Casper Daily Tribune Newspaper, January 6, 1917, Page 2

CHAPTER XXi—Continued. —16— All 1 could do was pray, and wait. Perhaps no word would be given me— the escape might already be accom- plished, and I left here to my fate. Boisrondet knew nothing of my deci- sion to accompany D'Artigny in his exile. If the way was dificult and dangerous, he might not consider it easential to communicate with me at all. De Tonty had promised, to be sure, yet he might have failed to so instruct the younger man. I clung to the window, the agony of this possi- bility driving me wild. Mon Dieu! was that a noise over- head? I could see nothing, yet, as I leaned farther out, a cord touched my face. I grasped it, and drew the dan- gling end in. It was weighted with a bit of wood. A single coal glowed in the fireplace, and from this I ignited a splinter, barely yielding me light enough to decipher the few words traced on the white surface: “Safe so far; have you any word?" My veins ‘throbbed; I could have screamed in delight, or sobbed in sud den joy and relief. I fairly crept to the open window on hands and knees, animated now with but one thought. one hope—the desire not to be left there behind, alone. I hung far out, my face upturned, staring into the darkness. The distance was not great, only a few feet to the roof abov so black was the night that the edge above me _ blended imperceptibly against the sky. I could perceive no movement, no outline. Could they have already gone? Was it possible that they merely dropped this brief message, and instantly vanished? No, | the cord still dangled; somewhere In that dense gloom the two men peered over the roof edge, waiting my re-| sponse. een ener et COPYRIGHT that brute—that murderer? hell. exile, of anything, so | am with you. I confess him husband.” “The lady is right, Rene,” Boisrondet sald earnestly. “You her as well as yourself.” “Think of ber! Mon Dieu, of whom else do I think? Adele, do you mean your words? Would you give up all for me?” “Yes, monsieur.” “But do you know what your choice means?” I stood before darkness. “Monsieur, I have faced it all I | know; the cholce is made- will you take me?” Then I was in his strong arins, and for the first time, his lips met mine him, brave in the CHAPTER XXIil. We Reach the River. It was the voice of Boisrondet which recalled us to a sense of danger. “It is late, and we must not linger here,” he insisted, touching D’Artigny's sleeve. “The guard may discover your absence, Rene, before we get beyond the stockade. Yet how can we get madame safely over the logs?” She must venture the same as we. Follow me closely, and tread with care.” So dark was the night I was obliged to trust entirely to D’Artigny’s guid were familiar with the way, and had thoroughly considered the best method No doubt De Tonty and his young lieutenant had arranged all details, so as to assure success. We “Monsieur,” I called up softly, un- able to restrain my eagerness. “Yes, madame,” it was D'Artigny’s volce, although a mere whisper. “You have some word for me?” ‘Ay, listen; is there any way by} which I can join you?” “Join me—here?” astonishment at my request made him incoherent. “Why, madame, the risk is great—” “Never mind that; my reason ts wor- thy, nor have we time now to discuss the matter. Monsieur Boisrondet, is there a way?” I heard them speak to each other, a mere murmur of sound; then another voice reached my ears clearly. “We have a strong grass rope, ma- dame, which will safely bear your ywelght. The risk will not be great. I have made a noose, and wil! lower | it” I reached it with my hand, but felt; tigny, “and no alarm yet. How far ing now.” a doubt as my fingers clasped it. “'Tls very small, monsieur.” “But strong enough for double your weight, as ‘twas Indian woven. Put] fifty feet of rope here. The rock shelf | jags tight. | is narrow, and the great risk will be | bs foot in the and hold There nre two of us holding it above.” | The memory of the depth below | frightened me. yet I crept forth on the narrow sili, clinging desperately to the noose, taut rope, until I felt my foot safely pressed into the noose, which tightened firmly about it. “Now,” T sald, barely able to make my lips speak. “Then swing hold you safe.” T doubt if it was a full minute in which I swung out over that gulf amid the black night. My heart seemed to stop beating, and I retained no sense other than to cling desperately to the swaylag cord which alone held me from being dashed to death on the jag ged rocks below. Inch by inch they drew me up, the continuous jerks yielding a sickening sensation, but the distance was so short I