1 reached Carlisle the day after
Governor Morris started for Philadel-
phia. My wounds, aggravated by ex-
posure, forced .me to travel slowly;
and my efforts to find some trace of
th. Dinwold girl permitted many sur-
‘vivors to pass me. Mine was old news
when I did arrive. In Carlisle 1 fell
in with three rangers who were cut
off from the ford when the final rout
filled the narrow road. They were
forced to advance north, or close to
Duquesne, to escape the savages They
had concealed themselves in the woods
near the Allegheny, and from what
they had observed I learned how five
hundred of Pontiac’s Ottawas had
quarreled with the French over the
division of the booty, and had thrown
back the ax and had killed and
scalped two Frenchmen very close to
the spot where my informants were
hiding.
1 recovered from my wounds and
became active in preparing a defense
against the red swarms we knew
would soon be upon us. As rapidly as
possible’ a string of forts was bulit
from the Delaware and Susquehanna
to the Potomac. There were Fort
Bedford at Hea’s Town, Fort Ligonia
on the site of the old Indian town of
Loyal Hanna in Westmoreland coun-
ty, Fort Loudon at the foot of Blue
mountain, Fort Lowther at Carlisle
and Chambers’ fort a few miles west
of that town.
And there were other forts, as well
as numerous small blockhouses, erect-
ed. during the next three years. For
two months after the battle of the
Monongahela we worked feverishly,
taking advantage of the brief period
the Indians required to
themselves that the war path te the
east was unpbstructed. Then the storm
began to break.
The first blow struck by the raiders
was in Cumberland county, and soon
the ax was taking toll on the Susque-
hanna. A large body of Indians
camped thirty miles above Harris
ferry and killed on both sides of the
river. In October a mixed force of
French and Indians was burning and
scalping within forty miles of the
ferry. Settlers were frantically flee-
ing to the east, or doggedly forting
themselves on learning that escape
was cut off. I went out with forty-
five men from the ferry and helped
bury fourteen mangled bodies. Great
cove was destroyed.
By December, the Indians were on
the Lehigh behind the Blue moun-
tains, where they killed a hundred
people and burned many cabins. Beth-
lehem prepared to resist an attack.
At about the same time another band
penetrated to the Schuylkill in B&Fks
county and did devil’s work. For fifty
miles around Easton the country was
devastated. So widespread were the
activities of the savages that hun-
dreds of people fled inte the Jerseys.
some carrying their household goods
and driving their cattle;' others vain-
| ly offering half of all they possessed
in an effort to save something.
It was a characteristic of this un-
equal fighting that the Irdians took
but few prisoners. Thirty-six houses
and the church at Gnadenhutten were
burned, although Lieutenant Brown
and a company of rangers forted
themselves in the church and held it
until it was fired. The Juniata was
visited early in January and many
people were murdered within two or
three miles of Fort Patterson.
Even the back districts of Chester
and Philadelphia counties were en-
dangered, and four hundred German
farmers from the latter county
marched into Philadelphia city and
demanded that the assembly grant
them some protection. These settlers
should have remembered how men of
their race defeated Joseph Seely,
Berks county candidate for sheriff, in
the October election, because he
favored military training.
Throughout the winter, the savages
| continued very active, which was un-
usual, as during the snow months the
frontier always had experienced a re-
lief from attacks ang had slept sound-
ly. The woods from the Juniata to
Shamokin were, filled with. ferocious
red men, who killed and burned. In
the latter part of the month a hun-
dred Indians at Kittanning, includ-
ing not a few who had been loyal to
England until the defeat on the Mon-
ongahela, left to raid the Coocoche-
ague settlements and forts Shirley
and Littleton. 1 was one of those
who rode ahead to spread the alarm,
and 1 experienced enough thrills to
last me several lifetimes.
