Omaha Daily Bee Newspaper, December 9, 1894, Page 19

oy N By Bret ((‘nnflll;l.ir PART I.—Chapter I1L. Wnsuspected and astounding as the revela- 18k ®as to Clarence, its strange reception by le conspirators seemed to him as astound- Ag. He had started forward, half expecting hdt the complacent, self-confessed spy would tmmolated by his infuriated dupes. But his surprise the shock seemed to have hanged their natures and given them the ignity they had lacked. ! The excitability, irritation and recklessness hich had previously characterized them ad_disappeared. The deputy and his posse, ho had advanced to the assfstance of their Fovealed chief, met with no resistance. They Biad evidently, as with one accord, drawn | twly trom Judge Beeswinger, leaving a leared space around him, and regarded their aftors with sullen, cont:mptuous silence, t was only broken by Colonel Starbottle: Your duty commands, you, sir, to use all osstble diligence In bringing us before the g:-aem Judge of this district. Unless your dster in Washington has violated the con- titution 50 far as to remove him, too! | understand you perfectly,” returned Pudge Deeswinger with unchanged compos- | yire, “and as you know that Judge Wilson nfortunately cannot be removed except hrough regular cause of impeachment 1 sup- pose you may still count upon his southern sympathies to befriend you. With that I have Eum"; to do; my duty is complete when my 1894, jeputy has brought you befors him and I the ar-| | Japtain | ave stated the circumstances of eat.” congratulate you, sir,” said inckney, with an fronical salute, “in your rompt reward for your treachery to the | uth, and your equally prompt adoption of e pecullar tactics of your friends in th:| Way fn which you have entered this house. 4 “I am sorry I cannot congratulate you, ir,”” returned Judge Beeswinger gravely, “‘on Feaking your oath to the government that has educated and supported you, and given s the epaulets you disgrace. Nor shall I fiscuss ‘treachery’ with the man who has not bnly violated the trust of his country, but wen. the integrity of his friend’s household. t 18 for that reason that I withhold the ctfon of this warrant insofar as it affects he person of the master and mistress of this house. I am satisfied that Mr. Brant has been s Ignorant of what has been done here as I m that his wife has been only the foolish upe of a double traitor.” “Silence!” The words broke simultane:usly from the ips of Clarence and Captain Pinckney. They tood staring at each other—the one pale, he otler crimson—as Mrs. Brant, appar- ntly oblivious cf the significance of their united adjuration, turned to Judge Bees- winger in the fury of her still stified rage mortification. o Keep your mercy for your fellow spy,’ Bho said, with a contemptuous gesture to- r.rd her husband. “I go with these. gen- leme: A You will not,” sald Clarence, quictly, ¥ntil 1 have said a word to you alone ! 'He laid his band firmly upon her wrist. he deputy and his prisoners filed slowly of the court yard together, the latter Glirteously saluting Mrs. Brant as they ssed, but turnirg from Judge Beeswinger n cont:mptuous silence. The latter fol- lowed them to the gate, but there he paused. Turning to Mrs. Brant, who was still half struggling in the strong grip of her husband, o sald: o ‘Any compunction I may have had in misléad'ng you by accepting your invitation ere 1 dsmissed after I had entered the ouse. And I trust,” he added, turning to larence, sternly, “I leave you master of it.” 3 As tho gate closed behind bim Clarenco focked it. As his wife turned up:n him grily hd sald, ouletly:. “I have no in- tion of restraining your liberty a moment ter our interview is over. But until then do nct intend to be disturbed. he threw herself disdainfully back in her hair, her hands clasped in her lap, in half ontemptucus resignation, with her eyes up:n er long, slim, arched feet crossed before her. ven in her attitude there was something her old fascination, which, however, now ed to sting Clarence to the quick. A1 have n:thing to say to you in regard 0 what has just passed In this house, ex- ept that as loiig as I remain nominally its aster it shall not be repeated. Although I ®ball no fongér attempt to influence or con- tro] your political sympathies I shall n°t Bllow you to indulge them where in any pvay they seem to imply my sanction. But 0 little do I oppose your liberty that you re free ti rejoin your political companfons Henevar you choose to do S0 on your own ‘esponsibility. But I must first know from our own lips that your sympathies are urely political—nct a name for something else.’ { She had alternately flushed and paled, al- though still keeping her scorpful attitude as 0 went on, but there was no mistaking the uineness of her vague wonderment at concluding words. “I Gon't understand you,” she sald, lfting her eyes to his in a omegt of ecld ecuriosity. “What do you e What did Judge Bee- nr 4 4What do I mean? Bwinger mean when he called Captain Pinck- noy a double traltor?" he said roughly. She sprang to her feet with flashing eyes. « “And ycu—you—dare to repeat the cowardly lle of a confessed spy. This, Chen, is what you wished to tell me—this, the Insult for which you have kept me here, because you are incapable of understanding unseifish t:tnoum or devotion—even to your own use—you dare to judge me by your own base standards. Yes, it is worthy of you!” 4 8he walked rapidly up and down, and then suddenly faced him. » “I understand it all! T appreciate your magnanimity tow. You are willing I shall Join the company of these chivalrous gentle- imen In order to give color to your calumnie Say at once that it was you who putsup this to correspond with me—to come hers—in order to entrap me. Yes, entrap me—I—who a moment ago stood up for you before these tlemen, and sald you could not lie! h! Struck only by the wild extravagance of peech and temper Clarence did not know that when women are most illogieal they are apt to be most sincere, and, from standpoint, her unreasoning deduc- peared to him only as an affectation 1o galn thme for thought, or a tleatrical di play to dazzle, like Susy's. And he was turning, halt contemptuously, away when she n faced him with flashing eyes: \_*“Well, hear me! [ accept! I leave here at once to join my own people, my own friends—those who understand me—put what construction on it you choose. Do your worst! You cannot do mere to separate us than you have done just now. She left him and ran up the steps, with an extravagant return of her old cccasional nymph-like gracefulness—the movement of a ‘woman whe has never borne children—and a switch of her long skirts that he remembered for many a day after as she disappeared in the corridor. He remained looking after her—indignant, outraged, and—unconvinced! Then there was @& rattling at the gate. He remembered he had opened it to the flushed, pink cheeks and | dancing eyes of Susy. e rain was still dripping from her wet cloak as she swung it from hor shoulders. know it all, all that's happened. burst out, with half girlish exuberance, and (Balt the actress's declamation. “We met them all in the road, posse and prisoners. Chief Thompsou knew me, and told me all, fAnd so you've done It—and you'rs master in your old house again. Clarence, old boy, Jim said you wouldn't do it. Said you'd weaken on aceount of her! But I sald ‘No.' & knew you better, old Clarence, and 1 saw At in_your face, for all your stiftness! He! JBut for all that I was mighty nervous and uneasy, and just made Jim send an excuse to the theater, and we rushed it down here, It looks natural to see the old house again! And she; you packed her off with the oth- ers, dldn't you? Tell me, Clarence,” in her old appealing volce, “‘you shook her, too Dased and astounded, and yet expressing & vague semse of rellef with an odd return Of his old tenderness toward the wilitul ‘woman before him, he had slently regarded until her allusion to his wife recalled him to himself. “Hush,” he sald quickly, with & glance toward the corridor. LADE" said Susy, with a malicious amile, locked it. He sho . CLARENCE. Harte. * by Dret Harte) “then that's why Captain Pinckney was lingering in the rear with the deputy.” “Silence!” sald Clarence sternly. “‘Go in there,” pointing to the garden room below the balcony, “and wait until your husband comes. He half led, halt pushed her into the room which had been his business office, and returned to the patio. A hesitating veice from the balcosy said, “Clarence.” It was his wife's voice, but modified and gentler—more Itke her voice as he had first heard ft—or if it were chastened by some reminiscence of those days. It was his wife's face, too, that looked down on_his, paler than he had seen it since he had en- tered the house, She was shawled and hooded, carrying a traveling bag in her hand “I am going, Clarence,” she sald with gentle gravity, “but not in anger! I even ask you to forgive me for the foolish words that I think your still more foolish accusa- tion,” she smiled faintly, *dragged from me. I am going because T know that I have brought, and that while I am here I shall always be bringing upon you the imputation, and even the responsibility of my own faith! While I am proud to it, and, it needs be, suffer for it, I no right to ruin your prospects, or make you the victim of the slurs that others may cast upon me. Let us part as friends, separated only by .our different political faiths, but keeping all other faiths together until God shall settle the right of this struggle. Perhaps it may be soon—I sometimes think it may be years of agony for all—but until then, goodby.” She had slowly descended the steps to the 0, looking handsomer than he had ever seen her, and as if sustained and upheld by tho enthusiasm of her cause. Her hand was outstretched toward his, his heart beat vio- lently, in another moment he might