could scarcely realize the full danger, before D'Ar tigny grasped me with his hands, and drew me in beside him on the roof I stood upon my feet, trembling from excitement, yet encouraged in my pur- pose by his first words of welcome. “Adele,” he exclaimed, forgetful of the presence of his comrade. “Surely you had serious cause for joining, us here.” “Am I welcome, monsieur?” “Can you doubt? Yet surely it was not merely to say farewell that you assumed such risk?” “No, monsieur, it was not to say farewell. I would accompany you in your fight. Do not start like that ‘at my words; I cannot see your face— perhaps if I could I should lose cour- age. I have made my choice, mon- sieur. I will not remain the slave of M. Cassion. Whether for good or evil, I give you my faith.” “I am ready.” j clear, madame; we'll | You doom me to out my life with traversed the flat roofs of the chain of log houses along the west side of the stockade until we came to the end. The only light visible was a dull glow of embers before the guardhouse near the center of the parade, which re- vealed a group of soldiers on duty. The stockade extended some distance beyond where we halted, crouched low on the flat roof to escape being seen. There would be armed men along that wall, especially near the gates, guard- ing against attack, but the darkness gave us no glimpse. There was no firing, no movement to be perceived. ‘The two men crept to the edge, and looked c¢autiou§ly over, and I clung close to D'Artigny, nervous from the silence, and afraid to become separat- ed. Below us was the dense blackness of the gorge. “This is the spot,” whispered D’Ar- to the rocks?” “De Tonty figured the distance at forty feet below the stockade; we have not to stop off in the darkness. There “Now,” | Said, Barely Able to Make My Lips Speak. should be an iron ring here somewhere —ay, here it is; help me draw the knot taut, Rene.” “Do we—do we go down here, mon- sieur?” I questioned, my voice falter- ing. “Here, or not at all; there are guards Iam a young woman, a mere girl, and this Is my one chance to save myself from I am not afraid of the woods, of would rather die than go to him—to must think of ance, but it was evident that both men | THE CASPER DAILY TRIBUNE “w ACMECLURG @ CO ly, so as to make no noise; make a | noose for the lady’s foot, and lower her with care. You have the strength?” | “Ay, for twice her weight.” “Good; there will be naught to fear, madame, for I will be below to aid your footing. When I give the signal again Rene will descend and join us.” “The rope is to be left dangling?” “Only until I return. Once I leave you safe beyond the Iroquois, ’tis my part to climb this rope again. Some task that,” cheerfully, “yet De Tonty deems it best that no evidence connect us with th cape. What make you the hour? “Between one and two.” “Which will give me time before day dawn; so here, I chance it.” He swung himself over the edge, and silently down Into the black mystery We leaned over to watch, but could see nothing, our only evi- lence of his progress the jerking of the rd. D'Artigny’s hand closed on mine. “Dear,” he whispered tenderly, “we are alone now—you are sorry?” “I am happler than I have ever been in my life,” I answered honestly. “I have done what I believe to be right, and trust God. All I care to know now |} is that you love me.” “With every throb of my heart,” he said solemnly. “It is my love which | makes me dread lest you regret.” “That will never be, monsieur; I am of the frontier, and do not fear the woods. Ah! he has reached the rock safely—'tis the signal.” D'Artigny drew up the cord, testing {t to make sure the strands held firm, and made careful noose, into which he slipped my foot. Now, Adele, you are ready?” “Yes, sweetheart; kiss me first.” “You have no fear?” 6 “Not with your strong hands to sup- port, but do not keep me waiting long below.” Ay, but I was frightened as I swung | off into the black vold, clinging des- perately to that slight rope, steadily | sinking downward. My body rubbed |against the rough logs, and then against rock. Once a jagged edge wounded we, yet I dare not release my erip, or utter a sound. I sank down, down, the strain ever greater on my nerves. I retained no knowledge of distance, but grew apprehensive of what awaited me below. Would the rope reach to the rock? Would i swing clear? Even as these thoughts began to horrify, I felt a hand grip me, and Boisrondet’s whisper gave cheerful greeting. “It is all right, madame; release your foot, and trust me. Good, now do not venture tb move, untill Rene joins us. Faith, he wastes little time; he is com- ic | I