And so the bloody story might go
on through volumes, Settlements in
flames and the rough roads crowded
with terrified families. Scarcely a
night could one scan the horizons and
not see the red flares that told of
some cabin or hamlet being wiped
out. Not until Gen. John Forbes’ ex-
pedition in the summer of 1758, when
he marched to Duquesne with fifty-
eight hundred men and a thousand
wagons, did we begin to have a rest
from the butcheries. But General
Forbes would have nothing to do with
the ill-fated Braddock road and wise-
ly followed the central path through
Carlisle, Shippensburg, and over
Laurel mountain. The long rifles were
proving their worth and were soon
to take Canada from the French.
During all this strife and these mis
erable scenes, I endeavored to do my
share in exacting a penalty from the
red men, For two weeks 1 worked
with Captain Jack, the Black Hunter
of the Juniata. But when that river
was harried he became such a mad-
man and would take such foolhardy
risks that I left his band. Yet we
made some rare killings in the short
time we were together.
The danger was Dever sO great,
however, as to cause me to forget,
the Dinwold girl In my dreams
and in my waking hours I could see
her tugging at young Morgan’s hand
and striving to come back and face
the trouble out in my company. At
night 1 would awake with her voice
in my ears, calling me “mister.” Once
1 dreamed we were with the baggage
‘train and she was saying “Kiss me.”
1 required many a bloody foray
against Shawnee and traitorous Dela-
ware to wash that last dream thin.
So there was never a day, when I
was meeting with some one new, that
1 did not make diligent inquiry for
her.
But so many families had been ex-
terminated, so many pedigrees ended,
that only by ehance could I hope for
news from the witch-girl. An elfish
boyish creature in reality, but my
Separation from her translated her
into some symbol of the border, some-
thing fearfully desirable. It became
a mania with me to find her, and yet
my place was on the frontier.
On relief sallies, on retreats and
on scouting trips, I asked of all I met
if they knew of one called Daniel
Morgan. Some professed to have met
him, but none knew about a young
woman dressed as a man. At the end
of my service’ with General Forbes I
was as ignorant as to whether she
be alive or dead as I had been when
I recovered my wits at the edge of
the clearing along the Allegheny,
where the dead hung from the twelve
torture-stakes.
And I missed the Onondaga. God
only knows how I missed him and his
brave heart when on some lonely
faring. I missed Cronit in a lesser
' degree. and often wished his terrible
convince
hands’ could hélp me ‘decide some
uneven argument. Aye, 1 missed them.
Put it was Round Paw of the Wolf
clan whose absence ate into my soul.
Red or white, never was there a
stronger comrade than he. The lone-
ly Monongahela sings his requiem, hut
in my heart he shall ever have a
high place. Many a good comrade
have I had in my day, but none so
dear to my memory as the Wolf man,
Gone to meet his particular god as
has many another, and all because
one man did not understand,
Worn by incessant hardships and
seriously troubled by the old arrow
wound in my arm, I returned to Car-
lisle, uncertain as to what I should do
next. The settlers were preparing
to follow General Forbes’ army and
make a new ‘beginning along some
pleasant stream. But I, the last of
the House of the Open Hand, had no
desire to build a cabin and take root
in one spot. The strange unrest,
which had been only satisfied by the
turmoil of border warfare, reduced
me to a sad state of nerves. How
could 1 ever be content on one creek
or in one valley, with the merories
of . the Monongahela haunting me?
With the vision of that small wistful
face staring back at me, I rode a
skeleton of a horse into Carlisle.
Perhaps it was a weakness of spirit
that impelled me to surrender to the:
sudden longing to visit my old home
and once more look through the gate
of my father’s garden. [I scarcely re
member my mother, but perhaps this
longing was the divine calling of the
maternal in me. Like my horse, I
was scarcely more than a skeleton. I
borrowed a suitable horse of a
stranger and did not marvel at ‘his
trust in me. At times I assured my-
self it was but a whim, that J would
soon be doubling on my tracks and
seeking service in the north; and
yet I rode on.
~The memories stirred up by the jour-
ney were painful. Unlike that other
visit, the Onondaga was no longer
my companion; and yet at times I’
fancied he walked at my stirrup, his’
chest showing the fresh white paint’
of the round paw of the wolf. In
my more rational moments 1 felt old:
and out of place. It was when I
brooded over the witch-girl’s disap-’
pearance that I felt a great empti-.
ness of heart which made all the:
plans of youth but little account. I.
had no wish to look on Josephine:
again and tell her poor Busby’s fare-:
well message; and yet something
drew me to the town.
