Casper Daily Tribune Newspaper, January 5, 1917, Page 2

Rater CHAPTER XX—Continued. —15— “Thick as files out there, monstieur,” he answered, “and with a marksman or two among them. Not ten minutes since Bowaln got a ball in his head.” “And no orders to clear the devils out?” “No, monsieur—only to watch that they do not form for a rush.” The commandant's office was bullt against the last stockade—a long hut no more pretentious than the others A sentry stood at each side of the closed door, but De Tonty ignored them and ushered me into the room It was not large, and was already well filled, a table littered with papers oc cupying the central space, De Baugis and De la Durantaye seated beside it, while numerous other figures were standing pressed against the walls. I recognized the familiar faces of eral of our party, but before I rec ered from my first embarrassment I Baugis arose, and with much polite hess offered me a chair, De Tonty remaine hand resting on my c coolly surveyed the scene. pushed past, and occ a@ vacant chair, between the other officers, laying his sword on the table. My eyes swept about the circle of faces seeking D'Ar tigny, but he wes not present. But for a slight shoffling of feet, the silence avas oppressive, Cassion’s unpleasant volce broke the stillness. “M. de Tonty, there Is a chair yon der reserved for your use. “I prefer remaining beside Madame Cassion,” be answered calmly mat would seem she has few friends in this company.” “We are all her friends,” broke in De Baugis, his face flushing, “but we are here to do justice, and avenge a foul crime. “Tis told us that madame possesses certain knowledge which has not been revealed. Other witnesses have testified, and we would now listen to her word. Sergeant of the guard, bring In the prisoner.” He entered by way of the rear door, manacied, and with an armed soldier on either side. Coatless and barehead- ed, be stood erect in the place assigned him, and as his eyes swept the faces, his stern look changed to a smile as his glance met mine. My eyes were still upon him, seeking ea some message of guidance, when Cas- sion spoke. “M. de Baugis will question the wit- ness.” “The court will pardon me,” sald D'Artigny. “The witness to be heard fs madame?” “Certainly; what means your inter- ruption?” “To spare the lady unnecessary em- barrassment. he is my friend, and, no doubt, may £& $f aitMic to testify against me. I merely venture to ask her to give this court the exact truth.” “Your words sre impertinent.” “No, M. de Baugis,” I broke in, un derstanding all that was meant. “Sieur @’Artigny has spoken in kindness, and | has my thanks. I am ready now to bear witness frankly. What is it you desire me to tell, monsieur?” “The story of your midnight visi to the Mission garden at St. Ignac the night Hugo Chevet was killed Tell it in your own words, madame. As I be hn my voice trembled, and I was obliged to grip the arms of the chair to keep myself firm. I read sym- pathy In De Baugis’ eyes, and ad- dressed him alone. Twice he asked me questions, {n so kindly a manner as to win instant reply, and once he checked Cassion when he attempted to inter- rupt, bis voice stern with authority. I told the story simply, plainiy, with mo attempt at equivocation, and when I ceased speaking the room was as silent as a tomb. De Baugis sat mo- tlonless, but Cassion stared at me across the table, his face dark with passion. “Wait,” he cried as though thinking me about to rise. “There are ques- tions yet.” “Monsieur,” said De Baugis coldly. “Zi there are questions it is my place to ask them.” “Ay,” angrily beating his hand on the board, “but it is plain to be seen the woman has bewitched you. No, I will not be denied; I am comman- dant here, and with force enough be- hind me to make my will law. Scow! if you will, but bere is La Barre’s com- mission, and I dare you ignore it. So answer me, madame—you saw D’Ar- tigny bend over the body of Chevet— ‘was your uncle then dead?” “I know not, monsieur; but there ‘Was no movement.” “Why did you make no report—was ft to shield D’Artigny?” v beside me, his air back, as he ssion upled did not believe him guilty, idence would have cast su - By RANDALL PARRISH “It can do no harm, madame,” he muttered softly. “Put the paper in De Baugis’ hand,” 1 drew it, crumpled, from out the bosom of my dreas, rose to my feet, and held It forth to the captain of dragoons, He grasped it wonderingly. “What is this, madame?” “One p from a letter of instruc- tion. Read it, monsieur; you will rec- ognize the handwriting.” CHAPTER XXIi. Condemned. He opened the paper gravely, shad- owing the page with one hand so that Cassion was prevented from seeing the words. He read slowly, a frown on his face, “'Tis the Barre, although unsigr last. “Yes, monsieur.” “How came the page in your pos writing of Governor Le ." he said at session?” T removed it last night from a leath er bag found beneath the sleeping bunk in the quarters assigned me.” “Do you know whose bag It was?" “Certainly; it was in the canoe with me all the way from Quebec—M. Cas- slon's.” “Your husband?" es, monsieur. De Baugis’ eyes seemed to darken as he ga 1 at me; then his glance fell upon Cassion, who was leaning for- ward, his mouth open, his face ashen gray. He straightened up as he met De Baugis’ irritating laugh. “Sacre, 