could see nothing, not even the outlines of my companion, who stood holding the cord taut. I could feel the d face of the rock, against which I stood, and ventured, by reaching out | with one foot, to explore my immedi- ate surroundings. The groping toe | touched the edge of the narrow shelf, | and I drew back startled at thought of another sheer drop into the black | depths. | My heart was still pounding when | D’Artigny found foothold beside me. | As he swung free from the cord, his fingers touched my dress. “A fine testf courage that, Adele,” he whispered, “but with Francols here below there was small peril. Now \;what next?” | “« ticklish passage for a few yards. | Stand close until I get by: now cling | to the wall, and follow me. Once off [this shelf we can plan our journey. Madame, take hold of my jacket. Rene, you have walked this path before.” “Ay, years since, but I recall its peril.” We crept forward, so cautiously it seemed we scarcely moved, the rock shelf we traversed so narrow in places that I could scarce find space in which to plant my feet firmly. Suddenly we clambered on to a flat rock, crossed it, and came to the edge of a wood, with! a murmur of water not far away. Here Boisrondet paused, and we came close | about him. There seemed to be more | ight here, although the tree shadows were grim, and the night rested about us in impressive silence. “Here is where the river trail comes down,” and Bolsrondet made motion “Ay, right; would that I might be with you. But what plen did M. de Tonty outline for me to follow?” “Twas what | started to tell. At the edge of the water, but concealed from the river by rocks, is a small hut where we keep hidden a canoe ready | fitted for any secret service. "T'was | Sieur de la Salle’s thought that it might prove of great use in time of siege. No doubt it is there now, just as we left it, undiscovered of the Iro- quois, This will bear you down the river until daylight, when you can hide along shore.” “There is a rifle?” “Two of them, with powder and hall.” He laid his hand on the other’s shoulder. “There is nothing more to say, and time is of value. Farewell, my friend.” “Farewell,” thelr fingers clasped. | “There will be other days, Francols; | my gratitude to M. de Tonty.” Bois- | rondet stepped back, and, hat in hand, | bowed to me. “Adieu, madame; a pleasant jour- | A moment, monsieur,” I said, a fal- ter in my volee. “You are M. d’Ar-| tigny’s friend, an officer of France, and a Catholic.” “Yes, madame.” “and you think that t am right in choice—that I am dotng naught un- orthy of my womanhood?” | Even fn the darkness I saw him| w make the symbol of the cross, before | EE ard and kissed my hand. | eg he bent forw ‘Madam he said gravely, “I am plain soldier, with all my service on the frontier. I leave to the priests the discussion of doctrines, and to God my punishment and reward. I only answer you as D’Artigny’s friend, | and an officer of France. I give you | honor and respect, and deem your love | and trust far more holy than your mar- riage. My faith, and my sword are yours, madame.” I felt his lips upon my hand, yet knew not he had gone. I stood there, my eyes blinded with tears at his gal- lant words, only becoming conscious of his disappearance when D’Artigny drew me to him, his cheek pressed against my hair. “He has gone! We are alone!” “Yes, dear one; but I thank God for those last words. They have given me courage and faith. So my old com- rades believe us right the criticism of others does not move me. You love me, Adele? You do not regret?” My arms found way about his neck: my lips uplifted to his. “Monsieur, I shall never regret; I trust God and you.” How he ever found his way along that dim trail I shall never know. Some memory of its windings, togeiher with the instinct of a woodsman, must have given guidance, while no doubt his feet, clad in soft Indian mocca- sins, enabled him to feel the faint track, imperceivable in the darkness. It led along a steep bank, through low, tangled bushes, and about great trees, with here and there a rock thrust across the path,, compelling detour. The branches scratched my face and tore my dress, confusing me so that} had I not clung to his arm, I should have been instantly lost in the gloom. | Our advance was slow and cautious, every step taken in silence. Snakes could not have moved with less noise, and the precaution was well taken. Suddenly D’Artigny stopped, gripping can | B found reflection on river and rocks, so that we con!d percefye each other, and gain dim view of our surroundings. Of the canoe there was absolutely no trace, and, if arms had been hidden