The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 23, 1900, Page 6

] THE SUNDAY CALL. Synopsis. ember of the Chi- Club and type- r Dexter, millionaire, I8 2 on way home by a ruffianly = an English- - interferes. lunges at Glover, : by a blow from Zella » = etective, arrests Digges, but il who saved vain. Dex- to hate e voung man is virtually a: for the millionaire, make her his wife. nes. the inten- avall, for he sets hints at love to that she say Joseph Hatton. Continued. nds were held up. t would a palm- —two out of 2 ne decision sound. lik Iis mind went wander- t i d condemnation . he Old Bailey, in s o tic work. E s e last of the lookers-on e arrived, filling up the oon; men from ge, as well as ' said Jagger: them to i spered vrayer that med implous at Ex- “ather, meke it heads!” etween the paims of his hen flung them, to fall ground that had been mething like a smooth bent forward and count- is, two heads,” said Jaggers. ain stooped to pick them up, ited them as he handed the coins o Dankes two, three, four tails; one, two b the weppins to bs, mister?” said Jaggers, turning to Digges. G v taid Digges, pulling his own and feeling its edge, with ion of Shylock in the play. and gentiemen,” sald the cap- ‘make way.” and stakes were brought, ring t, the principals took up posi- their seconds; and the ca g voted umpire, lounged into the Jaggers was in attendance upon d Dankes stood by Glover. The d, Digges over keeping on e siee ver gave an adversary hold on than was absolutely ow'd what kind with,” was his -shaven, except tache, ir brushed from a limber, well-built young ight compared with his ad- prepared, th {t,-,l al the commenc:m::n on! (5« stepped forward to stilities, ands ed remained at his post. = the custom.” sald Dankes, “to t ach other's hand.” 'l sce him in hell first!” sald Ned, ited!y 4 prefers otherwise,” sald exc \ “My frien Dankes, w great dignity. Digges shrugged his shoulders, and spat upon the ground. - ou are excited, Ned, keep cool,” pered to his friend, Ned ! his wringing it fervenllfi. “It's the that ”Y‘ Yonder brute has made no will uck up: stand firm, watch him, hit him under the left rib.” to work,” “Now, gentiemen, said the el his handkerchief. s captain, and droj igges lumbered forward, crou if for a spring; then drew back, and. s & statue. raight = Glover watched him, him, the o fere wae & shout of derision from the friends of Digges. “That ain't no sort of Axhttn'l’ seld ene tical, the umpire st Tweens the men and marked it as round. Dl&n‘ smiled and rubbed his breast, which was grased and showed blood, ““First blood, anyhow,” said one of the men of Platts Valley. “Dear Ned, why did you alter your be- out or grip of the haft? Ef you'd struck him | God confound and made no reply " stepped forward and went for his man again, evidently having lald to heaft the lesson of Dankes, that ignor- ance sometimes is better equigped than knowledge; but Digges warded _ him skilifully and turned his blade. There- upon Ned stabbed at him viciously Digges made what they termed ‘fine play” in his wards and retreats and ad- vances and was as nimble as a light- weight. From this moment it was a cat and mouse game. The Drifters had seen it playéd before, with.a far more skillful adversary than Glover. Dankes grew hot and cold as the unequal contest went on; stopped, now nnd??h 1, by the umpire, more, it seemed, by way of keeping up the sporting features of the encounter than from a technical regard for its rules. There had been only three breaks when - " was called for what proved to be Ned gripped his blade, t Dankes, held it low, and : who advancea clenched teeth ahd ‘a look of savage determination. ~They sparred for a mo- nt, then retfred: but met again. Ned, everly avoiding a deadly thrust, ralsed his arm to strike, forgetting the careful instructions of Dankes to thrust upward. Digges caught his arm and literal crushed it In his fron grip.. Glovers weanon fell to the ground. “For God's sake spare him cried Dankes. But while he spoke Digges had stabbed his friend to the heart. and. as Dankes sprang forward, flung him into the old man's arms—dead. CHAPTER XXVI “A BOLT FROM THE BLUE.” The fatal encounter, that was fore- shadowed even before Hiram_Dexter al- lied himself with the assassin Digges, was ordained. ~From the moment those two opposing forces met in_State street Ned Glover was doomed. It cannot be that such fateful links as those that drew Glover to Blind Man's Drift could be forged by chance. It is strange that among a community of brave men Abner Digges should nave been permitted to dominate the camp of Blind Man’s Drift. But tyranny %s in- nate in some, and it is the destiny of others to submit; some for the love of peace, some from idle inclination, some from ‘timidity, some from lack of ambi- ticn, some for penurious reasons. Any- how, wherever men assemble together, a community of bandits or industrials, one man rises to the top; one man seizes the lemocratic throne and rules, often by bluster, more frequently by sheer pliysi- cal force and hrulalxli, Abner Digges, sthletie, fgnorant, obstinate, cruel, an ex- pert with deadly weapons and possessing a chief share In the local enterprise, was, as we know, boss of the drift. Apart from the grudge he owed Ned Glover he carried about with him the tlood money of Hiram Dexter. The love- crazed millfonaire would never have dared 15 do the deed he more than hinted at to @nother; but the murder of Ned Glover vas just as much his handiwork as that of Glove at Chicago through a news agency, many days after the event. Mr. Storey, with the telegraphic message in his hand, went straight to Dexter's office. Dexter had ot been seen for several days. Sam had = s valise r a short journey. .” he sald, “was awful bad; more n sick; just crazy.” The affair was sufficiently serious, in Mr. Storey's estimation, to justify the Tnion Telegraph Company disclosing to him a message that Dexter had received some three days previous to the Malil dis- * tech. It ran