have forgotten all and clasped her to his breast. Suddenly she stopped, her outstretched arm stiffened, her finger pointed to the chair ch.Susy’s cloak, was hanging. What's that?” she said in a sharp, high, allic voice. ““Who is here? Speak! ‘Susy,” sald Clarenc, She cast a scathing glance around the patio, and then settled her piereing eyes upon | Clarence with a bitter smile. “Already Clarence felt the blood rush to his face as he stammered he knew what was happen- ing here and came to give you warning.” “Lia “Stop!" sald Clarence, with a white face. “She came to t:ll me that Captain Pinckney was still lingering for you in the road. He threw open the gate to let her pass. | mind. | him myself. THE OMAHA DAILY PEE: SUNDAY, DECEMBER 9, 1894, turning angrily upon Clarence, “as soon as this farce—for which you and your friends are responsible—is over.” He was furlous at the reflection that Mrs. Brant had es- caped him A different thought was in the husband's “But what assurance have I that ycu are going on with the deputy?’ he sald, with purposely Insulting deliberation. “My word, sir,” said Captain Pinckney, sharply “And If that ain’t _enuff, there's mine,” said the deputy. “For if this gentleman swerves to the right or left betwixt this and Santa Inez, I'll blow a hole through “And that,” he added deprecat- ingly, “is saying a good deal for a man who doesn’t want to spoil sport, and, for the mat- ter of that, is willing to stand by and see falr play done at Santa Inez any time to- merrow before breakfast.” ““Then I ean count on you?" said Clarence, with a sudden impulse, extending his hand. The man hesitated a moment and then grasped it. “Woll, I wasn't expecting that,” he sald slowly; “‘but you look as if you meant business, and It you ain't got anybody else to see you through, I'm thar! I suppose this gentleman will have his friends."” “I shall be there at 6 with my seconds,” said Pinckney curtly. ‘“Lead on." The gate closed behind them. Clarence looked around the now empty patio and the silent house, from which he could now see that the servants had been withdrawn to in- sure the secrecy of the gathering. Cool and collected as he knew he was he stood still for a moment in hesitation. Then the sourid of voices came to his ear from the garden room, the light frivolity of Susy's laugh, and Hooker's huskier accents. He had forgotten they were there—he had even forgotten their existence. Trusting still to his calmness he called to Hooker in his usual voice. That gentleman appeared with a face which his attempts to make unconcerned and impassive had, how- ever, only deepened into funereal gravity. “I' have something to attemd to," said Clarence, with a faint smile, “and.T must ask you and Susy to excuse me for a little while. She knows the house perfectly, and will call the servants from the annex to provide you both with refreshments. I will join you a little later. Satisfied from Hooker's manner that they knew nothing of his latter interview with Pinckney, he turned away and ascehded to his own room. He then threw himself into an armchair by the dim light of a single candle, as if to reflect. But he was conscious even then of his own calmness and want of excite- ment, and that no reflection was necessary. What he had done and what he intended to do was quite clear; there was no alterna- tive suggested or to be even sought after. He had that sense of relief which comes with the climax of | great struggles—even f defeat. He had never known before how hopeless and continuous had beeo that strug- gle until now it was over. He had no fear for tomorrow, he would meet it as he had today, with the same singular consciousness of being equal to the occasion. There was even no necessity of preparation for it; his will, leaving his fortune to his wife— which seemed a slight thing now in this greater separation—was already. in his safe “I LEAVE YOU THE MASTER OF IT.” he swept out she lifted her hand. As he clcsed the gats there were the white marks of her four fingers on his cheek. PART L.—Chapter IV. For once Susy had not exaggerated. Cap- tain Pinckney was lingering with the deputy who had charge of him on the trail near the casa. It had already been pretty well under- stood by both captives and captors that the arrest was simply a legal demonstration, that the sympathizing federal judge would un- doubtedly order the dischargé of the prison- ers on thelr own recognizances, and it was probable that the deputy saw no harm in granting Pinckney’s request;” which was vir- tually only a delay in his own liberation. It is also possible that Pinckney had worked upon the chivalrous sympathies of the man by professing his disinclination to leave their devoted colleagne, Mrs. Brant, at the mercy f her antagonistic and cold-blooded husband at such a crisis, and it is to be feared, also, that Clarence, as a reputed lukewarm parti- san, excited no personal sympathy even frof his own party. Howsver, the