there also, they had likewise disap- peared. The very fact that the door stcod wide open, its wooden lock broken, told the story clearly. I re- mained silent, staring about through the semi-darkness of the laterior, ren- dered speechless by a feeling of utter helplessness. D’Artigny, after an ut- terance of disappointment, felt his way along the walls; as he came back to the open door our eyes met, and he must have read despair in mine, for he smiled encouragingly. “Swept bare, little girl,” he said. Not so much as an ounce of powder left. The savages got here before us, it seems. Never mind; we shall have to travel a ways on woodcraft, and it will not be the first wilderness jour- ney I have made without arms. Did De Tonty mention to you where he believed the Illini were in hiding?” “No, monsieur—are they Indians?” “Yes; the river tribes, the most loyal of all to La Salle, It was one of their villages we saw on the bank of the stream as we approached the fort from the west. I told Boisrondet that it stood there deserted, but not destroyed, and {t was our judgment the Inhabitants were hiding among the river bluffs. Without canoes they could not travel far, and are probably concealed out yonder. If we can find them our greatest peril is past.” “They are friendly?” “Ay, and have never shed white blood. I know them well, and with leadership they would be a match even for the Iroqueis. De Tonty led them once against these same warriors, and they fought like fiends. Come, we will follow the stream, and see if we cannot find trace of thelr covert.” It was but a cluster of rocks where the hut stood, and a few yards below we found the forest creeping down to the very bank of the river. The sky me in warning. For a moment there was no sound except the distant mur-| mur of waters, and the chatter of some | night bird. Yet some instinct of the woods held the man motionless, | ing. A twig cracked to our then a voice spoke, low and rm It sounded so close at hand ten- | and | could scarcely hs been f jaway. Another voice answer we were aware of bodies aling | along through the wood; there was a faint rustling of dead leaves, and the occasional swish of 4 branch. We crouched low in the trall, fairly hold- ing our breath, every nerve tense. There was no sound from below, but in the other direction one warrior— 1 could see the dim outline of his na- ked figure—passed within easy reach of my outstretched hand. | Assured that all had passed beyond | hearing D’Artigny rose to his feet, and | assisted me to rise, his hand still grasp- ing mine. “Iroquois, by the look of thet war- rior,” he whispered, “and enough of them to mean mischief.” “'Twas the tongue of the Tuscaro- ras,” I answered. “My father taught me @ little of it years ago. The first words spoken were a warning to be still; the other answered that the white men are all asleep.” “And I am not sure but that is true. If De Tonty was in command the walls would be well guarded, but De Baugis “It hath the look; ’tis not Indjan na- to the left. “You should remember | ture to gather thus at this night hour, that well, Rene.” without a purpose. But, pouf, there is “TI was first to pass over it; it leads | little they can do against that stockade to the water edge.” of logs for all their numbers, It is “Yes; not so easily followed in the | our duty to be well away by Jaylight.” night, yet you are woodsman enough; The remaining distance to the wa- ered there is a passage here. Listen, Rene: I leave you now, for those De Tonty's orders. He said that now on you would be safe alone. Of course he knew nothing ot madame's purpose.’ di to make it. So far as we know from /|ter’s edge was not far—a direct de- above the Iroquois, have not discoy-| scent amid a litter of rocks, shadowed by great trees. Nothing opposed our passage, nor we hear any sound CHAPTER XXII. We Meet Surprise. Not until had lightened above us, the obscuring clouds opening to let the silver gleam of stars through, and we paused a mo~ ment gazing back and upward at che vast rock on which porched the be- nered fort. We could dimly per- » the vague outline of it silhouet- ainst the lighter arch of sky. In ssive gloom and silence it seemed 1d | to dominate the night, the grim forest | sweeping up to its very walls. Not a gleam of light appeared; not a sound reached us. I felt D’Artigny’s arm about me. “I would that I really knew what was going on yonder ‘neath the screen of trees,” he said gravely. ‘Some In- dian trick, perchance, which it might be in my power to circumvent—at least bear to the lads fair warning.” “You would risk life for that?” “Ay, my own readily. That