as follows: *To Hiram dexter, Chicago: Your man, Glover, in- sulted me; we fought next day, presence of committee of camp and many others, a square deal with knives, after toss for chioice of weapons. Blind Man’s Drift ain’'t proud of these affairs, but what can you do when men get drunk and raise Cain? The Drift gives him a funeral equal to his position, and none but's sorry it happened. ABNER DIGGES.” The Mail had little more to tell than this, except to state that Mr. Glover had gone out to Platts Valley and the Drift as t resentative of Mr. Hiram Dexter, write up the country for the ago had, anfortunately, had only two letters from its able correspond- ent, deal with the scenic and metallur- c of the district and his de: vas a loss to the community. He was one of those roving and adventurous Englishmen to whom the world was { debted in many ways as pioneers of civili- , and who carried their lives in r hands. It was sad to reflect that al- though the frontier that divided civiliz: tion from barbarism was so comparativ Iy them, it was too far off for the Sheriff's writ to run successfully or the ordl: influences of law and order to have effect. In cases of unparalleled out- rage it would, of course, be possible 1o send a posse tg the re but the Gov- ernment and the police had found ft poli- > to more or less acquiesce in the rough and ready justice that communities of men living beyond the pale of civilization, carrying on the adventurous work of the pector, the hunter and the ploneer of had devised for them- As a rule their free and fearless government was not unfair, though it was gener: v the rule of the strongest. In the case of Mr. Edwin Glover, it appeared that a quarrel had arisen between him and the man Digges and that a meeting was arranged and a duel fought to the death. Glover was slain. The only fea- ture in the case that might call for inves- tigation was the fact that Digges had a grudge against Glover, arising out of the misconduct of Digges during a visit to Chicago, where _the frontiersman had come 1o paint the city red and had met with his deserts. But, on the whole, these men, who, despite their lawless lives and disregard ‘of the common habits of civil- ized people, carried on the work of em- pire building, were best left to their own Tesources, nm as a place became too ciyilized for them and the police, and the schooimaster, and the minister and the press appeared upon the scene such of them as did not accept the new conditions and come under the law moved further afield, and made new camps and new set- tlements, and so the wild story of empire building ‘went on. Zella had not uttered’a word for hours after Mr. Storey had broken the news to her. He had foand her reading to Bridget O'Hagan a book about London. Zella had romised that Bridget should accompany er and Ned to Europe. For weeks it had been the entertainment of the two, after the day’'s work was over, to sit down by n settlements, selves. the stove in Bridget’s parlor, Brid- get_ with }&r knitting, with a guide to London. #Zella would select the pages that dealt with the places Ned had men- tioned to her. Downing street was a’fa orite haunt, and the church of St. Clem ent Danes, and Fleet street generally; and Zella had trated the localities on a map. The story of the Temple had interested them deeply. Zella discovered for herself historical Jandmarks. She showed Bridget a picture of the tomb of her countryman, Oliver Goldsmith, and promised to read 1o her the story of “The Vicar of Wake- field,” which Bridget had never heard of. She found Holland House and an account of the cottage where Tom Moore had lived, pear Muswell Hill, and Bridget had expressed herself as “kinder forgivin’ towards the brutal S8axon,"” who cherished the memory of the only poet she had ever Though Zella reminded her of the fact that Shakespeare was a poet, Bridget did not understand that he was any more than “wan av thim that made g‘lyl for the actors. more ispicially for isther Booth and John McCulloch, who, were dead! And, oh, the pity ivver dle!” it ni they had t togeth The ‘suide to London, that Fats Himea the bitter blow that struck them down. “I should like to speak to Miss alone,” said Storey, the ed, flon:, e Storey, the b bon Oh, ' indade!” said rather te-{il 4 (7 o 5 ts r % i now thar, dear Tt is no secret I have to t:[ , how- ever, had best leave the room min- “Very well,” said Zella, her hand on her heart. Bridget, looking first at Storev and th I.I“BZ:HA. crept out of the room. " for my wfie you; she ter; but we know each other better, do we not?” “Yes,” she sald, looking at him, her lips rned with fear, all the color gone from er face. you to be very brave Tes,” she said, mechanically. “You are one of the bravest, indeed, the bravest little women I know. ‘There are times when we need the command of l‘lgl our fortitude and the support of re- on. 3 “Oh, my God! What is it?"’ she said, clutching both arms of the chair. “'Bad news, my child; bad news. I hardly know how to teil you.” It is about Ned? ‘I know what it is. Oh, my God! What shall I do? What shall 1 do?” To the relief of Storey, she burst into a passionate flood of tears, and, burying her face in her hands, sobbed as if her heart would break. Bfldfiet, who had lingered by the door, trembling so that her teeth chattered in her head, crept back, and, with her hana upon Zelia’s head, stood between her and stol:)fl without being ableé to utter a word. “Don’t speak to her, Mistress O'Hagan; it will do her good to cry. 1 was afraid she would not take it in'that way. Na- ture’s kind, when it gives to sorrow the relief of tears.” “Phwat is {t7” Bridget tried to say, but her mouth was dry and she could not ar- ticulate. & “Our dear Ned Glover,” said Storey, *he has met with an accldent. sHe's dead?” said Bridget, with a cry. Storey bowed his heaa. The poor old woman could not bear the shock of this confirmation of her fears. She fell prone at Zella's fept. Storey raised her up and, pla~ing her on a