deputy agreed to delay Pinckney’s journey for a parting in- terview with his falf hostess. How far this expressed the real sentiments of Captain Pinckney was never know Whether his political assoclation with Mrs. Brant had developed into a warmer solicitude understood or ignored by her, and what were his hopes and aspirations regarding his fu- ture, was by the course of fate nsver di closed. A' man of easy ethics but rigid arti- ficialities of honor, flaitered and pampered by class prejudice, a so-ealled “man of the world,” with no experience beyond his gwn limited circle, yet brave and devoted to that, it were well perhaps to leave this last act of his inefiicient life to the simple record of the deputy. Dismounting, he approached the house from the garden. He was already familiar with the low-arched doorway which led to the business room, and from which he could gain admittance to the patio. But it so chanced that he entered the dark passage at the mo- ment that Clarence had thrusd Susy into the business room and heard its door shut sharply. For an instant he belleved that Mrs. Brant had taken refuge there, but as he cautlously moved forward he heard her voice in the patio beyond. Its accents struck him as pleadiog: an intense curiosity drew him further along the passage. Suddenly her voice seemed to change to angry denunciation, and the word “Liar” rang upon his ears. It Wi followed by his own name uttered sardonic- ally by Clarence, the swift rustle of a skirt, ths clash of the gate, and then, forgetting everything, he burst Into the patio. Clarencs was just turning from the gate with the marks of his wife's hand still red on his white cheek. He saw Captain Pinck- ney's eyes upon it, and a faint, halt mali- cicus, half hysteric smile upon his lips. But without a start or gesture of surprise he licked the gate, and turning to him sald, with frigid significance “I thank you for returning so_promptly and for recognizing the ¢nly thing that I now require at your bands.” But Captain Pinckney had recovered his supercilious ease with the significant de- mand “You seem to have had something already from another’s hand, sir—but 1 am at your service,” he said lightly “You will consider that I have accepted it trom you, sir.” said Clarence, drawing closer to bim with a rigid face. “I suppose it will not be necesary f.r me to return it— to make you understand me.” “Go on," sald Pinckney, flushing slightly, “Make your terms. | am ready." “But I'm mot,” sald the unexpected voice of the deputy at the grille of the gateway. “Excuse my interfering, gentlemen, but this t ¢ thing ai't diwn In my schedule. e let thiz geatleman,” polnting to Cap- tain Pinckney, “off for a minit to say goodby to a lady, who, I reckon, has just ridden cft in her buggy with her servant without say- ing by your leave—but I dou't calkelate to let him inter another business which, like as not, may prevent me from delivering his bady safe and sound int> court. You hear As Clareuce opentd the gate he T don't want ter spoll sport be- tween gents, but it's got to come In after I've done my duty.” ‘Il meet you, sir, anywhere and with what weapons ycu choose,” sald Pinckney, In San Francisco; his pistols were In the next room. He was even slightly disturbed by his own insensibility, and passed into his wife's bedroom, partiy In the hope of disturbing his serenity by some memento of the past. There was no disorder of flight— everything was in its place except the drawer of her desk, which was still open, as If she had taken something from it as an afterthought. There were letters and papers there—some of his own, and some in Cap- tain Pinckney’s handwriting. It did not oc- cur to him to look at them—even to justify himselt—or excuse her. He knew that his hatred of Captain Pinckney was not so much that he believed him her lover as his sudden conviction ‘that they were alike. Ho was the male of her specles—a being antagonistic to himself, whom he could fight and crush and revenge himself upon. But most of all he loathed his past, not on account of her, but of his own weakness that had made him her dupe, and a mis- understood man to his friends. He had been derelict of duty In his unselfish devo- tion to her; he had stifiedl his ambition and underrated ‘his own_possibilities—no wonder others had accepted him at his own valu- ation. Clarence Brant was a modest man, but the egotism of modesty is more fatal than that of pretension, for it has the haunt- ing consclousness of superior virtue. He re-entered his own room and again threw himself in his chair. His calm was béing succeeded by a physical weariness; he remembered he had not slept the night be- fore. and he ought to take some rest to be resh in the early morning. Yet he must also show himself before his self-invited guests, Susy and her husband, or their sus- Dicions would be aroused. He would try to sleep for a little while in the chair, befors he went down stairs