'tis quite melodramatic, exclaimed harshly. “But of little vs I acknowledge the letter, M. de Baugis, but it bears no relation to this affair. Perchance it was unhappily worded, so that this woman, eager to save her lover from punishment—” else, I Tonty was on bis feet, his sword | across the parade to bis own quarters, | half drawn. “Tis a foul lie,” he thundered hotly. “I will not stand silent before such words.” “Messieurs,” and De Baugis struck the table. “This is a court, not a messroom. Be seated, M. de Tonty; no one in my presence will be permit- ted to besmirch the honor of Captain de la Chesnayne’s daughter. Yet I must agree with Major Cassion that this letter in no way proves that he resorted to violence, or was even urged to do so, The governor in all prob ubility suggested other means. I could not be led to believe he countenanced the commission of crime, and shall ask to read the remainder of his letter before rendering decision. You found no other documents, madame?” “None bearing on this case.” “The papers supposed to be takeg from the dead body of Chevet?” “No, monsieur.” “Then I cannot see that the status of the prisoner is changed, or that we have any reason to charge the crime to another, You are excus as m y be called.” Tears misted my eyes, so the faces about me were blurred, but, before I could 1 words in which to volce my lndignation, De Tonty stood beside me, and sped my arm. “There is no use mhdame,” he sald coldly although his volc shook. “You only invite insult when enough, es, and gave vent to an | d, madame, | while we listen to such other witnesses | us, messieurs, and we will fight in the open, Convict Rene d’Artigny from the Hes of these hirelings, and you pay the reckoning at the point of my sword. I make no threat, but this Is the pledged word of Henri de Tonty. Make passage there! Come, madame.” No one stopped us; no voice an- swered him. Almost before I realized | the action, we were outside in the sun- light, and he was smiling into my face, his dark eyes full of cheer. “It will make them panse and think—what I said,” he exclaimed, “yet will not change the result.” hey will convict?” “Beyond doubt, madame, They are La Barre’s men, and hold commission only at his pleasure. With M. de la Durantaye It Is different, for he was ‘soldier of Frontenac’s, yet I have no hope he will dare stand out against the rest. We must find another way to save the lad, but when I leave you at the door yonder I am out of It.” | You, monsieur! What can I hope to accomplish without your aid “Far more than with It, especially if I furnish a good substite I shall be watched now, every step I take. ‘Tis like enough De Baugis will send me challenge, though the danger that Cassion would do so is slight. It 1s the latter who will have me watched. | is the Ind) No, madame, Boisrondet who must find a way oner; they will never suspect him, and the boy wilWenjoy the trick. Tonight, when the fort becomes qulet, he will find way to explain his plans. Have your room dark, and the window | open. “There is but one, monsieur, ward, above the precipice.” “That will be his choice; he can reach you thus unseen. "Tis quite possible a guard may be placed at your door.” He left me, out- and walked straight jan erect, manly figure in the sun, his | long black hair falling to his shoulders. | I drew a chair beside the door, which jl left partially open, so that I might | view the scene without. 1 could see | the door of the guardhouse, and, at jlast, those in attendance at the trial | emerged, talking gravely, as they scat- tered in various directions. The three officers came forth together, proceed- ing directly across toward De Tonty's office, evidently with some purpose in view. No doubt, angered at his words, they sought satisfaction. I watched until they disappeared within the dis- tant doorway, De Baugis the first to | enter. A moment later one of the sol- diers who had accompanied us from | Quebec, a rather pleasant-faced lad, whose injured hand I had dressed at St. Ignace, approached where I sat, and lifted his hand in salute. “A moment, Jules,” I said swiftly. “You were at the trial?” “Yes, madame.” “And the result?” “The Sieur d’Artigny was held guflty, madame,” he said regretfully, lancing about as though to assure |nimseif alone. “The three officers agreed on the verdict, although I know some of the witnesses led.” ou know—who?” “My own mate, for one—George Dercartes; he swore to seeing D’'Ar- tigny follow Chevet from the bepte, anf that was not true, fae we were toxether all that day. said so, but the court bade me be still.” “Ay, they were not seeking such tes- timony. No. matter what you said, Jules, D’Artigny would have been con- demned—tt was La Barre’s orders.” “Yes, madame, so I thought.” “Did the Sieur d’Artigny speak?” “A few words, madame, until M. Cassion ordered him to remain still. Then M. de Baugis pronounced sen- tence—it was that he be shot tomor- | row.” “The hour?” “I heard none mentioned, madame.” “And a purpose In that also to my mimi. This gives them twenty-four hon*s In which to consummate mur- der. They fear De Tonty and his men may attempt rescue; "tis to find out the three have gone now to his quarters, That is all, Jules; you had best not be seen talking here with me.” I closed the door, and dropped the | bar securely into