chalr, rang the bell. The cook, who was just going out for the evening, came into the room. She was passing the door when the bell rang. “We've had bad news, and your mi tress, 1 fear, has fainted,” said Storey. “Perhaps a little water or'a little brandy might be useful.” While the cook administered restora- tives to Bridget, Storey stood by the chair where Zella continued overcome with grief. “Can you carry Mistress O'Hagan to her room?” Storey asked. “That can 1" 'was the quick reply, and the devoted oid servant lifted Bridget in her arms as if her burden had been an infant and carried her away. Zella awoke from what might have been a long trance, so dazed was she, so altered, 0 aloof from all the world and yet with such a keen, inquiring expression in_ her eyes. The shock of the change in Zella's appearance, the pity of it, the appealing aspect of the whole figure, brought tears into the strong man’'s eves, thougin the thought passed through his mind by way of consolation that people who feel most keenly recover the soonest. He sat down by the girl's side and took her hand. It lay in his Hmp as if it might have been the land of one dead. “You know me, Miss Brunnen?” he said. She moved her head and dropped her eyes, the lids still wet with tears, her bosom agitated with sobs. It is common for the messenger of il tidings to excite dislike; but I hope you will not hate me for the sake of the love I bore him.” She responded with the slightest pos- sible pressure of her hand L hope I may be of some service.to ou. You must bear up. 1 am not going to tell you that it was God's will or to advise you to seek consolation in this or that. Nothing can console you at present. Only, for the sake of your friends, try and bear your sorrow with courage. 13 you give way you will lose your health and strength, and you will need both.” “1 ought to have known." she said, with every word a subdued sob, “‘that my hap- piness was too great to last. Don’t tell me your message. I read it in your face the moment yvou spoke to me. I know that he is dead. My dear, dear Ned!" And saying so, she broke down in such a renewed passion ef sobs that Storey was alarmed, lest she might die of her grief. “My dear child,” he sald, “be calm. Try, dear soul; don't glve way so, my poor child”’ And so on, and presentiy she grew calmer, and came out of the at- tack, but weak and helpless. “Don’t mind me,” she said; and her voice seemed to come from a distance, as if some one else, not herself, were speak- ing. *I can’t help it. I am trying."” Storey had had many a hard task in the course of his life, but never had suffered such a tax upon his feelings. He found it difficult to suppress an exhibition of his emotions. “You will need all your fortitude; but you are well endowed—the daughter of a soldier. Life, you krow, is only a battle, after all; and ‘we do not all come out of a campalign alive. It is consoling to kngw that our dear ones have deserved well 'of their country. Our dear Ned was one of the most lovable.” “Was!"” she sald. “Was! Oh, my God! Was! Give me air! I shall suffocate! Was! Was! She staggered to her feet. arm about her, and led dow, which he opened. Her eyes were sunken, her cheeks ashy pale, her lips had the hue of death. Tle fresh air blew upon her face. Storey unbuttoned the top button of her dress at the neck, and blew into her face, as he had seen a mes- merist do to bring bacK a subject to con- fsciousness, She revived. ““Thank you,” she said, presently better. Thank you. Let me move about.” He removed his arm from her waist, and took her hand. “1 shall send my wife to you,” he said, tenderly. “But 1 thought I might be a check "upon your grief; that a man's strength might inspire your fortitude. That's better; you are your noble father's dmglgh(er. Haye courage. That’s better!” “Thank you,” she sald; and drew out a handkerchief and wiped her face. “Let meq‘u,dvl.!e you to take a liitle Where is Bridget?" 'She has gone to her room. She will come down presently.” he knows?" “It will break her heart. Mine is broken. Tell me how it happened.’ He put his her to the win- “Not now. Mrs. Storey shall come and tell you.” “I don’t want her. Tell me how it hap- pened.” “Can you bear it?"" “My Jove is dead, and vet I live,” s said. *“My heart is broken; God has serted me; my prayers have all gone for naught. What else can touch me?" She was nerving herself to meet, with the fortitude of depair, whatever there might be to tell; and Storey began to think it would be best to tell her all. ““He {s dead?’ she said, tightening her lips and pressing her hand upon her heart. And buried,” Storey sald. “With Christian burial?’ she asked, adding in an almost cynical tone, “‘but what does that matter, poor .dear? 'Noth- ing hurts when you are dead; only they suffer who are left. Well?” Storey did not know whether to be pleased or sorry at the new tone the girl assumed. “You remember the trouble with that ruffian whom we locked up in the House of, Agorrectlon L3 he was the boss of Ve cxclatmed, “Mereitul s heaven, and you let g0 there 1 let him go there, m& child?” “God let him go,” e sald. knew.” B %e calm, nlny chud.untt‘p-lunb" "*Yes, yes; I am len! am tryi with lll);ny ml.ght“Pl i ““They fought & duel,” said Storey, “with “knives. . . . Glover f Nay, dear child, restrain yous biae He died in th & “Yes,” she said, clinging to the mantel for support. 1 know % es. Give me a S - She to a seat and sat for a time chaf the “And ; . " Btorey. A Y many davs ta Blind Man's Drift2” !W, % Storey,” sh T 85 Fring the ben > I e now.’ Btorey, ring- !f;:m:?h"mx“wn led to ity ko > 0 replied t mistress is bett - ’o‘"{l.ko her Al:ot M‘t::'m'kt:’.' sald "Ikwu Just doin’ that same,” sald the “And I wi . added Zella. “Yes, nfln[.l"m mk replied, and left ‘hétmém' him: encoo%t-t ey who feel deeply recover the sooner; but he was amazed, not to say just a trifle disappointed, at Zella's very Quick. ut, after all, he was only a self on his experi- superficial observer. lla’s almost sudden calmness was the result ‘of an inspiration of vengeance, CHAPTER XXVIL THE mqm;.; OF BLIND MAN'S Th not_know Zella. She h resolution in her mind, the avenging of her. lover's death, she, -nevertheless, with diplomatic aptitude, gaye herself a margin 0f other chances. She interviewed the police. Unhlfllty Joe Williams was still abroad. The chiefs told her, and Mr. ‘Storey indorsed thelr oint of ‘view, that the case did not call or their intervention. Had it been one of murder, with malice prepense, they might have taken a hand in bringing the culprit to justice, -Even if it had assumed the character of an ordinary shooting they might, in deference to Mr. Storey's re- gard for the man and the influence of the Mail, have sent a posse over to Blind Man's Drift; but the encounter appeared to have been conducted on the legitimata and recognized lines of the duello, with seconds, Yeferee or umpire, and all the other safeguards, the affair taking place in presence of the camp. In such a com- munity, outside the paie of civilization as Denver' and Chicago understood civiliza- tion, there was nothing more to be said. Zella urged that Blind Man's Drift, ac- cording to the maps, was only a hundred miles from the Red Horse Forks, whicii was little more than two days’ ride by the stage from Kit Carson, or thereaboufs; Tiurel_\' that brought the district within po- ce it jurisdiction? That was so, they said, intervention was called for in a big ; buf not in regard to minor occur- rences; and, moreover, if it were other- wise, the Drift was astogether beyond the ken of Chicago. Of course, she might employ a detec- tive; but they assured her that his ser- vices could be of no possible vaiue in such a case. In districts like Platts Valley, the Ridge and Biind Man's Drift it was not so much the distance in miles as the character of the country, and the new mining region was a wid, unoccupleu and vast extent of mountain, forest and ra- vine, with no proper settlements, and stretching away into comparative blanks on the map, as the voung :ady would per- ceive. If {hey exaggerated the outlook somewhat, it was only to emphasize the fact that she could obtain no assist- ance from the authorities. On the other hand, Mr. Storey had promptly sent out one of his cleverest re- porters to the scene of Glover's death, at the same time giving him instructions to consider himself Miss Brunnpen's repre- sentative. The lawyers of the Mail, whose services Zella had accepted, also intrusted the reporter with a commission to gather for them all necessary information con- cerning Glover's affairs, his alleged will, and everything they considered necessary in the interest of Miss Brunnen and that of the Mail. Having convinced herself that, so far as she was concerned, and the possibility of justice belng done in regard to the death of her lover, the incident was considered to be closed, Zella allowed her original in- spiration of vengeance to develop. That it might be the easier for her, she set about making open preparations to visit Kurope. Not that ghe had no intention of carrying them out, but first she In- tended to go to' Blind Man's Drift. Her mission thither being ended, she would betake herself to London and fulfill the wishes of her dear d . She cared noth- ing for the money value of thé position. She would have started for Europe with a very slender purse, fo fulfill the slight- est desire Ned might have expressed. Had he lived she would have been his wife; now that he was no more, she would love and venerate his memory as if she were indeed his widow. And first, she would begin by avenging him. To that purpose certain secret and public preparations Were necessary. Having, as she believed, placed the af- fairs of Mrs. Bridget O'Hagan in a fair way for iheir proper administration (the doctors belleved the old lady would re- cover), she set about the prellmlnnl?’ equipment of herself, mentally and physi- cally, for her scheme of vengeance. The boarding-house marveled that Zella could take her loss so philosephically, that she could talk about it and contemplate a bursiness visit to London in connection with the' dead Englishman's will and other personal matters. Old Glencoe thought the poor girl just a wee bit de- mented; sometimes, he said, grief took that aspect. Storey thought her eccen. tric; but, he said, she had been brought up amidst skirmishing and hard fighting, tco, on the Indian frontier,- and death’ in its most violent form was mot un- familiar to her. * * But then he con- fessed that, young as she was at the time, the death of her father had nearly broken her heart; and that he had wit- nessed no exhibition of grief so intense as Zella's when he brought her the sad tidings of Glover's death. He concluded that ‘she was hiding her feelings under a_ cloak of philosophic resignation: in which he was confirmed by the pallor of her cheeks and the dark hollows about her eyes. The' story of Ned Glover's death was, after all, only a passing incident of the Mail's' varied and excitng news. . Neq Glover's colleagues on the press were not sufficiently intimate with him to make his loss an ‘occasion for specfal mourning. One or two of them had, Indeed, resented his success: and more than one or two what they regarded as his superior airs. On the whole, however, he stood fairly well with them, and in Mr. Storey's enti. mation his accession to the Mail staff had heen of great importance and his career full of promise. But with the reshuffling of the cards in the editorial room and the burning questions of the day tn occupy the staff and the reading publie. the death of Ned Glover was a mere drop in the ocean of news, a fact which enabled Zella to carry out her adventurous scheme with ereater facility than if the tragedy of Blind Man's Drift had been a matter of national importance. ' CflAPT_ER XXVIITL ZELLA BRUNNEN'S EXPERIMENT. After a while Zella spent a great deal of time in Ned's room, the door locked, the blinds drawn. She was ther: fre- Quently