again. He closed his eyes oddly enough on a dim, dreamy recollection of Susy, of the old days in the little Madrono hollow, ‘where she had once given him a ren- dezvous. He forgot the maturer and criti- cal uneasiness with which he had then re- ceived her coquettish and willful advances, which he now knew was the effect of the growing dominance of Mrs. Peyton over him, The faintness he had felt when awaiting in the old rose garden a few hours ago seemed to steal over him once more, and to lapse Into a delicious drowsiness. He even seemed again to inhale the perfume of the roses. “Clarence!” He started. He had been sleeping—but the voice sounded strangely real. A little girlish laugh followed. He sprang to his feet. It was Susy, standing beside him—and Susy even as she looked In the old_days! For with a flash of her old audacity, aided by her perfect knowledgs of the house, and the bunch of household keys she had found, which dangled from her girdle, as in the old fashion, she had disinterred one of her old frocks from a closet, slipped it on, and un- loosening her brown hair, had let it fall in tippling waves down her back. It was Susy In her old girlishness, with the instinct of the grown actress In the arrangement of her short skirt over her pretty ankles, and the balf conscious pose she had taken. “Poor old Clarence,” she said, with dancing eyes, “I might have won a dozen pairs of gloves from you while you slept there. But yau're_tired, and you've had a bard time of it. No matter—you've showa yourself a man at last'—and I'm proud of you." Half ashamed of the pleasure he felt, even in his embarrassment, Clarence stammered “But this change—this dress Susy clapped her hands like a child. I knew it would surprise you! It's an old frock I wore the year I went away with aunty. 1 knew where it was hidden, and fished it out again with these keys. Clar- ence—it seemed so Mke old times. When 1 was with the old servants agaln—and you didn’t come down—I just felt as if I'd never been away, and I just rampaged free! It seemed to me, don't you know, not as if I'd just come—but as If I'd always been right here—and it you who'd just come! Don’t you understand? Just as you came when me and Mary Rogers were here—don't you remember her, Clarence, and—how she used to do ‘gooseberry’ for us!—well—just like that. So T said to Jim—1 don't koow you any more—get! and I just slipped on this frock and ordered Maonela around, as I used to do—and she in fifs of laughter—I reckon, Clarence. she hasn't' laughed as much since I left. And then I thought of you— perhaps worried and flusteréd Yot over things and the change, and I just sitpped into the kitchen, and 1 told old fat Oonchita to make some of those tortillas, you khow—with sugar and einnamon sprinkled on top—and I tied on an apron and brought 'em up to you on a tray with a gless of that old Catalan wine that you used to lke. Then I sorter folt frightened when I got hers, and I didn't hear any noise, and I put the fray down in the hall and peeped in and found you asleep. Sit still, T'll fetch ‘em.” She tripped out into the passage, return- ing with the tray, which shé put on the table beside Clarenee, afd ‘then, standing back a little with her hands tucked soubrette fashion in the tiny pockets of her apron, gazed at him with a mischievous smile. It was impossible not to smile back as he nibbled the crisp Mexican cake and drank the old Mission wine. Ard Susy's tongue trilled an accompaniment to his thanks. “It seems o0 nice to be here—just you and me, Clarence—like in the old days—with nobody naggin’ and snoopin® round after you. Don't be greedy, Clarence, but give me a cake.” She took one and finished the dregs { of his glass. He looked critically into the mischievous eyes, and said quietly: . “Where s your husband?" There was no trace of embarrassment, apology, or even of consclousness in her pretty face, as she replied, passing her hand lightly through his hair: “On, Jim! I've packed him oft!" “Packed him off " echoed Clarence, slightly astonished. —to Fair _Plains—full tilt wife's bugggy. You see, Clarence, after the old cat—that's your wife, plea 1 wanted to make sure she had gome, and wasn't hangin' round to lead you off again, with her leg tied to your apron string, like a chicken’s! No! I said to Jim, ‘just you ride after until you see she's safe and sound in the down coach from Fair Plains, without her knowin' it, and if she's inclined to hang back or wobble any, you post back here and let me know! I told him I would stay and look after you, to see you didn’t bolt too!” She laughed, and then added: “But I didn’t think T should fall into the old ways so soon, and have such a nice time. DIid you, Clar- ence?’ She looked so frresponsible sitting there, and 50 childishly or perhaps thoughtlessly happy, that he could only admire her levity, and even the slight shock that her flippant allu- sion to his wife had given him seemed to him only a weakness of his own. After all, was not hers the true philosophy? Why should not these bright eyes sce things more clearly than his own? Nevertheless, with his eyes still fixed upon them, he continued: ‘And Jim was willing o go ‘Why, yes, you silly—why shculdn't he? I'd like to see him refuse. Why, Jim will do anything 1 ask him.” Then suddenly looking full into his eyes, she said: ‘““That's just the difference between him and me and you and that womar ‘Then you love him?"” “About” as much as you love her," said with an unaffected laugh, ‘“only den't wind me around his finger.” No doubt she was right for all her thought- lessness, and yet he was going to fight about that w an tomorrow! No—he forgot—he was going to fight Captain Pinckey because he was like her! “‘You know it as well as#-do, Clarence," she sald, with a pretty writkiing of her brows, which was her nearest approach to thoughtfulness. ‘‘You know you never really liked her, only you thought lier ways were grander and more proper than mine, and you know you were always & -little bit cf a snob, and a prig, too! And Mrs. Peyton wgs —bless my scul!—a Benham, and a planter's daughter, and I—I was only a picked-up or- phan! That's where Jim is better than you. Oh, I know what you're always thinking— you're thinking we're both exiggeFated and theatrical—ain’t you? Dop't you think it's @ heap better to be exaggerdted and theatri- cal about things that are just sentimental and romantic than to be s @wfully possessed and overcome about thimgs that are only real! Thers, ycu needn't stare at me so. 1t's true! You've had your fill of grandeur and propriety, and—here you are! And,” she added with a little chuckle, “here's me!” “You see, Clarence,” she went cn, “you ought never to have let me go—never. You ought to have kept me here, cr run away with me. And you oughtn't to have tried to make me proper. And you oughtn't to have driven me to flirt with that horrid Spaniard, and you oughtn't to have been so horribly ‘cold and severe when I did. And you oughtn't to have made me take up with Jim, wh> was the only ome who thought me his equal. I might have been very silly and capricious, and I might have been very vain, but my vanity isn’t a bit worse than your pride—my love of praise and applause in the theater isn't a bit more horrid than your fears of what people might think of you or me. That's gospel truth, fsn't it, Clarence? Tell me! Don't look that way and this—look at me! Isn't it true?” “I was thinking cf you just now when I fell asleep, Susy,” he said. He did not know why he said it; he had not intended to tell her—he had only meant to avoid a direct answer to her questicn, yet even now he went on. “And I thought of you when I was cut there In the rose garden waiting to come in here.” “You did?" she said, drawing in her breath. A wave of delicate pink color came up to her very eyes—it seemed to him as quickly and as innocently as when she a girl. “And what do you think, Klarus"— she half whispered—*tell me!" He did not speak. . Chade et | T after your she he The dawn was breaking as Clarence and Jim Hooker emerged together from the gate of the casa. Mr. Hooker looked sleepy. He had found, after his return from Fair Plains, that his host had an early engage- ment at Santa Inez, and he insisted upon rising to see him oft.” It was with dificulty, indeed, that Clarence could prevent his ac- companying _ him. Clarence had not revealed to Susy, the night before, the real object of his journey, nor did Hooker evi- dently suspect It, yei when he had mounted his horse he hesitated for an instant, but without extending his hand. “It 1 should happen to be detained,” began with a half smile, But Jim was struggling with a yawn. “Tha's all righ'—don't mind us,” he said, stretching his arms. Clarence’s hesi- tating hand dropped to his side, and with a light, reckless laugh and a half sense of providential relief he galloped away. What happened immediately thereafter, during his solitary ride to Santa Inez, looking back upon it in after years, seemed but a confused recollection, more Ilike a dream. The long stretches of vagua distance gradu- ally opening clearer with the rising sun in an unclouded sky, the meeting with a few early or belated travelers and his unconscious avoidance of them, as it they might know of his object, the black shadows of fore- shortened cattle rising before him on the plain and arousing the same uneasy sensa- tion of their being waylaying men; the wondering recognition of, houses and land- marks he had long been, famitiar with, his purposeless attempts to recall the circum- stances in which he had known them—all these were like a dream. So, too, were the recollections of th night before, the episode with Susy, already mingled and blended with the memory of their previous past, his futile attempts to look forward to {he future, al- ways, however, abandoned, with relief at the thought that the mext few. hours might make them unnecessary. 