I followed the roundabout Susque-.
hanna road and passed by the ruins.
of many a cabin. It was not the most:
direct route, but it pleased me to
fool myself with the thought 1 would
never continue as far as Alexandria.
However, I did persevere, and an
astounding thing happened to me and.
expelled my apathy and left me quiv-.
ering with a new purpose. The On-:
ondaga would have said it was my
orenda working for me. A white man
would have said it was luck. It all
happened at a hamlet on the Mary-:
land line where” a dozen men were
listening to a rugged fellow’s plea
for volunteers to serve as riflemen
in the expedition soon to be made:
against Canada. Weary of war,
weary of myself, and finding solace:
only in my strange dreams, I would
have passed by with deaf ears had
not his rude eloquence compelled my
attention while he cried out:
“Sick of it? Who ain’t sick of it?
But how will it be stopped unless:
your rifles help stop it? I tell you
we've got ’em running now. You've
had a bellyful of fighting? Who aint?
1 thought I had a bellyful at Brad-
dock’s battle. I've thought I bad
more’n enough during the last three:
years. But I've been Ilarning all:
these years; l’arning that if we want .
a job well done we must do it our-
selves. Men, it’s the long rifle, and
not the Brown Bess what's going to
put a stop to the Injun deviltries,
And if yow’ll go along with me Pl!
lead only as long as I can keep ahead.
When any other feller can lead faster.
he takes my place and I take his
orders.”
I reined in and stared at the fellow
closely. There was something reminis-
cent in the strong young face. He
was quick to see me and my travel-
stained forest garb, and he called out
over the heads of his audience:
“Welcome, friend. . You look like
ag you was used to woods fighting.”
“I’ve had my share of it; from Brad-
dock down to Forbes and much in be-
tween.”
“But you're not through yet? Ycur
long rifle still shoots?”
“It still shoots. I am not through
until the job is finished.”
He pointed me out as a wholesome
,example, and embarrassed me by ex-
: tolling my high spirit. Whereas I was
‘sick of Indians, sick of hardships.
1 had but one desire; to spread my
. blanket back of the Carlisle house
.and close to the sleepy lap-lap of the
Potomac and rest there one night, and
‘perchance dream of Busby and other
playmates, I backed my horse away
.and waited until the young man had
finished his talk and had secured half
a dozen names or marks on his mus-
ter-roll, Then 1 dismounted and
Joined him and drew him aside, and
said:
“You'll be Daniel Morgan, at one
time a wagoner in Braddock’s army.”
“Dead center. But I don’t know you
from Adam, friend. You have mighty
little meat on your bones.”
“] threw you on to a horse at the
lower ford of the Monongahela on
July ninth, three years ago.”
“H—1! I remember. The man fight-
ing beside the tall Injun!”
“There was a young person with
you—"
“A gal in breeches. Elsie Dinwold,
she gave her name. She had the grit
of any man | ever see.”
“Had?” 1 repeated, a deathly faint-
ness stealing through my gaunt frame.
“And still has, I'll guarantee, if
she’s kept out of danger and didn’t
git sculped. Lord! But she did try
desperate hard to git off that hoss
and git back to the fighting!”
“Man, where is she? Where did
you leave her? Why don’t you say
something when you talk?” [I cried.
And I placed my hands on his
shoulders and shook him.
He grinned broadly and showed no
resentment at my manners.
“Where she is I cannot say. Rut
she went to Alexandria. [I gathered
from her talk—and she talked mighty
little—that some one she used to
know, and liked a heap, lived there
once. But you'll be signing up as a
rileman for northern work?”
I mounted before bothering to
answer him, Then I called back:
“That must come later. I must fin
ish a journey first.”
And though it was dark and my
horse was weary I rode on.
A skeleton of a man on a worn-
out horse. No leisurely riding now.