when the household thought she was in the city. Here she would attire herself in the clothes Ned had left be- hind, completing her man’s attire in every detall; and then moving roout,. sitting down, getting up, lying on the bed, dress- ing, undressing, and making herself per- fectly familiar with her male equipment, often pausing to wipe away bitter tears, Every day she paid several visits to Brid; Only once in a way did the old woman recognize her, and then only to smile pathetically, i she spoke, to talk of the days before the advent of Ned Glover, as if all recollec- tion of the event that had_struck her down had been wl‘mi out. get, ocng day, however, recalled the prize meeting. ac the Women's Athletic Club. Zeila tol .her she was still one of the %ulfndams. The ella’s trouble, had strongly adyised her to seek occupation in everg way! fll#‘ filven up her position at the Palmer ouse the girl had plenty of time on her hands. Storey, too, thought it would be good for her to mcet her friends and go about and see people and work 80 on. Nothing like being busy, he sald. He even offered her a place i the office of the Mall. But Zella said for the present she would seek such relaxation as she re- quired at the Athietic Club. 2 It was noted by her fellow-members and competitors that Zella herself in e days with mre regard than ever for the freedom of the limbs. Of late she had taken a fancy to the tice of sword © and dagger fence. ‘The French tutor was more than pleased with the girl's enthu- siasm. He was her slave. When she sald she would like to study the methods that made the bowle kiife notorious, if not famous, in Southern conflicts, he took no end of trouble to master it. 'One day he came to her, accompanied by a Southern officer from New Orleans, 1 gray- beard, who had seen the latest of the no- torious duels in the South, and with va- rious weapons, including the knife. The business in a battle wii very much on a par with a duel plers. He undertook to show her all RET b e S e W e Zelld took a rme the bowie was th of her in such a kindly spirit \;dl .Pnrgx‘:ldn “home.” m“" l¥ac- fl“tfli‘::g '0or & mq , too, success of dlssuize. 1t was & it Sho had purchased at a ready- store, where she had called one evening In an outfit that she had selected from Ned's clothes in the room that had been left untouched, as he desired, and that had ed so far remaine sacred to his memory, except for her own . Incursions into it. “If the young lady should be making the trip, t{eu is no_better line than the American, I guess, though we are agents for all of them und will be happy to give her our best attention and the cheapest possible rates,” “All 1 can say, young man, is that she is mot at the present time in the house; but if you'll leave your card she shall ha'e s:.m-na Tll ‘e’en tell her what ye ha'e sald " “Thank you, sir,” said Zelia, handu the card of the agents with whom she h:fi already been in communication. In pre- senting it and herself at Parkside she had, as pearly as possible, imitated the volce and manner of one of the clerks at the shipping office. X /‘That’s ail we can say, I believe,” sald Glencoe as Zella took up her soft hat, with a bow and “I thank you_ sir.” She whistled a snatch of “Auld Lang Syne” as she sauntered down the path to the roadway. Old Glencoe, catching the familiar and much-loved strain, remarked to himseif, “That's juss & verralgenteel younfi man”; and retired to his own room, thinking of the last time he had sung the rational song in unison with the entire Lousehold at Parkside. on the night be- fore poor Ned Glover left for Platts Val- ley. ““Eh, but the poor lassie s hard hit," he caid to himself, as he took up for the twentieth time the map upon which he bad marked out the poor fellow’s route from Chicago to his fatal _destination. ““There it is,” he said, brushing from the mounted sheet the escaped dust of a heavy pinch of snuff; “Chicago, St. Louis, Kansas City, Denver, St. Lawrence, To- peka, Kit Carson and then into the wilds, S0 to speak. Not tnat Kit Carson is too civilized; but by stage to Red Horse Forks, and from Red Horse Forks, this side the Platt River, and then by mule or pony, or on shanks' mare, miles and miles to the valley and the Ridge and Blind Man's Drift. Wecl, 1t just & divvie of a iourney! And only to think o" that uir lassie ‘wanting to get thither. But hat's weel ended. She'd better gae to Europe. The hoose'll seem nae better than an empty kirk without her; but the shaken mind maun be occupied. lest it break vp aetogether. -This man, Mr. Lor- rimer, Glover's London friend and lawyer, seems to be a reliable person. Mr. Storey can gi'e her nae end o' gude introduc- tions; and there’s nae sma’ sum o' gowd at the end of It. Ycnder Snlomon Dankes maun be a verra honest mon. He's made a_full declaration o' the value o' Glover's share o' the Drift. Ah! weel, It's just a wonderfu' warld; and it ha'e beer weel said. we dinna’ ken what a day may bring forth!" As the shipping clerk, Zella had bought a complete outfit of clothes, suitable for 2 young fellow who might be sceking his fortune as a miner—most of them sec- ond-hand; pone of them expensive, These had been delivered, in a heavy handbag, to Philip Grey at the Grand Pacific. It is bardly necessary to say that, although for twe nights the assumed male guest, Mr. Philip Grev, had a room at the hotel, he had not slept there. On the third day he packed a trunk and had it dispatched to the Mountain Hotel, Denver; where Ned had stayed, on his way to Red Horse Forks and Platis Valley. Zella wrote, on tbe Grand Pacific note paper, requesiing the manager to take care of the trunk until her arrival. She hoped to follow it in a day of two. Of course, she wrote as Philip Grey and having scen her trunk on an express wagon, she went home, as Zella Brunnen, Here the cook and Mr. Glencoe were fussy about the call of the shipping clerk. Glencoe hoped, if she re. was going to Enrope, she might find it convenient to employ the young fellow's