place. I knew the worst now, and felt sick and faint. Tears would not come to relieve, yet ¢t seemed as though my brain ceased working, as if I had lost all physical and mental power. I know not how long I sat there, dazed, incompetent to ven express the vague thoughts which flashed through my brain. A rapping on the door aroused me. The noise, THE CASPER DAILY TRIBUNE Beyond the Frontier y out for the pris-| I would have} “How did I know; you have time enough to spare for others, although I have had no word with you since you came. I come now only to tell you the news.” “If it be the condemnation of Steur d'Artigny, you may spare your words.” | “You know that! Who brought you | the message?” “What difference, monsieur? I would know the result without mes- senger. You have done your master’s will, What said De Tonty when you told him?” Cassion laughed, as memory was pleasant. “Faith, madame, if you base your s there on rescue you'll scarce et with great result. De Tonty is Mou Dieu! I went in to though the h 1 all bark. | | “Il—Cassion, | Demand Speech With You.” | hold him to account for his insult, and the fellow met us with such gracious Speech, that the four of us drank to- gether like old comrades. The others are there yet, but I had a proposition to make you—so I left them.” “A proposition, monsieur?” “Ay, a declaration of peace, if you will. Listen, Adele, for this is the last time I speak you thus fairly. You fre my wife by law of Holy church. Never have you loyed me, yet I can pass that by, if you recognize my authority. This D’Artigny has come between us, and now his life is my hands. I know not that you love the brat, yet you have that in- terest in him which would prevent forgiveness of me if I show no mercy. So now I come and offer you his life if you consent to be my wife in truth. Is that fair?” “It may so sound,” I answered calm- ly, “yet the sacrifice is all mine. How would you save the man?” “By affording him opportunity to | escape during the night; first accepting | his pledge never to see you again.” | “Tekc&k you he would give such a | pledge?” Caasion laughed sarcastically. “Bah, what man would not save his | life! It is for you to speak the word.” “Monsieur,” I said firmly, “I under- stand your proposition, and refuse it. I will make no pledge.” “You leave him to die?” “If it be God's will. I cannot dis- honor myself, even to save life. You have my answer, I bid you go.” Never did I see such look of beastly rage in the face of any man. He had lost power of speech, but his fingers clutched as though he had my throat in their grip. Frightened, I stepped back, and Chevet’s pistol gleamed in my hand. “You hear me, monsieur—go!” He backed out the door, growling and threatening. I caught little of what he said, nor did I in the least care. All I asked, or desired, was to be let alone, to be free of his pres- ence. I swung the door in his very face, and fastened the bar. Through the thick wood his voice penetrated in words of hatred. Then it ceased, and I was alone in the silence, sinking down nerveless beside the table, my face buried in my hands. I had done right; I knew I had done yet the reaction left me weak and pulseless. I saw now clearly what must be done. Never could I live Cassion Stared at Me Across the Ta- avd insistent raps awoke me as from | with this Cassion; never again could ble, His Face Dark With Passion. “Were those words addressed to me, “Who wishes entrance?” you not.yet I am master here?” I drew the bar, no longer with fear, but impelled by a I ! bli T acknowledge him as husband. Right or wrong, whatever the church might the world might say, I had come Parting of the ways; here and must choose my own life, obey dictates of my own conscience. I been wedded by fraud to a man I + my hatred had grown until knew that I would rather be than live in his presence. Aig Radlre arid mdr it was power to rid myself of the ; if I was already condemned of holy church because of failure to abide by her decree, then there was naught left but for me to seek my own happi- happiness of the man I 3 tis £8 : met e A Romance of || Early Days in the Middle West again through my veins, The truth was mine; I felt no inclination to ob- scure it. The time had come for rejoic- ing, and action. I loved Rene d’Ar- tigny, and, although he had never spo- ken the word, I knew he loved me. Tomorrow he would be in exile, a wan- derer of the woods, an escaped pris- }oner, under condemnation of death, never again safe within reach of French authority. Ay, but he should not go alone; in the depths of those forests, beyond the arm of the law, be yond even the grasp of the church, we should go tugether. In our own hearts |love would justify. ‘Without a qualm of conscience, without even a lingering dovht, I made the choice, the final decision. I know not how long It tovuk me to | think this all out, until I bad accepted |fate; but I do know the decision brought happiness and courage. Food was brought me by a strange Indian apparently unable to speak French; nor would he even enter the room, silently handing m® the platter through the open door. Two sentries stood just | without—soldiers of De Baugis, I! guessed, as their features were unfa millar. They gazed at me curiously as I stood In the doorway, but with out changing their attitudes. Plainly | I was held prisoner also; M. Cassion’s threat was being put Into execution This knowledge merely served to strengthen my decision, and I closed and barred the door again, smiling as I did so. 7 It grew dusk while I made almost vain effort to eat, and, at last, push ing the pewter plate away, I crossed over, and cautiously opened the wood en shutter of the window. The red | light of the sunset still illumined the | western sky, and found glorious reflec- } tion along the surface of the river. It was a dizzy drop to the bed of the stream below, but Indians were on the opposite bank, beyond rifle shot, in considerable force, a half-dozen ca- noes drawn up on the sandy shore, and several fires burning. They were too far away for me to judge their tribe, yet a number among them sported war bonnets, and I had no doubt they were Iroquois. So far as I could perceive elsewhere, there was no movement, as my eyes traveled the half-circle, over a wide vista of hill and dale, green valley and dark woods, although to the left I could occasionally hear the sharp re- port of a rifle, in evidence that besieg- ing savages were still watchful of the | fort entrance. I could not lean out far enough to see in that direction, yet as | the night grew darker the vicious spits | of fire became visible. Above me the | solid log walls arose but a few feet— a tall man might stand upon the win- dow ledge, and find grip of the roof; | but below was the sheer drop to the river—perchance two hundred feet be- neath. Already darkness shrouded the water, as the broad valley faded |into the gloom of the night. There was naught for me to do but }sit and wait. The guard which M. Cassion had stationed at the door pre- vented my leaving the room, but its more probable purpose was to others from communk z with me. De Tonty had evidently resorted to diplomacy, and instead of quarreling with the three officers when they ap- proached him, had greeted them all so genially as to leave the impression that he was disposed to permit matters to take their natural course. He might be watched of course, yet was no longer suspected as likely to help reg- cue the prisoner. All their fear now was centered upon me, and my pos- sible influence. If I could be kept from any further communication with either D’Artigny | or De Tonty, it was scarcely probable | that any of the garrison would make serious effort to interfere with their | Plans. De Tonty’s apparent indiffer- ence, and his sudden friendliness with De Baugis and Cassion, did not worry me greatly. I realized his purpose in thus diverting suspicion. His pledge of assistance had been given me, and his was the word of a soldier and gen- tleman. In some manner, and soon— before midnight certainly—I would re- ceive message from Bolsrondet. keep FEED ROOTS TO DAIRY Cows Where Silage Is Not Available Farmer Is Warranted in Using Them— Best Winter Ration. (By R. 8, HULSE, University of Tlinois.) There are two general conditions that seem to warrant the use of roots for dairy cows. One is where silage jis not available for winter use; and the other is for special feeding. We |have Holstein cows which have con- Splendid Dairy Type. sumed about 100 pounds of roots daily in addition to other feeds. For or- dinary use in the winter ration 80 pounds daily would be about the amount to figure on, In this section it costs considerably more to produce nutrients in the form of roots than in the form of corn si- lage, and feeding trials indicate that the dry matter in silage is fully as valuable for milk production, GRAIN MIXTURE FOR CALVES Experience Teaches That Two Parts of Corn and One Part of Oats Is Satisfactory. Calves are usually fed whole milk for two or three weeks, then gradual- ly changed to skim milk. About the time of changing, begin to feed a little grain, but do not think that it is nec- essary to use ofl meal or any other high-priced feed, high in protein, or fat, or both. Experience shows that a mix- ture of two parts of corn and one part of oats, by weight, gives as good re- sults as oll meal and ready-mixed calf meals often purchased at much higher prices. Bran is not especially good for the young calf because it is too laxa- tive. The grain mixture should be fed Im- mediately after the milk and neither should be fed too liberally or scours may result. SAVES MUCH OF COW’S FEED Pail Fastened Around Animal's Neck by Means of Strap Prevents Slob- bering or Scattering. In feeding a cow from a pail more or less is lost. By fastening the pail to the cow, on the order that a nose- bag is put onto horses, she cannot get her head from the pail—it can- Yet my heart failed me more than once as I waited. How long the time seemed, and how deadly silent was the night. Crouched close beside the door, I could barely hear the muttered con. Versation of the soldiers on guard; Pe a crossed to the open win. looked out yu oer soundless, ren cae att Not even the distant crack of now broke the solemn stillness, ca the only spot of color visible was the dull red glow of a campfire on the op- Posite bank of the river. I had no way ee Sissi time, and the la, seemed centuries lon; terri- fying doubts assailed me. rn Revi new thought became an ger of the venture? refused to accept the chance? had happened; what was happening out there in the mystery? (fO BE CONTINUED.)