1 would not have: eaten, nor ‘slept. if
not for my mount. I had but one de-
sire—to strike into the old postroad
and finish the distance at a smash-
ing gallop. The poor brute was bad-
ly used up when I did leave Shooter’s
hill behind me I reined in.
Now that I had arrived and would
soon know all, I experienced a strange
timidity. Three years had passed. No
soldiers now enlivened Alexandria;
and 1 knew the drowsy calm of the
town would never suit her. She had
gone away long before this; or—and
this was a most disturbing thought
—she had found some one who uap-
preciated her, and had married. Be-
yond all doubt she had come to the
belief that I was dead.
Now that I had talked with young
Morgan I could not forgive my stu-
pendous folly in neglecting to seek
her on the banks of the Potomac.
Yet I had reasoned logically enough
—she was never one to seek refuge
in Alexandria. She was born of the
frontier and border blood was in her
veins. She would feel as much out
of place in Alexandria as the fair
Josephine would feel on the lonely
shore of the Monongahela.
I clucked to my horse and | rode
down the King’s road, and the dust
scuffed up by my tired mount’s feet
lazily drifted on to the meadow grass
and settled and spoiled its sheen: just
‘as it had when I watched the gren-
adiers march up the same road on
Braddock’s fatal business.
The town had changed none. There
were the same slim and fat chimneys.
the same quaint roofs of different
patterns, and the double row ot Lom
bardy poplars before the Carlisle
house. There were the windows of
the blue-and-white room, where Brad-
dock had drunk his wine and rightly
had berated the colonies for their
lack of zeal, The new warehouse on
Point Lumley, at the foot of Duke
street, was complete and already
showing the mellow influence of the
weather. On the wharf were sev-
eral guns, brought over by Braddock
and left behind because of their cum-
bersome weight. But no gay uni-
forms decorated the approach to the
Royal George and Gadsby’s; no guards
awed the natives by their precise
maneuvers in the market-place.
I dismounted to be less conspicu-
ous, ‘and with my long rifle under my
arm led my patient animal to the
House of the Open Hand. And here
I received a sharp surprise. The
garden beyond the gate was trim and
orderly. The fountain was cleaned
out, and the yellow-topped mustard
was destroyed. The roof of the grape
arbor had been repaired; and the
grounds reflected the tidy content my
father had so dearly loved. The
place was inhabited.
1 turned away, feeling greatly de-
pressed. Now I knew 1 had come on
a fool's errand. The witch-girl—a
bit of thistledown before the wind—
had drifted on. I had no heart to
see the front of the house, and would
have returned to the market-place to
bait my mount and ride away had
not a woman emerged from the door
to stare at me for a second. I was
for hurrying on, but she called me
by name and came running after me
as fast as her flounces and petticoats
would permit.
“1 knew you! F knew you, Webster
.Brond! Your tall figure would be-
tray you anywhere!” she cried, ex-
tending both hands.
“Josephine!” I mumbled.
“Mistress Hewitt, wife of Carter
‘ Hewitt,” she corrected, and relin-
.quished my hands to drop me a cour-
. tesy. “You must come in and tell me
. Where you have been and what you
have been doing. Mr. Hewitt will
be back any time now. He rode to
. Annapolis.”
+ So poor Busby’s message would
never be delivered. Relieved of that
‘sad errand, there was no call for
me to tarry, I mumbled something
: about being in a desperate hurry, but
she seemed to be possessed even to
the point of unwomanliness. For she
‘ fairly danced before me, her blue
eyes sparkling with mischief; and
she insisted:
“You must come in, mister. You just
must.”
“Why do you speak like that?” 1
whispered. “Why do you call me
‘mister’ ?”
And 1 grasped her hands and
. gripped them til' her
savage.
“No; I'll tell you nothing out here
‘in the road,” she cried. “A vestry-
man will be rebuking us. Besides, it’s
not comely that you should hold my
hands. Come I”
1 x
grimace re- |
minded me I was not handling a red |
the cool doorway. In the hall I halted
and cautiously seated myself in a
spindle-legged chair, and demanded:
“Now tell me.”