firm. He seemed a most agreeable young man, and he whistled “‘Auld Lang Syne."” ~ CHAPTER XXIX. AS A YOUNG MAN, ZELLA CALLS HERSELF PHILIP GREY. Zella, for the time b:ing, almost forget ting her sorrow in the syccess of her e periment, thrust her hands into her pock- ets and, as the commonplace young man, strode deflantly on her way back (o the city. She had read in Emerson how he had found the Englishman to be him, of all men, who stands firmest in his shoes. Glover had presented her wit. Emerson's works and had commended to her more particularly the “English Traits.” Thi: was a bit of national vanity, which Zella had suspected, for she knew 'that the un- meaning jibes of poor Bridget O'Hagau now and then rankled m his min was not a strong man, as we have seen; but he was a lovable iellow. Weak m are often more lovable than men of strong character. Emerson had taught Zella a good deal. Some English people know more about American authors than Amer- icans themselves: and, in not a few stances, it has been left for Amer; joneer some of the most eminent of ish authors. Zella had dwelt upon what Emerson said about concentration as the secret of strength in all management of human affairs: so she focused her mind upon the mission she had laid down for herself, and stood firm in her shoes. After walking some distance she jumped upon a car and made her way to States street, and thence to the Grand Pacifc Hotel. She strode out with a manly gait along the wide corridor, passing the hotel desk and mounting the short fiight of marble stairs to the dining saloon; took her seat, gave her orders, ate one or two of the many dishes that comprised the midday meal, and then, sauntering into the hallway, took a chair, propped its back against the wall, lighted a cigarette and opened a financial paper, which she affecied to study while taking note of the manners and customs of the men who came and went, smoked big cigars, sa- luted friends and acquaintances or ad- Journed to the bar to drink. She saw Mr. Storey talking with a New Yorker who often visited Mr. Dexter at the Palmer House. Presently another New Yorker joined them. She recognized him as Mr. Dexter's chief confidential lend and adviser. They were conversing very seriously. She left her at and passed by them. so close that Storey moved out of her way, and she begged his irdon. “He's mad as a hatter. that's the lact,”” said one of the New Yorkers: “he's writing to us the dog blamdest letters you ever saw. where the devil he is uzzles the police!” said the other. “The tters carry post marks, I guess’'' said . “Sure enough.” said the confiden- ‘tlal friend; “but, followed up ecver s=o smart, we don't find a trace of him.” “A regular queer thing the human impulse they call ‘rrelldent. “hearing of lovi e, Storey, “when it grips a fellow of 60 with the freshness of a new and hty 1nlrrltlcm." Jla had tekenr a room at the Grand Pacific. She bad arrived, with a trunk, to all appearance b& train and had regis- tered as Philip Grey, New York. Her room was on the fifth floor, at the farther end. ‘atching her opportunity, at any time she could bhalf open the door and take a view of the entire floor. This was fortunate, ecause sbe went into her rcom as Philip Grey and came out as Zella Brunnen. Avoiding the lift or taking it. as most safe and convenient, she managed to elude observation; mot that being recognized involved any danger of discovery; she might easily have been vis- iting a friend on any of the floors of the hotel. 'She had taken care to have her trunk . fitted with a special double lock and she the key of her room in her After many successful experiments in the art of masquerading as » man, Zella a‘nnouneenlr‘;ler intention of leaving for far s (inks et wing ‘the thougnt the wi ‘change would be g6od for her heals He = ed that she ought not to travel by and pretty woman traveling she looks.” she sald, with Rieahe :1«1 Wili write ana tell you how I get long,” A w;;hm't Jou get some lady friend to g0 your’ B “ 1d rather go alone.” "g;:e%“x suppose thers is no more to be “‘Not about m; ing alone.” il Bdve o “,.,:'"":J:"- vou e our ve letters pi or correspondents in ndon_ and Paris. When do you think of going?" “In a few days.” “T will see the lawyers for you. They are already in communication with thelr agents, who have cabled them some notes of an Interview with Mr. Lorrimer. He seems to be a gentleman of well estab- lished position.” E%. “He was our dear Glover's most Inti- ats friend; almost his only friend, he said.” “So I understand. Glover mentioned him to me. I wish he had recommended flou to some female member of his fam- v “His mother and father are both dead, Zella replied. % s “A pity. Had he no lady reiatives? “Not one whom he ever mentioned. ‘AR, our London correspondent is a married man. Don’t know what his wife's like: she was a Philadeiphian. [ shall ask him to have her call upon you.” 7 . ““My dear Mr. Storey, I really wish you would not. I would rather feel my way and judge for myself. When I want any lady friend T will call on your correspond- ent. If I am in any difficulty I will go to the United States embassy. t me alone, with my grief and my troubles; I shall be far better so.” ““Very well; on one condition, that you cable me from Liverpool, and your ad- dress in London. and that vou write me on your arrival there how you are received by Mr. Lorrimer.” “Very well,” she sald, somewHlat re- luctantly. shall stay in New York a little while before sailing.” “What do you call a little while, chilg > - “Oh, 1 don't know. There is a ladied soclety there in which the president of our Chicago Club is interested. I have prom- ised to give her a repurt of it. And my father, you know, had some friends in Fifth avenue. I shall look them up. “That's right. I'm glad to hear you do not altogether Intend to be a recluse. Do know the Fifth avenue friends? “I think not. They ure the Gruneisens and have a house on the Hudson.” “Oh, indeed. Well, you are quite right to pay them a visit.” RS “I shall stay at the Gilsey House. “Why the Gilsey House? 