8o, also, was the sud- den realization that Santa Ines was before him, when he had thought he was not yet half-way there, and as he, dismounted before the court house his singular feeling—fol- lowed, however, by no fear, of distress—that he had come so early to the rendezvous that he was not yet quite prepared for it. This same sense of unreality pervaded his meeting with the deputy sheriff; the news that the federal judge had, as was expected, dismissed the prisoners on their own recog- nizance, and that Captain Pinckney was at the hotel at breakfast. In the lke ab- stracted manner he replied to the one or two questions of the deputy, exhibited the pistols he had brought with him, and finally accompanied him to a little meadow hidden by trees below the hotel, where the other principal and his seconds were awalting them. And, here he awoke!—clear-eyed, kesn, foreeful, and intense! So stimulated were bis faculties that his sense of hearing In its acuteness took in every word of the conversation between the sec- onds, & few paces distant. FHe heard his ad- versary's second say carelessly 0 the deputy sheriff, ‘I presume this Is a case where there will be no apology or mediation,” and the deputy’s reply, “I reckon my man means business, but he seems a little queer.” He heard the other second laugh and say lightly, he “they're apt to be so when its their first time MAIL ORDERS FILLED, Our Boys— What would we do without them—we—us—we mean —for they are the life of our business—They make -us friends—they make us give them bargains—and we always cheerfully give up. We expect six very busy days this week in our childrens’ department—some tempting prices on some “taking” styles of suits for Boys—Many dainty patterns that we won't talk about here—come and see them— §1.50 Boys' junior suits in blue and black tricot cloth, nobby. and dressy, ages 3 to 7 years. i we've been selling for §3.25— spucialiprices st sn’oddane The suit Elegant velvet and worsted reefer suits, 3 to 7 years, regular re- tail price ¢4 to 5. They will goidt:this sale fons. .ai. 0. o Boys' Knee Pants, 10c. 9.5 The H. M. Cook Clothing Co., H IGH PRICE 138th and Farnam, Omabha. The S IN DENTISTRY % THIGF TH PAST. finest work done now for about half what it cost a few years ago, DR. BAILEY, P A Fit guaranteed. Flexiblo elastic plate, $10. tion, 50c. #1. 01 Reusonale Prices entistry in Omaha 3rd floor, Paxton block. Telephone Lady attendant. Full Set of Teeth, $5 Best set of teeth, $7.50. Painless extrac- Gold and plaied fiilings, $1. Silver Pure gold, $2. "Gold crowns, $6 to $8, and Bridge tceth $6 per tooth and attach- ment. crowns $10. treatment to all. Porcelain crowns 85, Richmond Oue price to all. Courteous The best work, always. out,” followed by the more anxious aside of the other second, as the deputy turned away, ““Yes, but I don‘t like his looks!” His senze of sight was also so acute that having lost the choice of position when the coin was tossed, and being turned with his face to the sun, even through its glare he saw with un- erring distinctness of outline the black coated figure of his opponent move into range, saw the perfect outline of his features, and how the easy, supercilious smile as he threw away his cigar appeared to drop out of his face with a kind of vacant awe, as he faced him. He felt his nmerves become as steel as the counting began, and at the word “three” knew he had fired by the recoll of the pistol in his levelled hand simultaneously with its utterance. And at the same moment, still standing like a rock, he saw his adversary miserably collapse, his legs grotesquely curv- ing inward under him, without even the dig- nity of death in his fall, and o sink heln- lessly like a felled bull fo the ground. Still erect, and lowering only the muzzle of his pistol, as a thin feather of smoke curled up its shining side, he saw the doctor and sec- onds run quickly to the heap, try to lift its limp impotence into shape, and let it drop again with the words: “Right through the forehead!” “Yow've dome for him,” sald the deputy turning to Clarence with' a singular look of curiosity, “and I reckon you'd better get out of this mighty quick! They didn't expect it—they're just ragin', they may round on you—and,” he added more slowly, “they seem to have just found out who you are! Even while he was speaking, Clarence with his quickened ears heard the words, “‘one of Hamilton Brant’s pups. Just like his father,” from the group around the dead man. He did uot hesitate, but walked coolly toward them Yet a certain fierce pride—which he had never known before—stirred in his veins, as their voices hushed, and they half recoiled before him. “Am I to understand from my second, gentlemen,” he said, looking around the group, “that you are not satisfled “The fight was square enough,” sald Pinckney's second in some embarrassment, “but I reckon that he"—pointing to the deud man—* did not know who you