“Oh, Webster, it would be so ro-
mantic if you weren't so stupidly mat-
ter-of-fact. Why shouldn’t T call you
‘mister’ ?” 3
“Josephine, the devil's in you. Have
you anything to say or not?”
I rose as if to leave
With a sigh at having. her game
cut short she primly began:
“l have a young ward. a refugee
from the Braddock rout. She came
bere in a most scandalous condition
—dressed as a man! She gave your
name and said you would come to
find her. She gave me your name,
but she always speaks of you as
‘mister.’ How is that for mighty re-
spect?”
“And now?
tered. .
“Why, now she should be in the
garden, gathering posies for the table.
You see Mr. Hewitt bought this place
three days after Braddock and poor
Busby marched away. He was a con-
firmed bachelor. He lived here alone
until our marriage a year ago this
summer. Mistress Elsie from the be:
ginning would come here to walk in
the garden because it had been your
home. It promised a rare scandal.
Mr. Hewitt appealed to me in great
alarm. 1 had to marry the poor man,
or else banish the wild thipg. Now it’s
perfectly proper for her to walk in
the garden as much as she will. I've
lost my interest in you, Webster. You
know the way down the hall?”
An idiotic question. The door, open-
ing into the garden, was the one
had passed through thousands of
times in the old days.
“You've been good to her, Joseph-
ine. You must have been mighty good
Waere is she?” | mut-
to her, or she would never have
stayed.”
“Rubbish! 1 couldn’t have driven
her away. She was always looking
for ‘mister’ to come. She would have
made a camp in the ~arden and lived
like an Indian.” Then with much sad-
ness she added: “I hate that word—
Indian. You understand, Webster—
I'm sorry.”
“His last words, Joe,” 1 blundered,
giving her Busby’s message after all.
“Go find her,” she brokenly
whispered. And as 1 made down the
hall I saw her hand traveling up the
You've Come Back!”
“Oh, Mister!
balustrade, clinging te it tightly to
aid her weary feet.
But sorrow was not for me this
day. | was selfishly alive with the
joy of anticipation. [I burst through
the doorway as if pursued by Pontiac
himself. Next I came to a plunging
halt and found myself bowing awk-
wardly before a dainty creature in
flounces . and lace.
“I beg your pardon,” | stammered
“1 was looking for a young lady—"
“Oh, mister! You've come back!”
she sobbed. And the armful of
flowers was dropped and a miracle
was worked; for I found the lovely
thing in my arms, her voice whimper
ing over and over: “Oh, miste.
You've come back!”
[THE END.)
The New Testament
The New Testament has done more
| toward creating a race of noble men
and’ women than all the books of the
world put together.—Sir Walter Scott.
Duty and Faith
The descent of duty is ever fol-
lowed by the ascent of faith—Dr. J.
B. Shaw.
Justice Triumphs
Man 1s unjust, but God is just; and
justice finally triumphs.—Longfellow.
For Religion’s Sake
I say the whole earth and all the
stars in the sky are for religion's
sake.—Walt Whitman.
A Faithful Man
A man of faith is one who trusts
God. A faithful man is one whom
God can trust.—D. T.
Christian’s Commission
Why run? Suffering is a part and
parcel of the Christian's commission.
—J. W. Lee.
From on High
Power from on high- made those
sunburned fishermen irresistible,—J.
W. Lee.
1 released her, and followed ner |
under the grinning mask and through |
Page Seven
genes EEE 5
¢ She Was Hunting :
: a Hero :
. "By AD SCHUSTER :
B.9.9.9.00 00000 090000000000 00
(Copyright.)
¢ J HAVE no objection to your be-
ing athletic and independent,”
Caroline’s mother spoke slowly, “but
doesn’t it strike you that you are in-
tolerant of those who have other
tastes?”
“Maybe 80,” the girl answered
lightly. “But this I know. I am going
West to the mountalns. I am going
to see big strong men who fear noth-
ing and who are of a different breed
than those T have known. I am going
to escape from the sissies and the
highbrows and when I come back I
—well, maybe I will have entirely re-
formed.”