is a les- son of the wilderness; the duty of a comrade. But for your presence I should be climbing the hill, seeking to learn the purpose of those savages— else I were no true soldier of France." “What think you their purpose Is, monsieur?” “An attack in force at dawn. Those who passed us were heavily armed, and crept forward stea!thily, stripped and painted for war. There were other parties, no doubt, creeping up through the woods from all sides. *Tis my thought the hour has struck for tnem to make their great effort. They have scattered the friendly Indians, killed them, or driven them in terror down the river Their villages have been destroyed. Now all the warriors who have been at that business have re. turned, filled with blood lust. and eager to strike at the French.” “But they cannot win? Sure! cannot capture the fort, pan dtaen Why, it is all rock?” “We Are Alone Now—Are You Sorry?” | to MARY GRAHAM BONNER ———— — PINKY PIG’S FLYING TRIP. “Pinky Pig,” said Daddy, “was grow- ing very Fat. He really was becom- ing quite worried about-it. “ ‘It’s strange I grow so Fat.’ “TJ don’t think it’s so strange,’ said Pinky Pig’s Mother, “Why not? asked Pinky. “‘Because, she grunted, ‘all your Family are Fat. You just take to it naturally. Thin pigs aren’t Stylish, and we must be Stylish, you know.’ “Tt doesn’t seem to me,’ squealed Pinky slowly, ‘that I bave ever heard of a ‘Stylish Pig—Thin or Fat.’ “‘That’s perfectly True,’ said his Mother. ‘But some day we may be- some Stylish, you know. And we never could become that way if we tried to |grow Thin. For Patness is some- thing that belongs to us. We like to be | Lazy and Sleep and Eat a great deal. We could never do that and be Thin. So it’s best not to start anything so new in Pigland. 3esides you'd grow | very, very Unpopular.’ “Well,” said Pinky, ‘I suppose you are Right. I will go off for a Walk at any e, and see how the Exercise | agrees with . “Off started Pink He had not, ked far when he saw Peter Gnome, ‘d like to Sit down and Talk td said Pinky. “'Do,’ said Peter Gnome. ‘Or maytie you'd rather Fly with us. We're goifig to take a Trip through the Clouds ond we're going to Visit all sorts of Won- derful People. Will you come?’ “‘*Ah, -yes,’ said Pinky. ‘Inde¢d, I will come. I will be the finest Wig in Pigland after this Trip, and 4think | how much I will have to tell mj Fam- j ily and Friends!’ | “‘We must be off,’ said Peter nome. ‘We're going on the Back of Pur Old Friend the Tipster Bird. He gives us Rides all over, you know.” “‘T didn’t know it,’ said Pinky. ‘But I'm glad to be told’ “Pinky was highly Plattered that he was to take such a Trip and he was bound he would show all the Gnomes that Pigs were very well behaved and had really quite Charming Manners! “All the Gnomes seemed to come from far and near and they all took their places on the Wings of the big Tipster Bird—which is an enormous | Bird belonging to the Gnomes. He is their Dreamland Bird they say. “The wings seemed to grow larger as each little Gnome alighted, and when Pinky Pig climbed up he had a lovely soft, feathery Seat right in the center of the Tipster Bird’s back. “Off they flew to the Clouds. They saw the Silver Clouds, the Dark Clouds, the White Fluffy Clouds, and old Mr. Sun Winked at them and told them Stories as they went along. “*The Ride is almost over,’ said Pe- ter Gnome. ‘I hope you have had a good time.’ “T’'ve had the time of my Life,’ said Pinky Pig. ‘I never thought I would be so lucky as to Fly. And I'm very happy and proud.’ “‘So Glad to hear it,’ said Peter Gnome. And the Black Tipster Bird | | = = Off They Flew to the Clouds. slowly landed down on the Ground. The Gnomes seemed to hurry away and only the Tipster Bird was left, srowing Larger and Larger all the time. But as he grew Larger he seemed to lose his shape. He ng long: . er looked like a Bird, but just like a great deal of Mud. “‘The Bird is made of Mnd,’ said Pinky. “What do you mean? asked his Mother, “T've been flying,’ sald Pinky. “Flying? Squeaked his Mother. ‘You said you were going to take 4 Walk, and you had not gone more than a few Steps when you Dropped down In that Mud and have been Lying there ever since sound Asleep. You won't deans ee that way. But I'm glad of Ashamed to have a Thin Chia’ * , “Rut, Mother,’ said Pinky. ‘Didn't { go Fiying with the Gnomes? “My dear Pinky Pig,’ said his Mother. ‘You must be stili Dreaming. The very Idea of a Pig's Flying. 1 never heard of so Absurd. But anyway it’s a Fine Dream. If 9 Pig Flies in his Dreams it shows he’s “ather a Noble Pig. And I’m proud of 1 you, my Child. “Well,” Grunte ] had ted Pinky, ‘I wish