were?" “Do you mean that he did not know that I was the son of a man proficient in the use of arms?" “I reckon that's about it second, glancing at the others. “I am glad to say, ir, that I have a better opinion of his courage,” said Clarence, lifting his hat to the dead body as be turned away. Yet he was consclous of no remorse, oon- cern, or even pity in his act. Perhaps this was Visible in his face, for the group appeared awed by this perfection of the duelist’s cool- ness, and even returned his formal parting salutation with a vague and timid respect. He thanked the deputy, regained the hotel saddled his horse, and galloped away But not toward the rancho. Now that he could think of his future, that had no place in his reflections; even the episode of Susy was forgotten in the new and strange con- ception of himself and his irresponsibility which had come upon him with the killing of Pinckney and the words of his second. It was his dead father who had stiffened his arm and directed the fatal shot! It was the hereditary Influences—which others had been 8o quick to recognize—that had brought returned the abeut this completing climax of his trouble. How else could he account for it that he, a consclentious, peaceful, sensitive man, tender and forgiving as he had believed himself to be, could now feel so little sorrow or com- punetion for his culminating act? He had read of successful duelists who were haunted by remorse for their first victim; who re- tained a terrible consciousness of the ap- pearance of the dead man; he had no such feeling; he had only a grim contentment in the wiped cut,inefficient life, and contempt for the limp and helpless body. He sud- denly recalled the callousness as a boy, when face to face with the victims of the Indian massacre, his sense of fastidious super- ciliousness in the discovery of the body of Susy’s mother—surely it was the cold blood of his father influencing him ever thus. What had he to do with affection, with domestic happiness, with the ordinary am- bitions of man’s life, whose blood was frozen at the source! Yet even with this very thought came once more the old incon- sistent tenderness he had as a boy lavished upon the almost unknown and fugitive father who had forsaken his childish companionship, and remembered him only by secret gifts. He remembered how he had worshipped him even while the pious padres at San Jose were endeavoring to eliminate this terrible poison from his blood, and combat his hereditary instinct in his conflicts with his schoolfellows. And it was, a part of this inconsistency that, riding away from the scene of his first bloodshed, his eyes were dimmed with moisture, not for the victim, but for the one being whom he believed had impelled him to the act. This, and more, was in his mind during his long ride to Fair Plains, his journey by coach to Embascadero, his midnight passage across the dark waters of the bay, and his re-entrance to San Francisco—but what should be his future was still unsettled As he wound around the crest of Russian Hill: and looked down again upon the awakened city he was startled to see that it | was fluttering and streaming with bunting! From every public bullding and hotel, from the roofs of private houses, and even the windows of lonely dwellings, flapped and waved the striped and starry banner. The steady breath of the sea carried it out from masts and yards of ships at their wharves— from the battlements of the forts at Alcatraz and Yerba Buena. He remembered that the ferrymen had told him that news from Fort Sumter had swept the city with a revulsion of patriotic sentiment, and that there was no doubt that the state was saved to the union, He looked down upon it with haggard and bewlildered eyes—and then a strange gasp and fullness of the throat! For afar a solitary bugle had blown—the “reveille” at Fort Alcatraz! (To be continued.) pisadi s atidatata Not In that Way. Texas Siftings: “Yes,” said the lady leo- turer, “‘women have been wronged for ages. They have suffered in a thousand ways. “There is one way in which they never suffered,” sald a meek-looking man stand- ing up. “What way is that?’ demanded tie lec~ turer. “They have nevar suffered in silence.” And then the lecturer demonstrated be- yond a doubt that he was right, in her case at least. —— Discouraged sheep Ranchers. Sheep ranchers in many parts of Oregon and other northwestern reglons are getting discouraged over the decreasing value of sheep and the Inereasing value of land, and at a recent meeting of ranchers in Oregon it was suggested that they should drop sheep and go in for raising coyotes. Coyotes scalps are worth $6 each, whils sheep are worth anywhere from $2.50 down. Then a ewe will raise only one or two lambs in a season, but a coyote will easily raise a family of five or zeven, The arithmetio and logle of the matter are eas for breakfast. \{{ Bills by eating a bowl of delicious QuAKER OATSs A pleasant economy,