Caroline, in the mountain cabin,
waited for the hero of the open
spaces and the first man she saw,
other than old Abe Potter, who with
his wife owned the retreat, was Le-
roy Boone. Boone was tall and slen-
der. He wore nose glasses and spoke
in a low voice. Except for his woods-
man’s clothes he looked like a college
man. Caroline was disappointed and
yet Leroy was the only man within
sight.”
“I have been waiting to meet a man
of the West,” she said, giving him one
of her best smiles. “I want to learn
all about the customs and people.”
“It is probable you will find us
muck like the men of any other
place.” He was amused at her en-
thusiasm.
“You don’t understand. I come
from a little town in the East. I am
vigorous and independent, in a place
where girls are quiet and ladylike and
men are studious and timid. I wish
to forget books and science, and live
with the trees and the hills. When I
meet a man I want him toc be a
miner, hunter, or even a stage rob-
ber. Can’t you see?”
The man of the West removed his
spectacles, drew out a handkerchief
and cleaned the lenses with delibera-
tion.
“They don’t rob stages out here any
more,” he said, .“and most of the cow-
boys have gone in the movies.” After
a moment of deliberation he added,
“Maybe, by hunting long enough, I
could scare you up a man whose fa-
ther.had been a cattle-rustler?”
“I see,” Caroline was offended. “You
do not understand. But if life is so
unexciting here why are you in the
mountains?” 1)
“I might be a tourist like yourself
but I'm not. You see I work for the
biological survey.”
“Mercy that’s a queer thing to have
in the hills! It means college educa-
tion and books; that you are a stu-
dent and not a real wild westerner
after all. I didn’t think,” she caught
herself before confessing she did not
think his appearance was promising
and continued, “I didn’t think it
would be so difficult to meet the kind
of men I've read about.”
When Leroy Boone ceme by again
he brought her a rare flower he had
found on the trail and again he smiled
oddly when he saw she was not
pleased.
“Your western man,” he said, “the
one you have pictured, would not have
picked a flower and carried it so care-
fully. No—I think he would have
been shooting the lights out of a sa-
loon or rescuing a leather-skirted girl
from the hands of the villainous fore-
man of a rival ranch. It's too bad
there isn’t a motion picture house up
here.” He went his way, walking
leisurely as a man with plenty of
time. :
“He’s angry because I didn’t thank
him for his flower,” Caroline decided.
“Well, as soon as he understands I
do not wish biological surveyors bring-
ing me posies, I will be better satis-
fied. I can see plenty of men like him
at home.” And when she returned to
the cabin she said nothing to the Pot-
ters of the man who had no place in
her picture or scheme.
Several times more the girl met
him and at last she admitted to her-
self there was something in his quiet,
almost tolerant manner that attracted
her even while it exasperated. But
she would not surrender. She had
taken the superior attitude and until
he proved himself a hero, worthy of
his environment, she would continue
disdainful. By the time she. came to
leave they were as well acquainted as
the peculiarly strained situation
would allow.
“I am sorry you are going,” he said,
“sorry because I will miss you and
because you should stay long enough
to get the real values of our West.”
Was the man going to propose?
And what would she say? Caroline
felt suddenly her values had changed
and that she was going to miss him,
Then came that tantalizing smile and
the banter which enraged her.
“If I were the sort you have been
looking for I would kidnap you, throw
you over a horse and take you to the
parson. But as it is, I can only
”
“Say good-by,” finished Caroline
and she hastened to the cabin vow-
ing she would be glad to forget this
man who had no right to pretend to
be of her West.
As Abe Potter drove her over to
the station he mentioned Boone,
“He works for the biological sur-
vey,” he said, drawing the words out
importantly. “They hires him to hunt
mountain lions. Last week he got five
in one day!”
For five minutes Caroline was gaf-
lent. Then timidly she said, “Mr. Pot-
ter, turn around and drive me back.
| Pm going to stay another week.”
|
»