1 thought that was more of a man's house.’ “Oh, no,” she sald. Mr. Glencoe says it is a nice place; and the president of our club also recommends it; she stayed there nearly a month once.” “Very well, my dear. You seem to have made your arrangements?’ “Yes. I will ask you to be good enough to send me any papers or letters or any instructions you think useful to me to the Glisey House {f we don't meet again be- fore I leave.” 2 “But, my child, we must meet again, “l have a great deal to do within the next few days. Having never been abroad before my outfit is no end of a business and I will have to see to Bridget's affalrs and take my leave of the club; and—oh, I can’t tell you how many things I have un hand. So, if when I call to say good-by I should miss you, consider that 1 have said it now; and glve my best respects to Mrs. Storey and a thousand thanks to her my for all her kindness." o “T ha aying good-by, anyhow,” ha repijed, “wh my heart {s in my hand. as-it iS when I offer ii to you,gmy headstrong, lovable, zoldier's daughter,'” he said, with a queer kind of smile. “But I don’t nt you to go without a parting shake with your most devoted friend. Do you understand?” “Yes, dear friend,” she answered, tears both In her eyes and her voice. He leaned forward. She looked up at him with a trembling lip. He kissed her ch formality on the fore d bless you ear the rank d had prevaricated. She had not quits told the though she had not ex- actly lied to him. But she had one defin- b It demanded a good skill, besides courage 5| neentration of pury xcused herself for the little su behind which she had taken refuge from Storey's sympathetic qu: tionings. “And now, let me see.” she sald, when she was quietly settled i her own room, blinds drawn. lamp lighted, her remain- ing trunk packed for her journey on_ the morrow, “what is my programme? [ go as Zella Brunnen. of cpurse. Mr. Storey insists upon my having a reom to myself, to New Y one of those pleas: little parlors on the corridor car k t will enable me to e my two trunks on board and get a table The one which supposed to be my dressing bag co: mv male attf ather enough for the thing v doublet and hese sible to make the ch torey and r had not eeing me uld have zon 7 to Den- ver. As it is, s di- rection. but get off at the acter of Philip G n, as the rase m night, open est. Being duly n _direct v ¥ A ¥ 1 trunk to the Gil my mining ou . and_complete nd things in Pittsburg. and so.return, through Chicago, en route for Kit on, the Red Horse Forks and Platts Valley. How shall I keep mysel in communiéation, apparently from New York. with my riends in Chicago? 1 must be the Whem do T re now in There are th: ean 1 trust® Whom ecan anybody 2 At present that is the only weak in my plan of campaign. I must s Wway to strengthen it. If it make Mr. 1 shall see t of the ad- it would, after all. only Storey and Parkside anxious my way ta arrange that pa i I am a man and have put ‘s thinking-cap. And what 7 Tet me see. I dollars. whica to Denver, least a mnight. carry as many said T might draw I might require ) is a long way nd supposing T get killed? Well, i the I do. thev shall bury me with Ned and F shail be content. So. for the present, ‘Gocd-by, Zela Brunnen” Welcome the coming. speed the parting guest. God strengthen the arm of Philip Gray! Is it an impiovs prayer? 1 hope not. When my father went ouf against the Indian braves on tne frontier, strong a soldier thougn he was, he offered up a praver for vic- tory and the safety of his Zella. The In- dian braves prayed to their gods also. But even the Chicago Baptists say we ar+ helped according as _we help ourselves Sometithes heaven selects an instrumen: of ‘vergeance. That Is my role—heaven's averzer! *1 hope I »am not Roing crazy' No. I think not. If T am successful they will eal me a heroine; if T fail, a maniac. But I shall not fail.- David triumphed over the giant. Gollath. with only a sling and a stone. God willed it. Now, Goliath was only a soldier. Abner Digges is a monster, a thousand times more worth: of His vengeance than Gollath was. * thousand times more reason why I shou' vanauish him.” Tlarly the next morning Zella was t© center. of much at{ention at the raliwa her: but it was noticable for its effor,s to cheer the traveler. Mrs. Stordy brought her flowers. The president of the Women's Athletic Club contributed to Zela's jewelry a small and gemmed badge of membership: “a talis- man of good luck., my dear; wear it al- ways.” Old Glencoe brought a Scotch plaid that he commended to her for tray- eling on the English railroads: “Barb: ous contrivances, my child, in which are just liable to be frozen to death if ye dinna provide versel' wi’ this kinfi o comfort.”” The lawyers sent her a packet of impertant papers, which they suggest- oA she should put away safely in her bag. Poor Bridget O'Hagan. though recover- ing from her shock and mbu:xem Al ness, was not well enough to understand that Zella was going awayv, which was better than if she had had to run the risk of another attack of merves. At last the train glided out of the depot, midst the waving of other hands and handker- chiefs des those of Zella and her friends: and the girl was at e ciosea the deor ot the e Toom, examined “the apartment, found its pri- vacy s;‘en“‘more complete than she had h‘"fi? will save time to dress i satd; “TM Tisk dern i A ZELLA BRUNNEN ARRIVES AT PRU- “Kinder lonely u.nm Gul o e A . S s his - 3 1t w&lfl- and o o o the valley. the mights pere cold on the :‘l’gum : side; whers mlmwvmey. overlooked Blind Man’s Drift and faced the distant mining f the ridge. 2 u’:‘:p‘ rooked up'nl his master and snorted an affirmative reply. - “Guess I'm too arred to wash to-night, 7 Dankes continued, now divesting y of his heavy jacket and reaching out for an old coat that hung upou a chair close to his hand. “Don't seem to be up (o makin’ my own coffee either, nor ligh ¢f the lamp."” Jim stretched his forepaws in & In;}'.. sympathetic way, and then stalked to master’s side. e “You're a bit fatigued, too, as Glover would ha’ put it, eh, Jim?” Jim yawned and lay down at his feet. “Guess you miss the Britisher, bad as me, Jim? Had your supper, Jim?" g Jim woke wp at the word supper and 8to erect. . “No? I'd ha’ thought Dave would h(‘ given it you before he went down to the Valley. Seemed to me as [ seen him makin’ for the saloon.as I came alons. No: he aint been thar'? Why, then T guess e'll be comin’ in 'fore long; and I'm dog- goned if I don't wait for my coffee till he do!” Jim wagged his tail and ran to the door: then ran back again, and barked cheer- fully. . “You think he's comin’ up the trall? Jim barked afresh and leaped at the door. “ ‘Cupboard love.' as the Britisher would ha’ said; and yet he was fond of you, Jim. you old sinner! For that matter, he know'd most things, 'cept how to take care of hisself. Where's them shoes? It was Ned as l'arned me the comiort of shoes.. A regular civilizer, as you may say, was Ned Glover. God rest his soul, for a lovable feller! God forgive me, for ever makin' him take that fortifier as I fear was his undoin'! Not as he would ha' thought so; for it was his idea as everythin' is destyned, and everybody doomed to this or_that from the moment as he was born. Why, hello Dave Dave and Jim were struggling together —Jim in weicoming leaps and yaps, and Ds in pushing the dog aside. Why, I'd giv' you up, Dave! lad, eh, guvner ‘Concluded you was ‘avin "a night hoff.” What d'ye think I'd do with a night hofe?” Euchre?” ever plays it; ain’t got money to play euchre." “Draw poker?"” “Nor draw poker, naythur: what made you think of sech things, guvnor?” “Got nawthin’ else to think of at moment, Dave,” sald Dankes, laugh. “Then you will the a with have, guvnor, sco n. Indeed, that's good; It's very lo ot ter be.” 0, Dave; it didn't uster, but—" I know; don’t let om, guvmor. You'll have company. I tells yer, very soon.” “Shall I? 'What sort of company, Dave?” T've been kep’ down In the valley a . There's a feller wants ter see “Ter see Mister Solomon Dankes; regler dog-tired, come from God knows whar or hcw, ‘cept as he've gotten a mule along, ‘mule’s deader beat than him. “A young feller did you say?" “No, I didn’t say so; but he is & young feller.” “omin’ u ~he e p th e trail. I tethered his Is it a hoss—by ed to comin’ press it. Stran called his bagga on to his back 3 Jumper Bill to rescue it That was kind o' poo: nkes. ‘“‘See that a dab in the , that's all righ And what's the s ing his beard and “Like a young city prospectin’, as they s but no tenderfoot, n E in mighty his wa No greaser, no tramyg one or t'other; sort As may lost his way. Well rigged in a_kinder sorter camp dand ‘the day we celebrate’ Sunday suit o workin' togs; & young boss kinder jay.” “Twilight in England, the Britisher ter say, larsted for hours; o er on than the moon st firefiies lights their lante said mon, opening the door of the cabin ng out into t fe made out a lot o' t in England,” said D: d_countr 3 Jim, & on, then we could ly and . w orner of evening me “Dave, gimme mo What for, Mister Dank. k for the stranger. I marked the road tern, er's 11l right. nd showed him he'd see the cab- in by the light." “But you've neverlighted no lamp.” sail Solomon. As I come 1 vaw'd opered Shinin® like a £ Hi! Hi! ' shouted Dankes. lown the trail came up a responsive ec! Hi! Hi! Hilli T e, Dave? Or is it & hec- T think it's a heccho.™ “I think so too 's try again—Hello! Hello! He “Mate ab. e up sharp and strc in_quick resp: That ain't no heccho, Dave.” I guess not,” said Dave. “Shall T put things out for you?” “Why, certainly, who Solomon once more ad the stranger i reply 2 1 the bread on the ta rgue, a tin of but was the Save fla 2 t nd a ham brought from th s by a mule train on its retur min with ore. There was a jar of whisky on the chest behind the door. and on the table mugs and a jug of fresh w. How’s the folks g, with pleasant the “How-d'y Dankes, addre friendly familiarit; young fellc n the doorwa alr travel of ms days. a loose reckerchief tied about throat, a loose coat over his arm, attirew in a workaday fashion. and yet suggesting something of the gentleman. “Thankee,” was the quiet reply very fine." Come right in, young feller.” “T!:nnkee. Mr. Solomon Dankes, I be- e “I'm _well, but tired, and the folks s just 1 b’lieve so, too,” said Solomon. “Heard of you out East. as one who might be hospitable to a stranger, and so considered it might be wise just to pass through Platts valley and ~inquire for dents Guich,” said the stranger, laying aside his overcoa “You did the Sit down; you're welcome.” ““Thankee,” the stranger replied, drop- ving into the comfortable barrel seat with a great sigh of relig “Come a freat way inquired Danke with_his characteristic drawl, that ind cated in him both reflection and kind! n right thing. “Why, yes: pretty considerable,” said the stranger. with an assumption of man- ly ease. “Had no idea of the distanc “Hungry. I guess?” ‘;Y.ou bet. Hope I ain’t too tired to eat.” “Hope so, likewize, else Dave and me’ll be disappointed. Dave, whar's the whisky?" think I smell coffee,” sald the stranger. “I'd rayther a cup of coffee, thankee.™ *“As vou please. This is Liberty Hall, as the Britisher as was my pard used ter say, so long as it ain't abused. You're not a Britister, 1 reckon? “No, I'm an American; horn on plains, raised on the plains,” said Ze with a great effort to keep down the rush of enotfin that disturbed her at the men- tion of Solomon Dankes’ partner. “Don’t say s0? Well. that's good. Now, Dave, my boy, let Mister — “My name's Grey—Philip Grey." “Why, then, Philip Grey, draw up and ve's coffee. A real good hand at i coftee: & Teal, good Hand &t ‘most eal, e 14 right, guv'nor” said Da Ve X me guv'nor now; before the 3 otg:«“;amu':mdwemmm = traveled much, Mister Grey™* *“Not_much.” “To Eu &fu;w wier the lla, that’s all Mr. . “Why, yes. ‘T mean ter, yet* (Continued next weell) -